#non consensual tucking into bed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

husbandjoel · 12 days ago

Text

honey, where is my shield? | john walker

summary: you’re the fixer upper of weapons for the new avengers and want to do something for john walker’s upcoming birthday

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

word count: 2.7k

content: silly short fluff. walker has a bad attitude briefly, swearing, bed rot with self wallowing, kissing and illusions to sex if you squint

a/n: oh no 🧍‍♀️i’m forming into a 🧎‍♀️john walker apologist 🐀

"Has anyone seen my shield?" John Walker strolled into the Watchtowers Living Quarters with his hands at his side, perplexed whilst the rest of the unorthodox team unwinded separately.

He stopped at the foot of the sofa that Yelena Belova was sprawled across with a bowl of popcorn tucked under her armpit. Hands on his hips, she looked to him and he expressed impatience.

"That tin taco?" A cheek full of mushed popcorn, Yelena snorted and fed her guinea pig a piece of red pepper she had prepared on the side, "No—I haven't seen your shield, Walker. You should take care of that thing. Or, throw it in the garbage disposal."

"Agreed. It's a heap of junk." Ava added along to Yelena.

"OK. Thank you for the unsolicited advice." Walker sneered and turned on his heel to find Bob to see if he had located his shield. As he turned, Yelena snapped her forefinger and thumb together in a Eureka! moment.

"Yes. I have seen it!" Yelena proclaimed and Walker ushered her to complete her thought, "Miss Fixer Upper has it."

Of course. Walker swore under his breath. Of course, you had taken it.

The Watchtowers esteemed colleague that wasn't apart of the New Avengers, but essential to the team. Their handywoman. You had been recruited by Valentina after a number of occasions where the team would come back from their missions with their items that were key in their protection, crumpled up like a piece of paper. That, or, Bucky Barnes arm needed reworked after temporarily disarmed by his opponent.

You were a kind little thing. Worked hard until your fingers had peeled many layers, sleepless nights sat with your miniature spotlight zoned into one of the New Avengers equipment that had to be fixed by that morning. Everybody sung your praises — hell — even John Walker liked you even when you had taken it upon yourself to remove his shield from his personal area and fix it.

The elevator dinged to the level you were on, John grimaced at the decor Valentina Allegra de Fontaine had curated for the Watchtower. It was an eyesore leading up to your workshop at the backend of the hall.

He didn't even knock as he burst through the door, making you jump the height of yourself in your seat, hands flying to your chest — your eyes magnified through the magnifying headset you were wearing.

"Oh—John!" You huffed as his eyes went to the very thing he had been ransacking his room for.

It was propped up against a stand, the exterior faced you, the metal still tattered and warped but it seemed as if you had managed to pry it back into a circular shape again. There was something metaphorical about his second shield not fracturing at the seams when up against The Sentry, John Walker didn't want to deep dive into that therapy session. But, it made him upset. You fixing a problem that didn't need to be fixed.

Two strides and he had snatched it off of the stand upon your worktop. You reached for it, your equipment clattering as you stood, "No, no, no! The paint hasn't dried yet!"

He felt the wetness of the paint smudge beneath his fingers and to prove a point with his jaw tightened, John stared at you before his hands bent it back into the taco shape it had originally been prior to your non-consensual repairing. John was just adding flare to the dramatic stroke, wedging the shield back onto his forearm.

"Ever heard of, if it's not broke, don't fix it?" He seethed without reason.

You mulled over your answer, "I mean—It, it kind of was broken, John. I was doing you a favour. You know how many pliers I went through to bend it back into shape?"

"Don't touch my stuff again."

He slammed the door, shutting you off in your little cubbyhole and leaving you utterly gobsmacked at his behaviour. No. You wouldn't stand being spoken to like that. Having had your fair share of quips when attempting to help these supposed heroes and their reckless need to destroy their possessions, John had yet to be added to that list.

There was an obvious knowledge of his bitter attitude, the rest of his team made shallow remarks at his expense, but you hadn't been one to dogpile onto that. He was sweet on you in particular moments, holding the door open for you, catching you at the elevator before your days work began — hair frazzled and eyes heavy — whilst he took the boxes of supplies from your arms and helped you to your workshop.

John had even invited you out for a friendly drink that you politely declined as you looked back at the mountain of work Valentina had left in her wake.

He was — no — had, been having an exceedingly hard time in regard to his personal life, not that you meddled too deeply but you wanted to do something nice for him. A surprise for his birthday which had been circled in red on your Bricky Gervais calendar that he had gifted you for Secret Santa after he thought you were an architect.

Even then, the calendar was in reference to construction workers.

Nevertheless, you pushed yourself out of your seat, magnifying glasses still in position which made it hard to identify how close things were, but you had worn them enough to figure it out. John had made it to the end of the corridor when you swung the door back open, your feet stormed across the marbled floor; hand drawn back before you launched your attack.

The pencil in your hand hit his forehead with the softest of smacks and paint smeared fingers rubbed the red mark that began to flourish.

The air grew thick with silence. The kind that had you suddenly regretting your childish actions against a serum enhanced vigilante.

“Don’t speak to me like that again.” You feigned confident pride, arms folded over your beating heart whilst John bent at the waist to pick your pencil up.

Dwarfed in his hand, John stepped into your space, his lips retained a humoured smirk from the absurdity of the situation. You counted your blessings that a man like John Walker had a softened spot in his heart for you. Pencil gifted back to you, he turned on his heel without another word; the elevator dinged at your level and he stepped in.

As the doors slid across to connect, John looked down at the paint smeared shield, his eyes narrowed at some chicken scratch that rounded with the curve of the shield:

You’ll never walk-er alone :)

His head rolled back and he sighed.

Now he felt like an asshole.

That continued through the night. It was a rarity, but John had a day-off from pummelling said enemies into the concrete with his fists. After his divorce, there wasn’t much of anything on his list to do when he had a gap in his crammed schedule thanks to Valentina. Fuck, he hated that woman after the Captain America comment.

He went grocery shopping for himself, a few extra items added to the basket to make a batch of Cactus Juice for himself and anyone else who took a fancy to it. Once returned, he packed his small section — compared to Alexei’s — of perishables in the fridge and returned to his room. John didn’t want to spend time with anyone in the group; and the feeling was mutual.

Fingers slotted between each other on the slow rise and fall of his stomach, John had laid for hours and stared up at the ceiling like he was doing time in solitary confinement. He eventually snapped out of it, after thinking about the downfall of his marriage. . . And his failure toward his son and Lemar Hoskins.

Eyes shifted to the corner where he kept his shield propped up as if it were a trophy. A tragic one, but still a prized possession. His eyesight had dwindled, even with the serum, but he could still see the bespoke white writing you had etched into his shield. Close to it were the smeared fingerprint evidence of John’s premature anger inflicted upon you. He had hoped you didn’t take it too personally, Walker was trying to work on that flaw, he really was.

John liked you. A lot, if he thought about it too hard. He had wondered for a long enough time if he only liked you because you weren’t launching vituperative insults in his direction. And, when you did insult him, John seemed to like it? He wasn’t sure. Things were complicated and he harboured guilt for looking at you in a certain light when he was finalising his divorce with Olivia.

Still. He had to make things right.

Knowing your ability to work overtime, John shifted off of his bed and pulled a white tee over his head to protect his modesty. Although — obnoxiously — he did think you may have thanked him for a shirtless moment. He worked hard for his lean physique.

Door opened, the blonde male almost body slammed you who had been on the other side carefully protecting the small flame lit from the pink candle atop of a sloppy red velvet cupcake you had made. Your alarm was voiced into a squeal, your shoulders quick to deflate once you had noticed that the flame had been blown out by the swift movements of John.

“Fuck sake, John.” You mumbled, “That was the last of the lighter fluid.”

John stared at you, “What are you doing?”

“It’s your birthday, duh?” Finger pointed to the clock that had struck twelve to signify the roll into the next day, which coincided with John’s birthday. You turned back to him and whispered, “Happy Birthday. You already spoilt your present from me.”

That was his birthday present?

“Your present to me, was to fix my own shield?” He sounded more ungrateful than he meant to. Actually, his tone was in disbelief that you were stood at his bedroom door in Hulk slippers and a large tee that read: Take a shower, I just did you dirty. You looked silly.

He really liked it. And you.

“Don’t make it sound like such a terrible idea. Bob said it was a good idea for someone that nobody knew what to get.” You waved your free hand in the air to defend your own honour and John just listened.

From the way your eyes shone from the warm glow from the lamp on his bedside table, the slope of your nose and down to your lips that were moving at a million miles per hour as you talked the ear off of him about his tendency to shoot first and ask questions later, resulting in him spoiling his own birthday gift; physically and figuratively.

Man, he was down bad.

He nodded along to your vexed words, taking the hit as he stepped closer to you, his hand unmistakably smoothed over the small of your back, head dipped as he reigned you in. His apology formed in the action of pressing his lips against yours — words muffled and soon snuffed out.

So, you hadn’t expected that type of response. Eyes wide as your lips warmed against John’s, your breasts pressed into him as he practically inhaled you in the corridor. Sure, there was an inkling of a crush on the Big Bad Wolf of the New Avengers. You hadn’t really tapped into it much aside from small acts of service that John didn’t seem to reciprocate. It was your love language after all, maybe it didn’t stretch to his.

To add to that, you didn’t want to be branded the other woman so to speak. It was a grey area when it came to a person in the finalisations of a divorce, and with this new group of heroes heavily saturating every front page of New York newspapers, you couldn’t imagine the guttural punch it would cause for his ex-wife to see him prancing around with another woman. If he liked you, that was.

But, you weren’t in the public eye. You were stood in a dark corridor, wrapped up in the troubled John Walker. And, you took your chances.

His hand came to yours, where you were tightly grasping the cupcake made especially for him. John’s fingertips plucked it from you and tossed it to the side which earned a pull back from you and he chased your lips.

“I worked really hard on that.” You warned at the discarded cupcake that spread it’s cake matter across the flooring.

John watched you, “It made a thud when it hit the floor. It would’ve broken my teeth.”

“I know. It was intentional after your little outburst in my Workshop, Walker.” You heard the grumble in his chest before he returned his reaction in the form of more kisses.

Hands smoothed to the meat of your thighs, John lifted you up with ease and turned to lead you both into the bedroom with a kick of his heel to shut his door. The cupcake long forgotten as he showed you how much he appreciated your efforts on fixing his shield that had dwindled in the shadow of his own ugly behaviour.

bonus:

"Honey—?" You lifted your head to the call from your fiancé. Feet up on your desk, you had been admiring the way the new jewel on your ring finger caught the sunset that dipped below the horizon. John stumbled from the bedroom, hair in all directions from yanking his original attire off and back into his U.S. Agent gear.

Oh. Absolutely not.

"Have you seen my shield?" He asked through panted breaths.

You blinked at him innocently, the corners of your mouth pulled downward into a frown as you shook your head.

"Why? Do you need it?"

He gawped at you. Look at him! Of course he needed it! "What—Yes, baby. I need my shield, please. Have you seen it? The guys are waiting on me" John begged before he dipped back into the bedroom, the scene in disarray as he clawed into every corner to try locate it.

You slowly stood from your chair and rounded the table, your sweet time was taken to meet him in the bedroom. Shoulder rested against the doorframe, you folded your arms as you watched your fiancé dissolve into a flared panic with profanities leaving his mouth.

The thing was, it was your birthday. And, John Walker had gotten on his knees in front of you and promised that the third birthday spent in a relationship with you — now newly engaged — would not be spent alone whilst he sped off to gallivant with his Thunderbolts, no, New Avengers esteemed co-workers.

As observant as ever, you had overheard Bucky Barnes speak about a minor incident they would have to step into the day prior, and, well, you took that opportunity to misplace John Walker's slightly out of shape shield, the old writing of yours faded but still present on the curve.

John turned to you, frantic, "Honey, we are talking about the greater good here." His muscular back turned on you.

"Greater good?" He halted his movements, his posture straightening when he took a deep inhale — eyes closed as he connected the dots. You scoffed, "I am your fiancé, I am the greatest good you are ever gonna get."

Blue eyes met yours. Stern and telling that he was cemented in his decision. You stood your ground, expression stoic, making sure to have your ring finger exposed enough to remind John Walker who he was devoted to.

It lasted all of forty seconds at most. Then you deflated like a balloon, arms to your side and surrendering to his face.

“Fine. It’s where you never look.” You admitted. You watched as the cogs turned in John’s head before he sprinted down your shared hallway and into the laundry basket brimmed with fresh clothes that needed to be folded; the idea of your birthday dinner a distant memory.

He came back, folded shield in hand and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips that followed with an ‘I love you’. Or, more along the lines of: I love you, I might die at the hands of my enemies or my co-workers. The lines are blurred on that, but I love you. And, then, you blinked and he had gone whilst the dust settled amidst the sudden chaos.

You sighed and retreated to your bedroom.

John made sure to bring you home a red velvet cupcake and a pink candle to match.

#🔖 koolie writes #whilst also waiting for the season finale of tlou #john walker x reader #john walker x fem!reader #john walker x you #thunderbolts fic #thunderbolts #the new avengers #john walker

453 notes · View notes

lovelyspring7 · 8 months ago

Text

Silver Pearl (Pt. 2) | Yandere JJK x Reader

Preview: Jungkook is used to getting what he wants, and now, he wants you. Saying "no" isn’t an option. Will you find a way to break free from his relentless grip, or is freedom just an illusion in the billionaire’s twisted mind?

Word count: 13k

Genre: Yandere

Pairing: CEO Billionaire Jungkook x reader, short mentions of Cha Eunwoo & Jung Jaehyun.

Warnings: Yandere, stalking, obsessive behaviour, kidnapping, non consensual touching, manipulation, controlling & emotionally abusive behaviour.

Disclaimer: This type of content is not suitable for all audiences and I do not condone any of the presented behaviour. This is purely for entertainment and fictional purposes and I don’t think any BTS member would act like this.

Authors note: The second part of Pearl series is here! Hope you enjoy! Can’t wait to know what you guys think of this long awaited chapter, my asks are always open!💜

Read Part 1 Here | Read Part 3 Here

With trembling legs, you let Jungkook guide you back to the bedroom. His grip on your hand was gentle, but the fear lingering in your chest made your entire body tense. The warmth of his touch, once comforting, now felt like a chain binding you to him.

You couldn’t believe how quickly everything had spiraled. Just hours ago, he was affectionate, kind even, and now... Now, the man standing before you was a stranger, someone whose darkness you had never truly seen until tonight.

As you entered the bedroom, Jungkook released your hand and sighed, rubbing his neck as though the tension of the evening had caught up to him. You stood near the door, watching him closely, unsure of your next move.

Jungkook’s smile softened as he turned to you, almost as if the events from earlier hadn’t happened. “Come here, princess.” He patted the bed beside him, his eyes urging you to comply.

You hesitated, but his gaze darkened, and you knew that defying him right now wasn’t an option. Slowly, you made your way over to the bed and sat down, keeping your distance from him.

He noticed but said nothing, instead reaching over to pull you closer. You flinched slightly, but Jungkook ignored it, wrapping his arm around your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing. “You don’t have to be afraid of me, you know. I could never hurt you.”

You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the tears that threatened to spill. How could he speak so calmly, as if he hadn't just confessed he had someone killed? As if you weren’t trapped?

He stroked your hair, his voice a low murmur. “I know it’s a lot to take in. But I promise, everything I do is for you, princess.”

Your stomach twisted, anger and fear bubbling just beneath the surface, but you forced yourself to stay still.

Jungkook leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “You’ll see,” he whispered against your skin. “You’ll see that this is how it’s supposed to be.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you fought to hold back the sob that was building. But Jungkook noticed your shaking body, his brows furrowing in concern. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re just overwhelmed.”

“I-I’m tired,” you whispered, hoping he’d give you space.

He paused, then nodded, giving you a small understanding smile. “Of course. You’ve had a long day.”

Jungkook stood up and helped you under the covers, tucking you in with a tenderness that felt so out of place after everything that had happened. You watched as he moved around the bedroom, dimming the lights and making his way to the other side of the bed. He slid under the covers beside you, pulling you close to him. His arms wrapped around you, caging you in. You could feel his heartbeat against your back. It was steady, calm, completely at odds with the storm of emotions raging inside you.

“Goodnight, princess,” he whispered into the darkness, his lips brushing against the back of your neck.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you lay there, trapped in his embrace.

As Jungkook’s arms tightened around you, the weight of everything crashed down. Your heart pounded in your chest, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t slow your racing thoughts. The room was quiet, but your mind was a storm.

Lying there, trapped in his embrace, the reality of what you had gotten yourself into settled in, cold and suffocating. You didn’t dare to move. Tears welled in your eyes, hot and uncontrollable. You blinked hard, trying to stop them from spilling, but it was no use. Slowly, silently, they rolled down your cheeks, soaking the pillow beneath you.

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to stay quiet. You couldn’t let him know. You couldn’t let him see you like this. He might ask questions, might tighten his grip, the last thing you wanted was for him to notice.

The warmth of his body behind you felt suffocating, a reminder of how close he always was, how there was no escaping him. The man you once thought was kind and protective had revealed something far darker, something far more dangerous. You’d never felt more alone, more trapped.

Fucking rich people.

How did this happen? How have you gotten yourself into this? You cursed yourself, cursed the choices that led you here, cursed him for being so cruel under the surface of his affection. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

You buried your face deeper into the pillow, muffling any sound that might slip out. The sobs you held back were painful, your throat raw from trying to stay quiet, but you had no choice. You had to be strong, had to stay silent. For now, that was the only thing you could control.

You lay there for what felt like hours, the tears eventually slowing as exhaustion began to weigh down on you. But even as sleep finally pulled you under, a deep, gnawing fear lingered in the pit of your stomach.

__________

As you stirred from sleep, your body felt heavy, weighed down by the exhaustion of a restless, sleepless night. Your head pounded, and your eyes were swollen from the silent crying that had consumed you hours before. The fear that had gripped you the night before lingered, but it wasn’t the same. As you lay there in the empty bed, staring at the ceiling, something else began to stir inside you.

Anger.

The sadness and fear that had paralyzed you last night shifted into a burning rage. The more you thought about it, the more the fury built. How could he act this way, treat you like something he owned, then sleep so peacefully beside you as if nothing had happened? It was sickening. It was maddening. He had controlled you with his words, his touch, trapping you, and you were done being afraid.

You threw the covers off and sat up and swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood up, the cold floor beneath your feet doing nothing to calm the anger simmering in your chest.

The scent of sweet vanilla wafted through the air, drawing your attention to the faint sounds of movement coming from the kitchen. He was up, and from the smell of it, making breakfast like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t terrified you into submission last night.

You walked to the door, every step fueled by the fire raging inside you. Reaching the kitchen, you saw him standing there, humming softly to himself, completely at ease as he moved around the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

Jungkook glanced up as you entered, his face lighting up with a smile that felt so wrong given everything that had happened. “Good morning, princess,” he said warmly, “Sleep well?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, the fury bubbling up again. He was acting like nothing had happened. How could he be so calm, so collected?

“Come sit down,” he said, turning back to the stove. “Breakfast will be ready soon.”

You stood there, staring at his back, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. He hadn’t even acknowledged the hell he put you through last night. You wanted to scream from how frustrated you were. But instead, you swallowed down the anger, pushing it deep inside for now.

Without saying a word, you walked over to the table and sat down. Jungkook continued to hum softly, oblivious to the storm building inside you.

But for now, you waited.

Jungkook set the plate in front of you with a wide, satisfied smile. Pancakes, perfectly golden and stacked high, topped with fresh berries and drizzled with syrup. The sweet scent of vanilla and sugar filled the air, tempting and warm. It was one of your favorites, something he knew well.

He sat down across from you, still acting like everything was perfectly normal. “I made them just the way you like,” he said, his voice soft and affectionate.

You stared at the pancakes, unmoving. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the table as you felt the anger inside you start to rise again.

Jungkook looked up when you didn’t immediately dig in. “What’s wrong baby, you don't like pancakes anymore?” He asked with curiosity.

“I’m not hungry,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the untouched pancakes in front of you.

You lifted your gaze, and there he was, watching you intently. His jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, breaking the tense silence.

“You were so good to me last night,” his voice was calm, but edged with something darker. “So why the sudden change?”

“Eat.” he commanded, his tone leaving no room for arguments.

“I said, I'm not hungry.” You bite back.

He exhaled through his nose as he put his fork down.

“What? Are you mad that things aren't going your way for once?” It was a bold sentence but it needed to be said. You weren't going to let him have his way with you. Staring back at him you saw how his jaw visibly clenched, irritation flickering across his features as he fought to maintain his composure.

“I’m gonna ask you one last time,” he said, voice steady but charged, “Eat your breakfast.”

“No.”

The word barely left your mouth before he stood abruptly, the force of it sending your heart racing. Before you could process what was happening, his hands were on you, lifting you out of your chair with a swift, almost casual strength. He carried you toward the kitchen counter, his grip firm but controlled. He set you down on the cold, smooth surface, positioning you so that you were sitting on the edge, your legs dangling. The cold countertop sent a shiver through you, but it was nothing compared to the icy tension in the air.

“Why do you have to be so stubborn?” he muttered, his breath warm against your ear, his tone a dangerous mix of exasperation and something much darker.

Your breath caught as he stood close, his presence overwhelming. Panic flickered at the edges of your mind, but you forced yourself to stay calm, pushing down the fear. His grip remained firm, yet disturbingly gentle, as though he was handling something delicate, something he could break if he chose.

“Let me go,” you demanded, your voice shaky but defiant.

He paused, his eyes scanning your face, searching for a crack in your resolve. Submission, perhaps. Doubt. He wanted to see you break, but you wouldn’t.

“You’re testing me,” he said, his voice low and threatening, but his hold on you never tightened. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.” his gaze drilling into yours.

“I’m not your doll,” you said through gritted teeth, meeting his stare head-on, refusing to let him see the fear in you.

His lips curled into something resembling a smile, but there was no warmth in it, only cold amusement. “Doll?” he echoed, his voice soft but dangerous. “No baby. But you’re mine. And you’ll do as I say.”

You could feel your pulse pounding in your temples, but you didn’t look away. “No, I won't.”

His expression darkened, and for a split second, something almost like disappointment flashed in his eyes. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by that unnerving calm. He leaned in close, his breath ghosting over your cheek.

“You’re going to eat,” he whispered, his voice like velvet over steel. “Or I’ll make sure you regret it.”

His words wrapped around you, sickly sweet yet suffocating, the threat lingering beneath his loving tone impossible to ignore. He put his hand on your chin and held it firm, his thumb tracing your lip with unsettling affection. The way he looked at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world, only made the whole situation feel even more twisted.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you hated yourself for it—the crack of desperation he would no doubt savor.

He tilted his head, his expression softening into something almost affectionate, his thumb pausing its slow movement. “Please?” he whispered back, as if you’d just said something sweet. His grip relaxed, but not enough for you to break free. “Oh, Sweetheart, I know you’re scared. But you don’t have to be. Everything I do, it’s for us. To keep you safe and close to me, to give you everything you deserve and more.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his other hand sliding to the back of your neck, cradling you as if you were delicate, breakable. “Be good for me.” he murmured, his voice a gentle lullaby laced with obsession.

His closeness was suffocating, his words dripping with a distorted kind of love that made your skin crawl. “This isn’t okay,” you managed to say, your voice trembling as you met his gaze, refusing to let him see how completely terrified you were.

He smiled, but it was filled with a dark, dangerous affection, as though he found your defiance adorable rather than threatening. “You’ll understand one day,” he whispered softly, his fingers tightening just slightly at the back of your neck, holding you in place as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’ll see how much I care.”

He straightened, his gaze locking onto yours again, and in that moment, you could see how deep his obsession ran, how far he was willing to go. He gently released his hold on your neck and stepped back, his eyes still glued to you, watching every breath you took.

“Now,” he said, his voice soft but commanding, “you’re going to eat. And you’re going to stop fighting me, my love. You understand that?”

Your heart pounded in your chest, every fiber of your being screaming to run, but you were trapped—trapped by his words, by the twisted love in his eyes, by the knowledge that he would never let you go.

He slowly stepped back, leaving you on the cold countertop as he walked to the table to grab the plate of pancakes. When he returned, he held it in front of you.

You got goosebumps as you stared down at the plate, the pancakes now cold and uninviting, but it wasn't the food that made you hesitate. It was the weight of his gaze on you, expectant and unwavering, his dark eyes daring you to defy him again. You could feel the unspoken threat hanging in the air, just beneath the thin veneer of affection he wore so well.

Slowly, you reached for the fork, your fingers trembling as they closed around the handle. You weren't hungry. You could barely breathe, let alone eat, but refusing him again felt like

stepping into something far more dangerous. You could sense his satisfaction as you lifted the fork to your mouth, even though every movement felt like surrender.

"That's it," he murmured softly, his voice low and filled with twisted pride, as though he'd just coaxed a frightened animal into trusting him. "Good girl. See how easy it can be when you stop fighting?"

The words made your stomach churn, but you swallowed the bite, forcing yourself not to react. You couldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how deeply he affected you. Every inch of your body screamed to run, to push the plate away, but you knew he wouldn't allow that. Not now. Not ever.

He watched you closely, eyes flickering with possessive adoration as you took another bite. It wasn't the food he was concerned with, it was your submission, your compliance, the quiet thrill he got from watching you bend to his will. "That's my girl," he whispered, his fingers brushing your hair back, tucking it gently behind your ear. His touch was soft, almost tender, but it made your skin crawl all the same. "I knew you'd come around. You just need a little... encouragement."

You set the fork down, unable to stomach another bite, but the gesture didn't seem to bother him. He stepped closer, standing between your knees now, his hands resting lightly on your thighs, his thumbs tracing small circles in a way that would've been comforting if it weren't him.

"I do this because I love you," he whispered, his breath warm against your cheek as he leaned in, his lips brushing your skin in an unsettling mockery of a kiss. "I know you haven't seen it yet, but you will. You'll understand. No one will ever care for you like I do. No one will ever love you like I do."

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but your pulse hammered in your ears. “You can't force me to feel the same," you whispered, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice.

He paused, his lips still hovering near your skin, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd pushed too far. But then, he smiled- a slow, unsettling smile that sent a shiver down your spine. "Oh, Princess," he murmured, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. "You don't have to say it. I can see it in you, even if you don't realize it yet. I'll wait.”

His hands slid up your thighs, his grip firm but not painful, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'm patient, you see. I'm willing to wait until you come to your senses. But make no mistake," he leaned in closer, his lips ghosting over yours now, the intimacy of it sickening, "you're mine. Whether you admit it now or later, it doesn't matter. You belong to me."

You bit down on your lip, willing yourself not to tremble under his intense gaze. He lingered there, his breath warm against your mouth, daring you to react. When you stayed silent, he straightened, the satisfaction in his expression unmistakable.

"Good," he whispered, pressing one last, lingering kiss to your forehead before pulling away. He turned his back, walking calmly to the sink, as though the entire conversation had been perfectly normal. "You'll see, love. One day, you'll thank me for all of this."

__________

After finishing breakfast and clearing the table, you felt the need to wash away the lingering tension from the morning. You turned to him, trying to keep your voice light.

“Hey, I’m going to take a shower,” you said, heading toward the bathroom.

He looked up from where he was drying the dishes, his brow furrowing slightly. “A shower? Why now?”

“Just to freshen up,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I feel a bit gross after breakfast.”

He put the dish towel down, turning his full attention to you. “I can help with that,” he said, his voice low and slightly playful.

You hesitated, a slight chill running down your spine. “That’s okay. I can manage on my own.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he maintained calm. “You know I just want to help you feel good. How about I join you?”

You took a step back, a mix of apprehension and defiance flooding your mind. “I’d really rather be alone right now,” you insisted, trying to keep your tone firm but sweet. “It’s just a quick shower.”

He stepped closer, his expression softening, but you could sense the underlying tension. “You don’t need to be alone. I can make it more enjoyable. We could have fun together.”

“I just need a few minutes to myself,” you said, keeping your gaze steady. “Please, can’t you let me have that?”

For a moment, he looked taken aback, as if your request was unexpected. But then his expression hardened, the warmth fading from his eyes. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide from me,” he replied, his voice steady but tinged with frustration.

You swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I’m not hiding. I just want some space to gather my thoughts. That’s all.”

He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening slightly.

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” you insisted, trying to sound convincing. “I’ll be right in the bathroom. You can stay close if that makes you feel better.”

He considered your words for a moment, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. Finally, he sighed, stepping back a little. “Fine, super quick then. I don’t want to be away from you for too long.”

You nodded, relief flooding through you.

As you headed into the bathroom, you couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on you, watching as you closed the door. You turned on the water, letting it run as you leaned against the cool tiles. You needed this time alone to clear your head, to breathe without his suffocating presence hovering over you.

As the warm water cascaded over you in the shower, you allowed yourself a few precious moments to breathe. You closed your eyes, focusing on the sound of the water to drown out the thoughts of him.

What could you do to escape him? It was a dangerous game, but you had to find a way. You needed a strategy, a way to manipulate him into letting his guard down. If you played your cards right, you might be able to find a window of opportunity to slip away.

Your mind raced as you lathered shampoo into your hair. First, you needed to build his trust. You’d seen how quickly his mood could shift from affectionate to possessive, and you had to navigate that carefully. If you could make him believe that you were accepting of his love, that you were starting to see things his way, perhaps he would let you have more freedom, time alone, maybe even time away from him.

Once you rinsed out the shampoo, you continued your thoughts, focusing on the idea of creating a facade of compliance. “I can play along,” you thought, the water washing away not just the soap, but your anxiety as well. If I show him that I’m willing to embrace his twisted version of love, he might relax his grip.

Maybe you could start asking for small favors, things that seemed harmless but could lead to more significant opportunities. If you could convince him to let you go to school, or to see a friend, it would give you the chance to formulate a real escape plan. You could text someone for help or find a way to contact the outside world without him knowing.

The idea of appearing genuinely affectionate could work to your advantage too. If you made him believe that you cared for him, that you were falling into his idea of love, he might not suspect anything. You could ask to do something nice for him, like cooking dinner or watching a movie together, to further endear yourself to him. Keeping him engaged and distracted would be crucial.

Rinsing off the last of the soap on your body, you rehearsed the plan in your head. Every word had to be perfect. You needed to make him feel reassured, secure in the idea that you were staying, that you belonged to him, because if you could make him believe that, maybe, just maybe, he’d let his guard down. And that sliver of trust could be your chance to escape.

Wrapping yourself in a white plush robe, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. As you stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom, Jungkook was already there, waiting. His eyes immediately flicked over you, and there was something possessive in the way he watched, as if even a moment without you was too long.

“See? I told you I’d be quick,” you said, forcing a lightness into your tone. “Thank you for being so patient with me.”

His gaze softened slightly as he smiled back at you, and for a moment, you felt a rush of confidence. Maybe, just maybe, you could find a way out of this after all.

“Feeling better, princess?” he asked softly, though his eyes held an edge. “I picked out something for you.”

You glanced at the clothes laid out on the bed, one of his hoodies and a pair of sweatpants. You hesitated, trying to keep your expression neutral. Wearing his clothes would make him feel in control. But you needed to give him the illusion that you were trying to please him while still asserting some level of independence, and can't go from a zero to a hundred.

You forced a small smile. “Thank you, Jungkook, but I was thinking I could pick out something myself today. Maybe one of my old clothes?” Your voice was light, casual, like it was no big deal.

He crossed the room in just a few strides, standing close enough that you could feel the warmth of his body. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to read something hidden in your words. “You don’t like what I picked out for you?” His voice was low, but it carried a sharp undertone. A test.

You swallowed, keeping your gaze soft and affectionate, even as tension wound tight in your chest. “It’s not that. I just thought it’d be fun to wear something different. But if you want me to wear this, I will.” You reached out to touch the hoodie, hoping the gesture would calm him.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened briefly, but his eyes softened as they roamed your face, as if trying to understand you fully. Gently, he lifted his hand to cup your chin, his thumb grazing your cheek tenderly. He tilted your head up, making you meet his gaze.

“You don’t have to worry, my love,” he murmured, his voice warm but firm. “I’ll always take care of you. Let me handle everything, okay.”

His words were filled with affection, but beneath them, there was still an unmistakable note of control.

You fought against the instinct to pull away, keeping your voice soft and steady. “I know, and I’m trying. I just thought you might like seeing me in something else, something like silk. But I’ll wear whatever you want.”

For a moment, there was silence between you, the weight of his gaze heavy on your skin. Then, finally, his lips twitched into a small, satisfied smile. The decision was final in his smile.

As Jungkook reached for the robe, you instinctively tightened your grip on it, he gently tugged it from your grasp. Panic flared in your chest as the soft fabric slipped down, but you reacted quickly, clutching the robe just before it fully exposed you. Only your shoulder and part of your collarbone were visible, the rest of the robe held tightly against your chest.

His eyes traced the newly exposed skin, lingering for a moment, before flicking up to meet your gaze. A mix of emotions flickered in his expression, something between satisfaction and curiosity, as though he was testing your boundaries, watching how far you’d go to resist.

“You don’t need to hide from me,” he murmured, his voice low and gentle, though laced with possessiveness.

You grip firmly on the robe as you carefully shielded yourself.

Ironically, even then as a stripper, you’d never shown much of yourself. Most of the outfits you wore, body suits and lingerie, had always covered more than they revealed. It was a kind of armor, a way to maintain some control over your own body, despite the prying eyes watching you night after night.

He paused, clearly not used to being denied, even in such a small way. His hand brushed your arm, fingers ghosting over your bare shoulder, sending a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, as you let him pull the hoodie down over your head. Even as the oversized fabric enveloped you, you kept your grip on the robe beneath it, protecting yourself, both from the cold and from the vulnerability of being completely exposed to him.

As Jungkook stepped back, admiring how the hoodie looked on you, his gaze shifted to your wet hair, droplets falling onto the fabric. He frowned slightly, a hint of concern crossing his face. "Your hair's dripping water" he said softly, reaching out to brush a strand behind your ear. "I don’t want you catching a cold."

Without waiting for your response, he turned toward the vanity. "Let me get you a hair tie."

As soon as his back was turned, your heart raced, knowing you had just seconds. You glanced quickly at the bed where the sweatpants were lying. Without thinking, you dropped the robe that was covering your waist down. Moving swiftly but silently, you grabbed the sweatpants and stepped into them, pulling them up just as Jungkook returned with the hair tie in hand.

His eyes immediately went to the sweatpants now covering your legs. For a brief moment, his smile faltered, and you could see a flicker of disappointment in his expression. His gaze lingered on the fabric, and the tension between you grew heavier.

He had been expecting something different, a chance to savor the control he had over you in this moment, and now, it was slipping. You saw the sadness in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable, as he handed you the hair tie.

"You were quick," he said softly, his tone gentle but tinged with regret. His fingers brushed the fabric of the sweatpants lightly, as if he were reconsidering what to say next. "I just wanted to help."

You forced a smile, trying to smooth things over. "I know," you replied, taking the hair tie from him. "I just got cold and... I thought it would be better." You paused, meeting his eyes, hoping the reassurance in your voice was enough. "But I appreciate everything you do for me. Really."

He exhaled slowly, his hand falling back to his side. He nodded, though you could still feel that lingering disappointment in the air.

“Let’s not think about it too much, okay?” he said, his voice dipping into that sweet tone he used when trying to soothe over any conflict. “Why don’t we relax for a bit? We could watch a movie, something we both enjoy. How about that?”

You nodded, keeping the smile on your face. “Sure, that sounds nice.”

Without another word, Jungkook took your hand and guided you toward the living room, where the plush couch awaited. As he set up the movie, you could feel his presence behind you, close and attentive, his fingers brushing your back as if testing the waters. Once everything was ready, he sat down next to you, immediately pulling you into his lap, his arms wrapping securely around your waist.

As the movie went on, you could feel his eyes on you more than the screen. Every so often, his hands would drift, brushing over your thighs, running along your back, and occasionally tightening as if to remind you that you were his. His touch became bolder, more insistent, until it started to feel like he was less interested in the movie and more focused on you.

You shifted uncomfortably, trying to redirect his attention to the screen. "This part's really good," you said lightly, gesturing toward the TV, but he wasn’t paying attention. His lips pressed against your neck, lingering there for longer than you wanted. Your heart raced as you tried to stay calm, forcing a nervous laugh.

"Jungkook... maybe we can just-"

Before you could finish, his phone buzzed, cutting through the moment like a lifeline. His grip on you loosened slightly, he took out the phone with a sigh, frustration flashing in his eyes.

"Hold on, just one second," he murmured. His fingers lingered on your waist for a moment before he finally pulled away completely and gently moved you aside, standing as he answered the call. His voice shifted, going from soft to firm and businesslike. "Yeah? What is it?"

He paced across the room, his back to you now, as he discussed something about a meeting that needed his attention. You sat there, your heart still pounding from the intensity of his closeness, but now relieved by the brief reprieve.

Jungkook shot you a glance, his expression torn between annoyance at the interruption and reluctance to leave you alone. "I have to take care of something at work," he said, his tone clipped but apologetic. "I’ll be back before dinner. Just stay here, okay? I'll make it quick."

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak, and watched as he gathered his things.

Jungkook lingered by the door, his hand on the handle as he turned back to face you. His expression softened, but there was something darker underneath- a warning, a reminder of control. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling intensity.

“I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret while I’m gone, princess,” he said quietly, his voice firm yet gentle, as if coaxing you into compliance. “And I really don’t want us to do anything we’ll both regret.” The words, though calm, carried an unmistakable edge.

Your stomach twisted at the unspoken threat in his tone. You forced yourself to smile, nodding obediently. “Of course. I’ll just stay here, wait for you to come back,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

He moved closer again, reaching out to brush your hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just a little too long. “Good girl,” he murmured, his fingers gently gripping your chin, lifting your face to meet his gaze. “I’ll know if you try anything. Don’t forget that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his gaze, his thumb tracing your lower lip in a way that made your skin crawl despite the tenderness. He was always like this, smothering affection masking something far more dangerous. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment too long before he pulled away.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, a twisted warmth in his tone. “Be good while I’m gone.” With that, he stepped away, finally exiting the room, but not before casting one last look over his shoulder, as if ensuring you understood exactly what he expected.

You heard the door click shut, the sound echoing in your ears like a warning bell. Your mind racing, trying to process everything. He hadn’t locked the door, not this time, but you knew better than to believe you could just walk out without consequence. There would be cameras, perhaps even people watching.

A part of you wanted to rush for the door, but you knew better. You had to be smart, strategic. Trying to escape now would only tighten his grip, making things even worse. If you were going to find a way out, it had to be subtle, planned, and with no room for error.

Taking a shaky breath. For now, you had to play the part.

You stood there for a moment, listening to the quiet hum of the apartment after Jungkook left. The air felt heavy, as though his presence still lingered, even though you were alone now. But his words echoed in your mind: “I’ll know if you try anything.”

You forced yourself to breathe slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. You couldn't act hastily, not now. You glanced toward the door, freedom, but not without consequences. You had no idea what surveillance systems or traps he might have in place. You knew he was possessive enough to ensure you wouldn’t just slip out without him knowing. He always had control, even when he wasn’t physically there.

You looked around the apartment, your mind running through all the possibilities, all the things he could be watching. Cameras? Maybe. Some kind of alert system? You couldn’t rule it out. You’d learned early on that he wasn’t the kind of person to leave anything to chance.

Carefully, you walked toward the window, pulling the curtain back just enough to peek outside. You were several stories up. Jumping wasn’t an option.

Your mind buzzed with ideas, trying to balance hope with fear. What could you do now to buy yourself more time, more trust? You knew you had to be smart, to play along even when it felt suffocating. Maybe this time, when he returned, you could act more compliant, give him a reason to believe you were falling in line. You just needed him to let his guard down a little more.

With a sigh, you moved back to the couch, deciding it was safer to wait. You couldn’t make any rash decisions. Not yet.

As you sat, your mind shifted back to Jungkook’s behavior, his unsettling mix of affection and control. He truly believed he was doing this out of love, protecting you, caring for you. That delusion fueled his every action, and it made him unpredictable. You knew you had to carefully navigate his moods. Push too hard, and he’d snap. Give in too much, and you’d lose yourself completely.

You fiddled with the hem of his oversized hoodie he had dressed you in, the material soft against your skin, and the subtle scent of laundry detergent. You had to stay calm, stay strategic. Maybe you could make dinner for him. A way to show him you were being “good,” just as he expected.

As you made your way to the kitchen, an idea came to mind: Bibimbap. It was simple, comforting, and reminded you of times when things were easier. Back when you had to scrape together whatever ingredients you had just to make a meal, tossing them into a bowl of rice with a bit of protein.

You opened the fridge and scanned for what you needed. There were eggs, some vegetables, and a bit of leftover beef, perfect for what you had in mind. Cooking could help settle your nerves, and more importantly, it could keep Jungkook happy.

Just as you were about to place the fried egg in the bowl for the final touch, you heard the front door open. He was back, sooner than expected. Your heart jumped into your throat, and you quickly composed yourself, forcing a soft smile as you turned toward him.

Jungkook stepped inside, his eyes scanning the room briefly before landing on you. There was a strange relief in his expression, as if he had been expecting to find you somewhere you shouldn’t be. He smiled, walking over to you, his fingers brushing your cheek as he leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

"You’re still here. Good girl," he murmured, his voice a mix of affection and possession. "I’m glad you didn’t try anything… disappointing."

You swallowed hard, maintaining the calm facade. "Of course not," you whispered, keeping your tone steady. "I was waiting for you."

His gaze softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, like he truly believed this twisted version of love. He sat down next to you, pulling you into his arms, his touch tight yet oddly gentle. "Let’s spend the rest of the evening together, just us," he said quietly, his lips brushing your temple. "I want to enjoy every second with you."

You nodded, leaning into his embrace, knowing that for now, you had no choice but to play along. Each small victory would build toward something bigger, toward an escape.

Suddenly, Jungkook pulled back and grabbed the bowl of food you had prepared from the counter, setting it down next to you. Without a word, he picked up a spoon, his expression calm. He scooped some food from the bowl, and turned toward you with a faint smile.

"You know," he said, his voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and something darker, "I think you need a little help."

Before you could respond, he brought the spoon closer to your lips, his gaze unwavering. "Open up," he commanded softly, his tone leaving no room for refusal.

Your heart raced, instinctively pulling back. "I can feed myself," you protested, but the tremor in your voice betrayed your fear.

“Not today,” he replied, leaning closer, his dark eyes locking onto yours with unsettling intensity. “You’re going to let me feed you.”

“Look at it this way,” he said softly, his fingers brushing the side of your face. “It’s a way for you to make up for your bad behavior from this morning. All is forgiven now.” His tone was almost gentle, as if offering you a gift wrapped in his twisted logic.

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew what he meant, your resistance earlier, your small acts of defiance. They hadn’t gone unnoticed. Every decision you made, every hesitation, was another test to him, and now, by complying, you were wiping the slate clean. At least in his eyes.

You forced yourself to nod, your throat tight. "I’m glad everything’s okay now," you whispered, trying to match his calm tone, though the words felt hollow.

He smiled again, "That’s my girl," he murmured.

"We’ll be fine as long as you keep behaving." He held the spoon near your lips, the savory scent mixing with the rising anxiety in your chest. You felt trapped, the weight of his control suffocating as the desire to resist clashed violently with the fear of what he might do if you refused.

"Just one bite," he urged, his voice deceptively gentle. "That’s all I ask. You might even like it."

You hesitated, the spoon hovering inches from your mouth. His breath brushed your skin, warm and suffocating, and despite every fiber of your being screaming to resist, you reluctantly parted your lips. He fed you the bite, his eyes lighting up with satisfaction as you chewed.

“Good girl,” he praised softly, his voice laced with twisted affection. “See? Not so bad, is it?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze, focusing instead on the way he savored your submission, each bite you took a victory for him. He continued feeding you, the act a power play more than an act of care. “Good girl,” he murmured again, his praise becoming a sickly sweet reminder of how much he enjoyed your obedience.

You swallowed the last bite, but before you could protest, he was already lifting another spoonful to your lips. "No more," you whispered, shaking your head. But he only smiled, unbothered by your plea.

“You’re not done yet,” he replied, his voice still calm but now carrying a subtle warning. “You need to eat. I won’t let you starve yourself.”

Each bite felt like a slow erosion of your autonomy, a surrender to the web of control he had wrapped around you. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he set the spoon down and wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

“There. Good. Now, was that so hard?” he asked, his smile widening, a smug satisfaction radiating from him.

You could barely hold back the bile rising in your throat as he tilted his head, his eyes flashing with something dark and possessive. “Soon, you’ll see things my way.”

__________

The days blurred together in a suffocating routine after that morning. Each day, you played your part, becoming the perfect version of the person Jungkook wanted you to be, feeding into his twisted fantasy of love and control. You adapted, not out of choice, but out of survival, carefully treading the fine line between submission and manipulation.

Jungkook, on the surface, seemed content. Every morning, he’d wake you with soft kisses, his arms tight around you as he whispered promises of love. You’d smile, kiss him back, and play along, even when every touch made your skin crawl. Breakfast was always a quiet ritual, with him feeding you more often than not, his gaze watching your every move, ensuring you didn’t deviate from his expectations.

In the afternoons, he’d insist on spending time together, whether it was watching TV or simply lounging around. His arms were always around you, his touch never far. It was smothering, but you endured it, knowing that resistance would only tighten his grip. You began to flatter him, giving him small, calculated compliments, making him believe that you were starting to see things his way. Each word was carefully crafted, designed to earn his trust, to keep him from suspecting that behind your compliance was a growing determination to escape.

You started doing more for him, small acts of care that fed into his obsession. You made his favorite meals, dressed in clothes he picked out for you, and even initiated moments of affection, all while hiding the fear and anger that simmered beneath the surface. You needed him to believe you were falling in line, that you were happy, even when the chains around you grew tighter every day.

And he did believe it. The more you played into his fantasy, the more he relaxed. He started leaving you alone for short periods, his possessiveness loosening just enough to give you moments of freedom. But even then, you knew he was watching. There were cameras, there had to be. You could feel his presence, even when he wasn’t there.

Yet, despite the facade you maintained, the anger inside you grew. Every time he praised you for being his "good girl," every time he fed you like a child or held you too tight, it fueled the fire burning in your chest. You hated how easily he controlled your life, how he believed you were his to command.

But you also knew that anger wasn’t enough. If you were going to escape, you had to be smart. You needed to play the long game, to lull him into a sense of security. Every smile, every affectionate word, was a brick in the wall you were building between you and his suspicions. Slowly, carefully, you were laying the groundwork for your escape.

As the days passed, Jungkook grew more comfortable with your “submission.” He praised you often, told you how proud he was of how you were “adjusting” to his love. Each time he said it, your heart twisted, but you forced a smile, knowing that it was part of the plan. The more he believed in your compliance, the more likely he was to slip, to give you the opening you needed.

But for now, you remain trapped in the routine, your every move calculated, your words carefully chosen. The slivers of freedom he gave you were small, but they were enough for now. You knew that eventually, the trust you were building would be your key to escape. It had to be.

You sat on the couch, curled up under a soft blanket, your legs stretched out across Jungkook’s lap. He was working, as he often did these days, typing on his laptop with one hand while absentmindedly rubbing your feet and calf with the other. The quiet sound of his fingers on the keyboard and the gentle pressure of his touch were strangely soothing, but the tension in your chest refused to ease.

Your book, Gone Girl, lay open in your lap. It had been months since you’d had time to read for pleasure, back when your life was a whirlwind of school and juggling two jobs. Now, though, things were different. Your days were long, filled with a strange mixture of peace and suffocation, where the boundaries of control and submission were constantly shifting.

Jungkook had been working from home more often lately, his gaze flicking between you and his computer screen. He liked having you near, a constant presence that fed into his need to know where you were, what you were doing, at all times. You had grown accustomed to it, the way he monitored your movements even when his attention seemed elsewhere. But tonight, something was different. Maybe it was the quiet, or maybe it was the fact that he'd been in a particularly good mood recently, satisfied with how you were behaving.

You glanced at him over the top of your book, the glow of his laptop reflecting off his features. He looked calm, focused on his work. Now felt like the right time to bring it up. You’d been absent from school for weeks, your professors likely wondering where you had gone. But more importantly, your final exam was approaching. If you missed it, you wouldn’t pass the course you've fought sleepless for.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. It wasn’t that you were afraid of asking, Jungkook rarely reacted harshly to your questions, but the idea of returning to school, even for an exam, meant the possibility of freedom. And you knew how he felt about that.

Still, you had to try.

“Babe,” you said softly, trying to keep your tone light and casual, “I’ve been thinking about school.”

His fingers paused on your leg, just for a second, before continuing their gentle massage. His eyes remained fixed on his screen, though you knew he was listening intently.

“What about school?” he asked, his tone even, though you sensed a hint of curiosity beneath it.

“I’ve been gone for a while now,” you continued carefully. “I still need to take my final exams at the end of the month if I want to graduate.”

There was a brief silence, the sound of his typing slowing to a stop. He finally looked at you, his dark eyes scanning your face as if trying to gauge your intentions.

“I thought we talked about this,” he said quietly, his hand tightening slightly around your calf. “School isn’t something you need to worry about anymore. You’re with me now.”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay calm. You couldn’t afford to push too hard. “I know, but graduating is important to me. It’s something I worked really hard for, and I just need one more year before I graduate. After that, I’ll be done.”

Jungkook’s expression didn’t change, but his grip on your leg remained firm. He seemed to consider your words, his eyes narrowing slightly as he processed the request. You could see the wheels turning in his mind, weighing the risk of letting you out of his sight, even for something as seemingly harmless as an exam.

“I don’t like the idea of you going back there,” he said finally, his voice soft but edged with tension. “Too many people. Too many distractions.”

“I’ll only go for the exam,” you promised, your voice gentle but firm. “I won’t stay longer than I need to. Just in and out. You can even drop me off and pick me up, if that makes you feel better.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his thumb idly rubbing small circles on your ankle. You could see the conflict in his eyes, his desire to give you what you wanted clashing with his need to control every aspect of your life.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ll think about it,” he said, his voice a little more relaxed. “But I don’t want you getting any ideas. You know how much I care about you.”

“I know,” you whispered, relief washing over you even as a knot of anxiety twisted in your stomach. You had planted the seed. Now you just had to hope it would grow into an opportunity, one that you could use to finally reclaim a piece of your freedom.

__________

Three days had passed since that conversation, and the knot in your stomach had only tightened. The exam was fast approaching, and you could feel the weight of it looming over you, just as much as the constant, watchful presence of Jungkook. He hadn’t brought it up again, and you were too afraid to push the topic further just yet. But the clock was ticking, and you knew that soon, you’d have to.

Jungkook had been busier than usual lately, ever since his father passed away. The responsibilities that came with running the family business had doubled, and you could see the strain in his face, in the way he carried himself. He spent hours in his office, buried in paperwork, his attention consumed by the demands of the company.

You sat on the armchair in the corner of his office, reading the book in your lap, though you hadn’t turned a page in the past thirty minutes. Instead, your eyes kept drifting toward him, watching the focused look on his face as he scribbled notes or typed away at his computer. The tension in the room was palpable, even though neither of you had said a word for the last hour.

Finally, he sighed, running a hand through his hair, the fatigue clear in his movements. He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temples, clearly feeling the pressure of everything on his shoulders. You knew he hated being questioned or distracted when he was like this, but you couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Jungkook,” you said softly, careful to keep your tone gentle.

He didn’t look up right away, but you saw the slight tightening of his jaw, a telltale sign that he had heard you. After a moment, he placed his pen down and finally met your gaze.

“What is it sweetheart?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with exhaustion.

You swallowed hard, trying to gather your courage. “I know you’ve been thinking about it… and I appreciate it. But the exam is only a few days away. I really need to know what we’re going to do.”

Jungkook’s eyes darkened slightly, but his expression remained controlled. “You don’t need to worry about the exam. You don’t need school anymore. I’m taking care of everything.”

You bit your lip, feeling the familiar frustration bubbling up inside you. “But I’ve worked so hard for this. I need to graduate, Jungkook. I can’t just... quit. You said you’d think about it.”

He let out a long breath, standing up and walking around his desk to where you sat. His eyes softened, but it didn’t comfort you. Instead, it sent a shiver down your spine.

“Princess,” he said gently, reaching out to cup your cheek, “I understand that this is important to you. But you don’t need that degree. You have me. I’ll take care of you. You don’t need to go back to that life.”

You pulled away slightly, shaking your head. “That’s not the point. I want to finish this. It’s something I’ve worked for.”

His gaze hardened, just a fraction, but enough for you to notice. “You need to stop thinking about what you want,” he said, his voice firm. “This is what’s best for you. Trust me.”

Your chest tightened as you looked at him, your frustration turning into something sharper, something closer to anger. You had done everything he asked. You had been patient, played the role of the compliant partner, all for this one moment of freedom. And now, he was taking that away too.

“I’ve been patient,” you said, your voice shaking with barely-contained frustration. “I’ve done everything you wanted. But you promised. You said you’d think about it.”

Jungkook’s expression remained unbothered, as though your words had no effect on him. “I did think about it,” he said, his voice cold. “And I’ve decided. You’re not going back to school. You’re staying here, where you belong.” He turned his back to you, walking back to his desk.

That was it. That was the moment everything broke.

Before you even had time to process the fury building inside you, your eyes locked onto the vase on the table next to the armchair. Your mind screamed at you to stop, but your body moved before you could think. In one swift motion, you grabbed the vase, the weight of it grounding you for just a split second before you swung it at him.

The vase hit him on the side of the head with a sickening crack.

Jungkook collapsed to the floor with a groan, his hand flying to his head as he struggled to process what had just happened. Blood seeped through his fingers, and his eyes flickered with shock as he looked up at you.

“Princess…” he rasped, his voice hoarse with confusion and disbelief. “What... what did you-”

You ran.

You bolted for the door, your heart pounding in your chest as you sprinted down the hallway, your mind a whirlwind of panic and adrenaline. The front door to the penthouse was open, a careless mistake on his part, a sliver of luck for you. You didn’t care about anything else anymore. You didn’t care about his control, or even the fear of what he would do if he caught you.

All you wanted was out. Out of this suffocating place, out of this twisted prison he had built around you.

Out of him.

You bolted for the door, heart pounding so hard you could hear it in your ears. The vase clattered to the floor behind you as you sprinted toward the elevator, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You didn’t think, there was no time for thinking. You just knew you had to get out.

The hallway blurred as you ran, adrenaline surging through your veins. The elevator doors were open, another moment of luck in a twisted series of events. You threw yourself inside, slamming your hand against the button to close the doors as fast as possible.

The elevator doors slid shut with a quiet hum, sealing you inside. Your hands trembled as you pressed the button for the lobby, willing the elevator to move faster. You had no idea how long it would take for Jungkook to recover, but you knew it wouldn’t be long before he came after you.

As the elevator descended, your chest tightened, each floor feeling like an eternity. You pressed yourself into the corner of the elevator, your whole body shaking as you tried to catch your breath. The reality of what you’d just done hit you all at once, crashing over you like a wave.

You hit him.

You hit Jungkook.

But you didn’t regret it. You couldn’t regret it. Not after everything he had done, keeping you trapped, controlling every part of your life.

You closed your eyes, feeling tears sting at the edges, but you fought them back. You didn’t have time to break down now. The elevator dinged softly as it reached the lobby, and you wiped your eyes quickly, forcing yourself to focus. The doors slid open, revealing the bright lights of the ground floor.

Freedom.

You stepped out, your legs weak beneath you, but you forced yourself to keep moving. People were walking past you in the lobby, completely unaware of the storm you had just escaped from upstairs.

You had no plan, no phone, no money. Still, all that mattered was that you were out. Away from him.

And you weren’t going back.

You burst through the doors of the lobby and into the night, your legs carrying you without direction, just away. Away from Jungkook, away from the suffocating control, away from the penthouse that had been your prison for far too long. You ran blindly through the city streets, heart racing, breath shallow, your feet slamming against the pavement with each desperate step. The cool night air whipped against your face, but it did little to clear the panic clouding your mind.

You couldn’t stop. You couldn’t ask for help. Who would believe you? He was Jeon fucking Jungkook, one of the richest, one of the most powerful men. If you went to the authorities, they’d likely send you straight back to him. Money bought silence, it bought control, and you knew better than anyone just how tightly he held that control.

You needed to disappear. To vanish completely until he couldn’t find you, until he finally gave up. But how??

The thought of going back, of being caught, terrified you more than anything. You needed help. You needed money. That’s when you remembered the necklace hanging around your neck, the one Jungkook had given you. It was expensive, something rare and exclusive, probably worth a fortune. Maybe you could sell it, use the cash to disappear for a little while.

But first, you needed a place to stay. Somewhere safe, at least for the night. Your parents lived too far away. You couldn’t risk reaching out to them, not yet. The only person you could think of was Bora. Sweet, dependable Bora. She had always been there for you, and maybe, just maybe she’d still help you now.

But could you risk getting her involved? If Jungkook found out she helped you, she could get caught in the crossfire. The thought gnawed at you, but you didn’t have many options. Bora worked at the strip club, usually at this time of night. Maybe you could swing by, ask for some quick cash, and move on before Jungkook even had a chance to realize where you’d gone.

You stopped in your tracks, panting, your lungs burning from the nonstop sprint through the city. You bent over, hands on your knees, trying to catch your breath. “Breathe”, you told yourself. “Just breathe”.

As you straightened up, your eyes caught something pinned to a streetlight nearby. An old, wrinkled poster. Something familiar.

You took a step closer, squinting under the dim streetlight. The faded ink became clearer. It was a missing person report. Your missing person report. Your own face stared back at you, a photo from what felt like a lifetime ago.

Beneath your name, someone had scribbled something in jagged handwriting.

Rest in peace Angel.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Cold realization washed over you. I’m dead. Jungkook made sure of it.

The world tilted for a moment as the weight of what he had done finally hit you. Everyone thought you were gone, your family, your friends, anyone who might’ve come looking for you. They had already mourned you, accepted your death. No one was looking for you anymore. As far as the world was concerned, you didn’t exist.

He had erased you.

You staggered back, the noise of the city fading as you stared at the poster, at the brutal, final words scribbled beneath your name. Jungkook had planned this all along, trapping you in his world, and now, even if you ran, you had no identity to run with.

But you had to run. And you had to survive. You had to find Bora, get enough money to keep moving. The thought of stopping, of letting him catch up to you, was unbearable.

You glanced around, panic rising again, your heart pounding louder than ever. The clock was ticking. You had to go.

You slowed down, heart still racing, trying to steady your breath as you kept moving toward the back of the club. The line stretched on, men jostling for position, but you weren’t going through the front. The bouncers, tall, muscular figures with sunglasses even at night, stood like sentinels at the door, arms crossed, keeping watch over the chaos.

God, you hated this place. The memories here were bitter, nights spent working, enduring the leering stares, the unwanted touches, the crude jokes. But now, this was the only place you could turn to. The only person you had left was inside.

You slipped down the alley, the familiar route you used to take when you worked here. The scent of cigarette smoke and alcohol clung to the air, a sharp contrast to the cool breeze brushing against your flushed skin.

You kept your head down, weaving through the crowd toward the back of the building. There was a secret door in the back, hidden from the public, where the staff would slip in and out during shifts. You didn’t have your key anymore, of course, but you remembered the routine. Girls always came out for smoke breaks here.

Your breath hitched as you reached for the door handle, hoping to slip in quietly, unnoticed. But before you could even touch it, the door swung open.

You stumbled back, heart leaping into your throat.

“Oh my god,” a voice muttered, and your eyes shot up to see one of the dancers, Sana, one of the regulars, blinking at you in surprise. She was dressed in her stage outfit, cigarette in hand, her eyes wide as she took you in.

“What the hell...?” she asked, her eyes narrowing in confusion. “Wait... is that-is that really you?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you grabbed her wrist, pulling her out of the doorway just enough to slip inside, keeping your face hidden as much as you could.

“Sana, I-I need to see Bora,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “Is she here tonight?”

Sana stared at you, her expression caught between disbelief and alarm. "Wait, wait, hold on-what's going on? You-you're supposed to be-"

“I know,” you cut her off, your voice urgent. “I can’t explain right now. Just... please. I need to see her.”

Sana hesitated for a moment, clearly confused, but then nodded slowly. “She’s inside, on stage. She should be finishing up soon.”

Relief surged through you, though it was mixed with the familiar dread of being in this place again. “Thank you,” you muttered before slipping past her and into the dimly lit hallway.

The familiar thrum of music filled your ears as you made your way down the narrow corridor, past the lockers and dressing rooms. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, perfume, and alcohol, and you could hear the muffled cheers of the crowd beyond the main stage.

You hovered near the dressing rooms, hiding in the shadows, waiting for Bora’s set to finish. Your heart raced with every second that passed, the fear that Jungkook might somehow track you here gnawing at you. You had no idea how much time you had before he realized you were gone, before he started searching.

After what felt like an eternity, you finally saw Bora walking off the stage, her usual confidence dimmed by exhaustion. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and glanced around, heading toward the dressing room. You stepped out from the shadows, your hands trembling.

"Bora."

Her head whipped around at the sound of your voice, her eyes widening as they landed on you. She froze, her face going pale. "Angel... You're-"

"I'm alive," you whispered, stepping closer. "But I need your help. Please, Bora, I don't have much time."

Her eyes darted around the room, panic flashing across her face as she processed the situation. She grabbed your arm, pulling you into the dressing room and slamming the door behind you. "What the hell happened to you? We all thought... we thought you were gone! A body, they found a body-everyone thinks you're dead!"

"I know," you whispered, your voice cracking. "It was Jungkook. He made it look like I was dead. I-I just escaped from him."

Bora's expression shifted from shock to anger. "That bastard. I knew something was off with him. But why come here? If he knows you're here, he's going to come after you. This place isn't safe!"

"I know, but I had nowhere else to go. I need money. I need to disappear, Bora."

She stared at you for a long moment, clearly torn between fear and the instinct to help you. Finally, she nodded, grabbing her purse from the counter. "Okay, okay... I’ll give you whatever cash I have on me. But you can’t stay here. He’ll find you."

You exhaled a shaky breath as she handed you a wad of bills. "Thank you. I won't stay long. I just need a head start."

Bora's eyes softened with concern as she stuffed more money into your hand. "You need to get far away from here. As far as you can."

You nodded, your hands trembling as you stuffed the cash into your pockets. "I will."

But even as you said the words, the lingering fear gnawed at you. How far could you really run from someone like Jungkook?

Bora’s eyes softened as she looked at you, the weight of everything hanging in the air between you. Before you could say anything else, she pulled you into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around you in a way that made your chest tighten with emotion.

“Please be safe,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the muffled music from the club.

You held on to her for a moment longer, your own arms squeezing her back. It had been so long since anyone had hugged you like that—since anyone had shown you kindness without control attached to it. You blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, knowing you didn’t have time to break down. Not here. Not now.

“I’ll try,” you whispered back, your voice shaky. “Thank you, Bora. For everything.”

She pulled back, her hands lingering on your arms for a second before she let you go. “Don’t come back here. Don’t let him find you,” she said, her voice fierce but laced with worry. “Disappear. For good.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I will.”

Before you could make your way toward the door, Bora grabbed your arm again, her eyes scanning you up and down. “Wait,” she said firmly. “You can’t go out there like this. He’ll recognize you immediately. Everyone will.”

You looked down at yourself, your clothes, they were from a life Jungkook had tailored for you, a life that you needed to shed to blend in, to disappear.

Bora was already moving, digging through her locker and pulling out a simple, dark outfit, one she usually wears going to work and back. “Here,” she said, shoving the clothes into your arms. “Change into this. It'll make it harder for anyone to spot you. Hurry. We don’t have much time.”

Without another word, you quickly pulled off your old clothes and slipped into Bora’s outfit. A dark pair of jeans, with a loose black hoodie and a warm black warm coat. It smelled a lot of perfume. You tied your hair back, glancing at yourself in the mirror.

Bora handed you a cap, adding the finishing touch. “There.” she said, a small, sad smile on her lips.

You gave her a grateful look, feeling your throat tighten. “Thank you,” you whispered again.

Bora pulled you in for another quick, tight hug. “Get out of here, okay? And don’t come back,” she repeated, her voice low and urgent. “He won’t stop if he finds out.”

You nodded, heart pounding as you finished dressing. “I won’t. I promise.”

With that, you headed toward the back exit.

You had to keep moving. You couldn’t afford to stop.

You pulled the hoodie tightly over your cap, tucking your hair beneath the fabric as you prepared to leave. Your mind raced with one thought: you needed to find a motel. Just for the night, somewhere to lie low until you could sell the necklace.

Pushing open the back door, you stepped into the cool night air, but before you could take another step, a hand grabbed your arm roughly, slamming you against the brick wall of the alley.

"Where are you off to?" a low voice growled, eyes narrowing at you.

"You're not Bora."

You froze, the shock rendering you speechless. The world blurred around you as you stared at the man who had pinned you. Panic surged through your veins until recognition hit you like a punch to the gut.

Jeong Jaehyun.

One of Jungkook’s closest friends.

Your heart hammered in your chest as you kept your head down, desperately trying to hide your face. "No... I’m not," you mumbled quickly, trying to keep your voice steady. "I’m her friend. I wasn’t feeling well, so I was sent home."

Jaehyun’s eyes raked over you, suspicion flickering across his features. "You look familiar," he said slowly, his grip tightening for a brief moment.

Your stomach lurched, but you forced a tight smile. "Yeah, well... I work here. Probably seen me around. I really have to go now," you said, your voice barely masking the fear.

You slipped away from his grip, pulling the hoodie tighter around your face, praying he wouldn’t connect the dots.

"Wait-"

Before he could stop you, another voice called out from behind him.

"Jaehyun! Where the hell are you, man? What are you doing back here?"

A distraction.

Without wasting another second, you pushed the door open wide and bolted, your feet slamming against the pavement as you ran down the alley. You could hear Jaehyun calling out behind you, but you didn’t look back.

You couldn’t catch a break. Every time you thought you were one step ahead, something or someone dragged you right back into it.

__________

Jungkook blinked, his vision swimming as the sharp pain in his head brought him back to the present. His fingers grazed the spot where the vase had hit him, and the warm trickle of blood running down his temple stung, but it wasn’t the pain that consumed him, it was the realization.

She hit me.

His princess, the one he had carefully protected, sheltered, loved, had just hit him and ran. The one he thought had finally understood their connection, their bond. She had betrayed him, and now she was gone.

He staggered to his feet, his breath coming in sharp bursts. The penthouse felt unnervingly quiet, the door slightly ajar, the echoes of her departure lingering like a slap to his face.

She ran.

The thought sent a fresh wave of fury through him. After everything he’d done for her, how he had protected her, made her feel safe, cared for her in ways no one else ever could, and she had the nerve to run?

His fist slammed against the wall, the plaster cracking under the pressure. His vision blurred, clouded by the dark haze of his anger. She thought she could escape him? That she could leave him after everything?

No.

She was his. She belonged to him, and she would always belong to him.

Jungkook stood still for a moment, letting the anger settle into something colder, more focused. He wiped the blood from his knuckles, smearing it across his fingertips before casually brushing it away. His mind was already racing through the next steps.

No matter how much he loved her, no matter how well he treated her, the thought of escape might flicker in her mind. But he had prepared for that. He wasn’t that naive. He wasn’t stupid.

In fact, he had been two steps ahead of her the entire time.

Jungkook reached into his desk drawer, his fingers brushing past papers and folders until he found what he was looking for- a small black device, barely larger than a key fob. He turned it over in his hand, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he thumbed the button on its side.

The tracker.

Weeks ago, when he’d first brought her into his world, he had planted a small tracking chip under her skin. A simple procedure. Harmless, unnoticed. She had no idea, of course. It was for her safety, for their safety. He couldn’t risk losing her.

The tiny chip, embedded beneath her skin in a place she would never think to check, allowed him to always know where she was. It was a precaution, one he had hoped he’d never need to use. But now? Now it was time to activate it.

Jungkook pressed the button on the device, watching as the screen lit up, a small blinking dot appearing on the map. He watched the blinking dot on the tracker screen, his expression calm, almost serene. She was running, heart pounding, mind probably racing with thoughts of escape. She thought she had outsmarted him, thought she had finally broken free.

Let her think that.

His fingers lightly traced over the small red dot on the screen, his smile widening. He could go after her now, catch her within the hour. But where was the fun in that? Where was the lesson? No, she needed to feel the weight of her decision, the consequences of trying to leave him. She needed to believe that freedom was within her reach, only to have it yanked away when he decided the time was right.

This wasn’t just about finding her. It was about showing her that she had never truly escaped. That she could run, hide, try to slip away into the cracks of the city, but he would always know where she was. Because she was his, and nothing could change that.

Jungkook leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing on the blinking dot that represented her. He’d give her time, just enough to think she’d won. Let her scramble, desperate and afraid. Let her believe that she was outsmarting him, that she had carved out a sliver of freedom.

But in reality, she was playing a game where the rules had already been set, and he held all the pieces.

He could wait. After all, the longer she thought she was free, the sweeter it would be when he finally pulled her back into his world.

Let her run. Let her think she had won.

But when he decided it was time—he’d make sure she knew that freedom had never really been hers to take.

Jungkook wiped the blood from his temple, his head still throbbing from the blow, but his lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.

“Run all you want, Princess,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and venomous, his fingers tightening around the edge of the desk as he steadied himself.

“I’ll always find you.”

#bts fanfic #white pearl #jungkook yandere fanfiction #yandere bts #bts yandere #bts fanfction #bts jungkook #bts jungkook fanfic #bts fanfiction #silver pearl #pearl series

1K notes · View notes

syoddeye · 4 months ago

Text

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part one part one cw: clothes stealing, forced transformation, coercion, familial abandonment, non-consensual touching/manhandling, restraints, masturbation mention, forced marriage forthcoming cw: dubcon, forced marriage, blood, mild injury a/n: reader is a swan shapeshifter. she retains some feathers as a human. based off this request, obvs influenced by swan-maidens, swan lake.

The first time he touches you, it's your wrist. A firm grip, just below the joint. Testing. Feeling the few feathers that sprout there, thumbing over the delicate, individual rachis.

You don't move. Don't speak. Torn between the instinct to flee and the paralyzing fear that you cannot. You watch his face. The thick brows, the kempt beard. The wrinkles that pull at his forehead when he frowns.

He is older than you—older than you look, at least. His arms are burly, heavy with muscle and hair, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows like he means to get his hands dirty at any moment. Willing to. Blue eyes, your favorite color until this second, framed by crow's feet and speak to experience.

He looks at you with expectations you wish you didn't understand.

"Can't leave without this, can you?"

Your dress, spun from feathers and thread, drapes over his shoulder like a pelt. As if it were a thing he hunted, caught, claimed—that he did not simply steal it from the lakeshore when you were distracted. It doesn't belong there. It doesn't belong anywhere but on you.

"Come along. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Your sisters are gone. Fled, shrieking into the oncoming sunrise. You do not blame them. But it hurts.

The lake is still. Empty.

He lets the silence stretch, patient. He has all the time in the world. You don't.

You've watched human men before, from a safe distance, tucked among the reeds with your sisters. You've seen what they do when they think no one is watching. The way their faces shift at the sight of a woman. The way their hands reach, take, ruin.

You are a flightless bird, exposed. Not much of a swan. A sitting duck.

What choice do you have?

You follow.

You learn his name is John. That he has lived in this cabin for almost a year. That he built it himself. That he traps and skins, chops wood, salts fish, keeps a gun out of reach, hidden like your dress.

He tells you these things in pieces, the same way he feeds you. A bowl of soup set down in front of you with no ceremony. A tin cup of well water. A torn hunk of bread.

He talks a little, asks a little.

"Never seen anything like you," he says on the second night while you cower behind his chair by the fire. Where you slept after tearing out of his arms and screaming yourself hoarse. "Wish you'd talk to me. Awfully shy, aren't you?"

It galls you. Shy. As if he is not keeping you here, naked. Vulnerable. You ache for your wings. The sky.

You say nothing.

He exhales through his nose, it sounds like a laugh. "I suppose it's not an easy thing, coming from a life like yours."

You want to ask him what he thinks your life was. But you don't want to know what he would say.

He keeps the dress in a chest under his bed.

You desperately search and find it while he is outside splitting wood. The latch is loose. Stupidly unlocked. You lift the lid and your breath catches. There it is. Your feathers, your escape, the lifeline that made you you.

Your fingers graze the fabric. It should be soft, but it feels wrong, foreign and unfamiliar under your hands. You wonder if it is altered. If it will still fit. If it's too late, tainted by his handling.

"Looking for something?"

You slam the lid shut.

John stands in the doorway, hands on his hips. Forehead slick with sweat. The axe is outside, leaning against the chopping block, but his knife is at his belt.

He'd hurt you if you tried to run, maybe kill you. You are not so sure you want to die.

You don't answer.

He crosses the room. He doesn't look angry. He looks—wry. Pleased. Like he had been waiting for this.

He kneels beside you, one arm resting on his knee, and tilts his head. Reeking of pine and tobacco smoke. "That's not for you anymore, darling."

You swallow. This is the closest you've been since he entrapped you. "It is mine."

He nods, as if conceding the point. "And what would you do with it?" he asks. "Go back? To what?"

He reaches out, wiping away a single, hot tear. The fireplace pops, and you feel the warmth of his skin before you feel the roughness of his fingers. You hate it.

"The lake is still empty. They've not come back."

You think of your sisters. You think of the wind under your wings and streaming over your back, the open sky. You think of the sound of John reviving the hearth in the morning, how he dropped a blanket over you the first night, and said, You'll freeze like that.

Of course, he thinks nothing of the fact that he's the reason why you're naked. Blind to it or willfully ignorant.

"It's just you and me now. I'll take care of you, Shy."

Shy. That isn't your name. But you'll be dead before you give your real one to him. At least something will remain yours.

You look at him. He is a big man. Broad shoulders and palms. Thick, hairy arms and a barrel chest. You've seen the thing between his legs—he's made no efforts to hide himself or alter his routine with you hiding in the corner. He touches himself in the dark when he thinks you're sleeping.

He could break you easily. But he hasn't.

Not yet.

He brushes his knuckles over your cheek.

"Can't believe I found you," he says. "A pretty wife, fished from the lake. Or the sky, I suppose." He smiles, chuckling as if you're both in on the joke. "Mm. Wife." He presses his thumb to your bottom lip. "Yeah, like the sound of that. I'll make you a proper wife."

The way he says it is careful. Thoughtful. It is a promise, or a threat. You cannot tell which.

You look at the chest.

You look at John.

And you do not answer.

John returns at dusk, the door creaking wide to let in the last slant of daylight, and finds you trussed up where he left you. Your wrists are raw, delicate skin rubbed angry beneath the ropes that tightened with your struggling.

His shadow spills over you, and a sigh slips from him, edged with disappointment. He crouches. Fingers press into your skin, prodding where the rope bit deepest.

"Damn near hurt yourself, honey," he scolds, massaging the worst of the raw spots. He touches you in the way you've seen him care for his axe. Slow, reverent, making sure nothing is too damaged. Unusable.

A hand settles over the soft, feathery patch above your rump, fingers carding through it appreciatively, lingering before he unravels the last knot. He ignores your hissing.

The moment you're free, you scramble away, body aching. You tuck yourself behind his chair, peeking out with sharp, distrustful eyes. He lets you go, lets you think you've won some small mercy.

Then he turns his back, shaking out his coat, unpacking the sack he carried in, setting out each item on the table. Dull, practical offerings—salt, flour, needles, twine. Things for a life you don't want. Things for a home you will never call yours. And last, draped over his forearm, a dress. Mundane. Plain, homespun, the color of stone.

But you are distracted. Staring at the chest.

He only addresses your fixation when he's finished, and hauls it out from under the bed.

"Take a look."

You do. You don't want to, but you do. Your gaze flicks to him first, wary, waiting for the trap. You open it, and your stomach drops.

Your head snaps up, stuttering, eyes glossing over with hot, helpless rage.

His smile stretches, knowing. Then, he produces the last item from his trip and draws a bundle from the sack.

He explains it's the reason why he's later than expected. A special order that took hours and a bit of coin, but was well worth it. The seamstress did fine work.

Isn't it pretty?

See the little wing pattern she stitched in?

They're the only wings you'll have now.

He holds it out, delicate feathers and lace draping over his hand, the ruined remnants of your freedom reshaped into something grotesque. A wedding veil.

"Try it on for me, darling," he murmurs, offering it with one hand and adjusting himself with the other. "Let me see my bride."

part two | masterlist

#john price x reader #price x reader

1K notes · View notes

getosghostnut · 1 day ago

Text

𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕁𝕁𝕂 𝕄𝕖𝕟’𝕤 𝕂𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕤

CW // Content Warnings: Explicit NSFW / 18+, oral, fingering, facefucking, edging, overstimulation, degradation, praise, D/s dynamics, spit kink, choking, bloodplay, cumplay, breeding, impact play, orgasm control, bondage, exhibitionism, rough sex, cockwarming, fear kink, implied consensual non-consent.

ꜱᴜɢᴜʀᴜ ɢᴇᴛᴏ – ᴏʙꜱᴇꜱꜱɪᴏɴ, ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ, ʙʀᴇᴇᴅɪɴɢ

Suguru doesn’t just fuck you. He devotes himself to you. There’s a kind of reverence in the way he touches you—as if your cunt is sacred, your moans divine.

And his favorite ritual? Filling you.

"Open your legs for me, pretty girl," he murmurs, kneeling at the edge of the bed, the sheer silk of your robe pushed back off your thighs.

Your breath hitches when his tongue licks a slow stripe up your slit, and then he groans like he’s been starving.

“You smell like sin and taste sweeter. I should be arrested for this.”

He doesn't stop until you cum twice on his mouth, crying into the sheets while his hands never once leave your thighs. Then he drags you down, flips you over, and mounts you slow—deep—his cock stretching you open until you're gasping.

And the whole time?

He talks.

“Look at you, trembling already. You’re perfect. Fucking built for me.”

“You want me to breed this pussy again, don’t you? You want to feel me leaking out of you all night.”

When he cums, it’s deep—groaning your name into your shoulder, pushing his seed in with his cock like he’s seeding a garden he plans to fuck into bloom again tomorrow.

And you’d let him.

Every. Damn. Time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ – ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛɪᴏɴɪꜱᴍ, ꜰᴀᴄᴇꜰᴜᴄᴋɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇ

Gojo doesn’t believe in secrets. He wants your moans bouncing off the fucking walls.

"You know what I want, angel?" he murmurs with a feral grin as he walks you into the hotel suite window overlooking the city. "I want them to see how good your mouth looks full of my cock."

You don’t even have time to protest before he’s already on the couch, cock out, and patting his thigh with that smug expression.

"Knees. Show me how much you missed me."

He makes you work for it.

He holds your hair and fucks your throat slow and steady, hips rolling, guiding your pace until you're gagging softly and drooling down your chin.

“You're doing so well, sweetheart,” he moans. “Fuck—such a good little throat. Can I cum in there? Hm?”

And then he does, thick and heavy, groaning loud as he watches your lips part to take it all.

But he doesn’t stop there.

He strokes your cheek with two long fingers. “Open wider. Tongue out.”

You obey, and he spits in your mouth, smirking as you swallow it like you’ve been trained.

He tucks himself back in with a smirk, wipes your tears, and kisses your forehead.

“That’s my perfect girl. We’re not even halfway done yet.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ᴛᴏᴊɪ ꜰᴜꜱʜɪɢᴜʀᴏ – ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜꜱʏ, ʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴅᴏᴍ, ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ

Toji isn’t insecure.

He’s possessive.

Territorially, unapologetically, animalistically possessive.

So when he sees another man so much as breathe too close to you, he’s already planning exactly how he’ll remind you who you belong to.

“You like that, huh? Letting him look at you like that?” he growls as he slams the door behind you, ripping your shirt straight down the middle.

You're pinned against the wall before you can speak, his hand around your throat—not squeezing, just holding—and his eyes are dark, almost unreadable.

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else.”

And he does.

He tears your panties down, sits in a chair, and drops you on his cock like you’re nothing but a toy.

But instead of fucking you—he just stays there.

Cockwarming.

“You sit still, doll,” he whispers into your ear. “Don’t move. Not unless you want me to pull out and make you beg for it.”

His hands roam your tits, your throat, his mouth on your jaw, your shoulder. And the longer you sit—full, throbbing, needy—the more wrecked you get.

By the time he starts fucking you?

You’re crying. Desperate. Screaming his name like a prayer.

And he loves it.

“Now that’s the sound I wanted. Fuck—so tight. You’re mine. Only mine.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ꜱᴜᴋᴜɴᴀ – ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴋɪɴᴋ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅᴘʟᴀʏ, ᴘᴏᴡᴇʀ

With Sukuna, it’s not sex. It’s a hunt. A performance. A show of power where you're the sacrificial offering—and he's the devil come to feast.

He doesn’t ask. He takes.

"You want to be used, don't you, pet?" he snarls as he shoves you down to the temple floor, his black claws slicing through your clothes like paper.

You tremble beneath him, naked, breathless, aching, and he just laughs—low and dark.

“You're trembling. Good. You should be scared.”

He slaps your pussy just to hear the sound, just to watch you jump. Then he spits between your thighs and drives his cock in, hard, stretching you until you're clawing at the stone.

“You’ll bleed for me,” he growls, and he makes sure of it—with teeth and tongue and hands that grip too tight.

But it isn’t cruel. It’s intentional.

He watches your face every second.

Every moan. Every sob. Every flutter of your cunt around his cock.

“You love this. Don’t lie. You love being broken.”

And when he cums?

He paints your back with it. Your thighs. Your mouth.

Then spits on your chest and smears it in with his thumb.

“You’re mine. Say it, or I’ll carve it into your skin.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ᴄʜᴏꜱᴏ ᴋᴀᴍᴏ – ᴏʀᴀʟ ꜰɪxᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴄᴜᴍ ᴡᴏʀꜱʜɪᴘ

Choso’s mouth is a blessing and a curse.

He eats pussy like he’s praying. Like it’s the only thing that will keep him alive.

He kisses your thighs softly, whispers “You’re beautiful” into your skin before dragging his tongue through your folds and sucking on your clit until your legs twitch and your voice breaks.

"You taste better every time," he moans, burying his face in deeper. "Don’t run. Let me have it."

And once you start cumming?

He doesn’t stop.

He keeps eating. Keeps licking. Keeps moaning into your cunt like he wants to die tasting you.

You cum once.

Twice.

Three times.

And when he finally crawls up your body, face soaked, cock rock hard, he slides in slowly, reverently, his voice trembling with how close he already is.

“Wanna fill you up,” he gasps. “Wanna see it leak out.”

He cums hard—shuddering, crying out, gripping you like he’ll break.

And when it drips out?

He fingers it back in with a whimper.

“No, no—don’t lose it. You need it, baby. Let me push it in for you.”

And somehow, you’re already cumming again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ᴋᴇɴᴛᴏ ɴᴀɴᴀᴍɪ – ᴅɪꜱᴄɪᴘʟɪɴᴇ, ʙᴏɴᴅᴀɢᴇ, ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴇʀᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏ

Nanami fucks like he’s clocking overtime in heaven and hell both.

It starts with a command. Always.

“Take off your clothes. Lay down. Arms up. Good girl.”

He ties you with silk rope—perfect knots. Elegant. Restrained. Secure.

You trust him, and he knows it.

He blindfolds you next.

Then he kisses your throat. Your shoulder. Your ribs.

And then?

He lights the candle.

The wax is warm—never too hot—but it stings just enough to make you squirm, make you gasp as it drips across your nipples, your navel, the inside of your thigh.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. “You respond so well to pain.”

And then he fucks you.

Slow. Deliberate. Methodical.

Each thrust is measured. Controlled. Deep enough to hit the spot that makes you see stars.

But he won’t let you cum until he says so.

“I want to feel you lose control. But not until I’ve earned it.”

You beg. You cry. You plead with your whole soul.

And when he finally lets you fall over the edge?

You scream.

And he kisses you while you do.

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #mdni #choso smut #choso x reader #gojo smut #nanami smut #nanami x reader #satoru gojo smut #suguru geto smut #suguru geto x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader

352 notes · View notes

the-californicationist · 9 months ago

Text

Friday Night Magic

AO3 Link -- I'm pretty sure this was an old ask, but I don't have the original request anymore. Sorry!

Your husband of many years, John Price, has been keeping your secret: you love it when he plays doctor, giving you a happy little pill that makes you really sleepy, really fast. The best part is that you never know how you’ll be woken up. But, when he suggests that you can still play together even while he’s in the middle of hosting game night with his mates, you decide to trust in the fact that the doctor really does know best.

TW: non-consensual sex, drugged sex, nc-somno, rape, gangbang, betrayal, anal and vaginal sex, references to past rape events

His hand was doing nothing for him, and John hadn’t drawn a usable spell in the past six turns. He was mana-screwed and bored with his lieutenant’s penchant for playing control decks. But, it was Friday, and that’s all that mattered. The tired captain always looked forward to Fridays when they were off-mission. It meant that he got to drink through his whiskey collection, smoke way too damn many cigars, and play Magic: the Gathering with his mates. All work and no play makes John a dull boy, after all.

Friday nights also meant that you were tucked away in your room, playing with yourself while your man played cards, often overstimulating yourself to the point of tears so that when he was ready to fuck you, his cheeks pink and his breath smelling of whiskey and tobacco, he could go for hours, his fat dick drowning in the milky mess you’d made. He was like your very own sex machine, pounding away at your drooling hole, half-drunk and eager to have you in every position he could dream of.

Sometimes, though, John’s Friday nights were extra special. Right now, he couldn’t even concentrate on the game. He just wanted to check on you to see if he was about to get a very rare kind of lucky. Fingers crossed, he excused himself from the table and padded into his bedroom, nudging the door open a crack to see where you were.

You were laying in bed atop your plush blanket, dressed in a matching mesh set, a pale pink bra and crotchless panty, lazily touching yourself with your deft fingers and reading smut on your phone. You didn’t even remove your hand from your clit when he walked in, continuing to swirl slow circles around its sensitive head, rolling your hips just a little to help you feel the slow, delightful drag of your pleasure.

“Hey, pretty bird,” John purred, sitting beside you, feeling the mattress sink under his weight.

“Hey, baby. You done with your game?” You asked, peeked up over the edge of your phone before turning back to your scrolling.

“Not yet,” John leaned forward and kissed your nipple through the fabric of your bra, the thin mesh letting you feel the hot, wet whisper of his tongue.

You moaned for him, a lovely, ragged sound. It awakened something mean and primal in his chest. You pouted a bit when he pulled away, your bottom lip bulging out and showing him a small frown,

“I thought you wanted to play doctor tonight.”

Jackpot. John was a lucky man, indeed. He felt the blood from his core rush down to his prick, making his flesh instantly start to swell. He loved playing doctor.

“We can still play,” he began to tease you, snaking his hand up your ankle and calf, his palm warming your skin.

“Aren’t your mates still here?” You asked, a hint of scandal in your tone.

John cocked an eyebrow, questioning your inquiry, a bit put out by your resistance,

“Don’t you wanna take your medicine, love?” His hand slipped slowly over the meat of your inner thigh, his longest fingers reaching just past the seal of your lips, barely dipping into your swollen, drooling hole, “Feels like you’ve got a fever.”

“You think so?” You smiled coyly up at him, putting down your phone and playing with your nipples in front of him, pinching and shaking them back and forth through the pink fabric.

John nodded, “I think you should take a pill, yeah? Better nip this in the bud before you get sick, sweetheart.”

“The doctor knows best!” You winked at him and rooted around in the bottom of your beside table.

You pulled out a little purple pill bottle, tipped the lid, and placed a white tablet in his open palm. John removed his other hand from between your legs and used the fingers that had been inside of you to gently lift the pill to your lips.

“Say ahh,” he commanded, almost all of the softness gone from his voice.

“Ahh…” You made a long noise with your throat, tipping your head back and sticking out your tongue. When you felt the pill land in place, you flipped it under your tongue to allow it to dissolve.

“Good girl,” John praised you, letting you suckle on his slick-covered fingers as you liked, enjoying how you were sucking him down to his knuckles as if you were practicing for his cock. Then, once the pill was gone, you released his hand and kissed his palm, the sticky sheen of your lip gloss making a little popping noise as you did.

“Thank you, doctor. I know you’ll make me feel so much better,” you smiled,

“I will, sweetheart. Come say goodnight to the boys.”

“Okay, but I need my robe,” you said, your voice laced with heavy apprehension. John wasn’t asking, though, and he helped you stand up from the bed, taking your phone and wrapping your silk nightgown around you, doing the bare minimum for your modesty.

You fixed yourself in your vanity mirror and followed John out into the main room, holding the robe tight against your body as you emerged.

“Hey, bonnie,” Soap’s face lit up, “Good to see ya.”

“You, too! Just wanted to come say good night before I went off to bed.”

“Oh, no. You gotta join us for a game, babes. It’s been too long,” Gaz chided you playfully, grabbing you by the shoulder and guiding you to the table.

You looked up at John for help. But, he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew you only had a few more minutes before the pill would start to take effect, and he also knew that you were way too shy to tell them the truth about your naughty little habit.

What could you say? Oh, sorry, I can’t play tonight. I took an extra-strength sleeping pill because I want my husband to fuck me while I’m helpless and knocked out cold.

John smiled, watching you squirm and rack your brain for any and every excuse to back out,

“Oh, no, there’s no more chairs. I’ll just —“

“Si’ down,” Simon said curtly, grabbing your hip and pulling you down onto his lap, letting your legs straddle one of his huge thighs, “You can play my hand, Mrs. Price.”

The fact that your robe had ridden up your legs almost to reveal your thick asscheeks was only a secondary concern. The primary one was that your well-rubbed pussy was already leaving a damp stain on Simon’s jeans. His thigh was as hard as a stone, heavy with muscle, and he was holding your hip hard enough to keep you fully pressed to him. The only movement you could make was to grind back against him, which you had to do every time you lost your balance on his leg.

You tried your best to pay attention to the game, but you were struggling to stay alert. The pill’s effects were making your head foggy and your eyes droop. Your fingers were too weak to hold the cards, and when they dropped from your hand, your husband’s smile turned sinister.

“Feelin’ alright there, love?” Gaz asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Um…” You tried to form a sentence, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Felt a bit under the weather earlier, wasn’t she? Took her pill, though. Makes her a bit drowsy,” Price explained, sitting next to Simon, rubbing your back, not seeming to care that his hands were shifting the collar of the robe out of place and making it hang down your shoulder, revealing the top of your sheer bra to the whole room.

You tried to fix it, but you were slowly losing control of your arms, feeling like you were floating in a dreamy sea.

“Dinnae fash, hen,” Johnny grinned, folding his hand on the table, “We’ll tuck you in, won’t we, lads?”

“Aye, that we will,” Simon’s voice was deep and low, spoken right into your ear.

You looked up at John for help, realizing that he wasn’t going to save you. You thought he would scoop you up and take you back to bed, or at least make some excuse and send his men home, but no. He was letting them pull at your robe so that it hung around your waist, watching them reveal your ample tits in your see-through bra, doing nothing but looking pleased as could be.

“John…” You slurred, feeling yourself slip away to a drugged sleep, hearing his words right before your head fell to the table in front of you,

“Sweet dreams, love.”

You were gone from the world, floating in between being awake and being asleep. And it almost seemed like you could feel yourself being fucked. The pleasure was there, and yet, you couldn’t move or scream. You couldn't open your eyes. But, John would never allow that to happen. It was just a dream, right?

When you first awoke in one of your windows of consciousness, you were still at the table, but something was… wrong. You hadn’t moved from Simon’s lap, but now, he was moving you. You were split over his cock, and he was buried, balls-deep in your pussy, fondling your breasts under your mesh bra. The others were laughing, talking, joking, carrying on their game, but their eyes leered at you like hyenas waiting their turn to sink their teeth into the neck of a caught gazelle.

“Mmngh, ungh,” you tried to speak, but you sounded drunk, “John?”

“No, princess,” Simon snarled in your ear, “Your big man’s lettin’ us jump the line, yeah? Nice of him, innit? Fuck, I love Fridays.”

“What?” You were so confused. Why was Simon talking as if this had happened before? You were so ashamed, and John was right beside you. How could he let this happen? “John… Please…”

You tried to reach out to him, but your arms only lifted to his knee, trying to grab at his shirt or hand, anything to make him help you. Simon’s dick was steadily pounding into your swollen cunt, and John was just smoking his cigar and laughing at your feeble attempts to get free.

“Hush, now, love. Riley loves playin’ doctor, just like me. In fact, the boys have been takin’ good care of you every time they stop by, haven’t you?”

“Aye,” Johnny held his whiskey up to you as if to give you a toast, his eyes wide and full of a sick sort of hunger, “That bonnie cunt gets me through the week, lass. And ye keep it so wet for us. Such a good wee missus you’ve got, Cap’n.”

“Can’t thank you enough for the hospitality, Mrs. Price,” Gaz nodded to Soap, agreeing with his crude statement, taking another swig of his drink as his other hand moved under the table, moving rhythmically, obviously jerking himself off to the sight of you being speared on Simon’s big dick.

Suddenly, you felt Simon’s hands grip your hips on both sides of your body, holding you down onto the base of his cock, and you knew that he was about to come. You squirmed, wishing you could muster up any kind of strength, feeling as if you were still dreaming,

“No… No! Stop… Please… Don’t come in me…”

John cupped your cheek as his lieutenant dumped load after load of his sticky come into your body, his cock pulsing inside of you like a heartbeat, each throb of its huge shaft was another thick pool of his spend, turning your stomach and bringing desperate tears to the corners of your eyes.

“Shh, shh, shh,” John purred, “Take the medicine Riley’s givin’ you, love. It’ll make you feel so much better. You want mine next, hm? Will that make it right, pretty girl?”

“Unghhh…” You felt your body betray you, your pussy needing to come. Simon had one of his hands working quick, lurid circles around your clit, and now he was dragging you to a climactic peak, forcing you to come on his spent cock.

As you felt yourself spin out of control, your legs began to shake, giving away your moment of pleasure to the whole table.

“That’s a good girl,” John praised you, brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face.

“Fuck, she’s so wet. I think she likes an audience, Cap,” Simon observed, planting sloppy kisses onto your neck as you trembled from the aftershocks of your bliss.

They barely allowed you to cool down before John said,

“C’mere, love. My turn.”

Simon lifted you off of his lap with Price’s help, your robe fluttering to the floor. Your husband turned you on your back, laying you on the table across the cold wood and stacks of strewn playing cards. You tried to roll away, tried to sit up, but it was no use. The drugs had their hold on you, and you felt yourself fading back into a deep sleep.

Just before the blackness took you, you saw John lining up his fat, drooling cock at your entrance, sliding his head through Riley’s come with little resistance.

“Mmm-fuck. You’re so tight even after Riley’s prick, love. This pussy can just take so much cock, huh? Perfect girl.”

You slipped away into sleep yet again, and it seemed like you had only been out for a few minutes. You woke again in the same position, with your husband brutally pounding away at your hole, stuffing himself inside with wet, slick, slapping sounds.

Hands were roughly groping your tits from the other side of the table, none of which belonged to your husband, and as they played with your nipples, they began to pinch and pull at them, making you cry out.

“Look who’s awake again,” John cooed, his voice laced with farcical pity, “Don’t worry. You’ll get Johnny and Kyle soon enough.”

You couldn’t hold on. You tried to struggle against the shadowy slumber that pressed down on all your senses, but it was no use.

When you woke up again, you were in bed. Your pillow and blanket were gone, but you recognized the soft sheets. Then, you realized you were moving. The whole mattress was shaking back and forth, and Johnny was behind you, shoving his leaking dick into your asshole.

“Unghff-fuck! You back among the living, bonnie? Your tight little hole just grabbed me like a fuckin’ vice.”

“S-s-stop. Please…” You managed to whisper, your throat feeling sore for some reason. You tried not to think about why that would be.

“Cannae stop, lass. Your man’s dead set on findin’ the cure for what ails you, and I’m here to help. Based on how wet your wee slit has become, I think we’re on the right track.”

Just when you heard his words tease you about your wetness, you felt his fingers slip inside of your pussy, three of them, cruelly thick, following his cock’s rhythm, stretching you wider than you’d ever been in your whole life.

You tried to cry out, to scream, to call for help, but it was no use. So, you melted into his efforts instead, feeling your muscles flutter against him, threatening to make you come from his anal sex. He didn’t seem to notice your mounting pleasure, or if he did, he didn’t much care. He just continued to thrust into your holes, slamming his stocky weight into you, making your cheek sink into the mattress as you lay face-down, ass-up for your husband’s best friend.

The last thing you heard as you fell into unconsciousness was Johnny’s moans, and his comment of surprise,

“Oh, bonnie girl. You gonna come for me? Fuck, yes…”

Your next moment of lucidity was in the living room. You were on the couch. Well, your face was laying against the crook of someone’s neck, your forehead pushing into the fabric upholstery, as you were being fucked in their lap on the sofa. You tried to lift yourself to see what was happening to you, and as you did, you saw that you were riding Simon again, straddling his legs as he fucked his cock up into your dripping hole from below. His mouth was suckling from your nipple, your bra missing, latched on and unwilling to let go, leaving little hickies behind as his teeth teased the sensitive nub.

But, he wasn’t alone. There was… something… happening to your asshole. You craned your neck to see Kyle standing behind you, fucking his long dick into your ass as Simon pounded into you from below.

You let out a long moan, the pleasure that you’d been receiving clearly coursing through you despite your lack of consent. You had been coming and coming and coming, and you hadn’t been awake for any of it.

“Holy shit,” Garrick growled, his grip on your flank tightening hard enough to bruise, “She’s gonna come again. Can’t fuckin’ believe it. Feels so goddamn good.”

“Fuck,” Simon popped his mouth away from your chest to lean his head back, relaxing as he rode the waves of your impromptu orgasm, “Oh, look. She’s awake.”

Kyle’s huge hand fisted your hair and pulled you back so he could see your face,

“I dunno. I wouldn’t call that awake. How much did she take?”

“Cap gave her two more when she was with him and Soap, so we’ve got time, Sergeant. Don’t we, love?” Simon grabbed your face without care, squeezing your cheeks and making you look at him through hooded, tired eyes, “Oh, yeah, we do. All the time in the world.”

Fic #99 is in the bag... next one will be #100! Thanks to everyone for supporting me through my absolute descent into madness. lol

1K notes · View notes

hanmaitani · 9 months ago

Text

Nice Guy

PAIRING - Kita Shinsuke x Reader WC - 6.1K GENRE - smut CW - consensual non-consent (cnc), degradation, creampie, breaking in, if you squint then implied stalking, kita acts real scummy in this and it’s hot, aftercare cause it’s important, reader referred to as 'sweet, baby, princess, whore' (THIS IS A PREDETERMINED SCENARIO SET UP BETWEEN THEM WHERE SHE HAS EXPLICITLY GIVEN CONSENT FOR HIM TO DO THIS AND HAS A SAFEWORD)

This fic was partially sponsored by @clerdecat in collaboration with @ficsforgaza please consider checking out the blog and efforts over there 🍉

Kita Shinsuke was the nicest guy at your university.

You could ask anybody in the school to describe him and you’d only get compliments.

Respectable. Honest. Good-natured. Patient. Beyond helpful. Thoughtful. The guy that parents wished their daughters would bring home. The one that girls fawned over and chided their boyfriends, begging them to be more like him. The boy that all boyfriends either glared at or took notes from.

Kita Shinsuke and all his enchanting traits who was, more often than not, the object of your innocent little daydreams.

Daydreams where you were exhausted after a long day of classes and would relax into his embrace. Where he would welcome you home with a soft and sweet kiss on the cheek and draw you a bath, cook you dinner as you relaxed in it, and give you a loving massage after you’ve eaten. Daydreams where he would do your skincare routine for you as you giggled and help you with your hair before bed.

Kita Shinsuke who worked the late shift at the university library. Voluntarily there every weekend night until it was closing time so his coworkers could go party. Unlike you, always there for reading instead of working. Reading and maybe the occasional chat with the university’s ‘golden boy’ as he took interest in whatever book you were reading for the night.

Kita Shinsuke.

The name repeated in your head like a sigh of contentment. Breathing like the repetition and softness that he displayed to everyone. The respectability and sureness, the reliability of him. You especially liked the protective nature of his closeness as he insisted on making sure you made it home from the library safe.

Tonight it was an accident, you being at the library all the way until closing. It was late even for you, almost midnight on the chilly weekend night. He’d kept you talking in the empty library until you both had lost track of time. The minutes ticking by too quickly for you to realize.

Your heart had fluttered when his deep voice had soothed over your apologies for being there even a minute after closing. He’d insisted that you wait the extra half an hour in the warmness of the library as he closed up his stations and put away a few books, locking up before he walked you home. He wanted to make sure you were safe, that you got home okay this late in the night.

When he’d finally locked the front door and took your lead towards your campus apartment, your cheeks had gone warm, despite the cold air of the night, as he’d lent you his scarf to wrap around your neck as he walked with you. It smelled like him as you tucked your chin into the fabric, hiding your smile.

It was a short walk from the library to your campus apartment, but he made sure to keep you talking the entire way. Small, idle chatter that pulled small laughs from both of your lips. Your breaths and his made small clouds in the air every time, a testament to how chilly it was outside. He walked close to you, almost as if he was supposed to be right there, like it was a routine, and you reveled in it. It fueled another little fantasy about him always walking you home to ensure that no one but him would have even a chance to bother you.

“This is my building,” you whispered the words quietly, sweetly, almost with regret to an end to the sweet time you’d spent with him as you gestured to the building the two of you had finally come upon. “I’m on the first floor, there.” You pointed in the direction of your first floor apartment and he smiled as he led you down the correct outdoor hallway of the building.

You smiled as he stopped in front of your door. You didn’t quite register that he had stopped in front of the door before you had, despite you having not indicated exactly which of the doors was yours. You were too focused on how sweet he had been to you, too attached to the dizziness from having the ‘golden boy’ give you so much attention. Too focused on the way the fog curled out of his lips from his hot breaths as he looked down at you, standing too close if it had been anyone else.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was Kita Shinsuke. The nicest boy on campus. And he would never do anything to hurt you. Never cross a boundary.

“This is me,” you whispered softly with a small laugh and he gave you one in response.

“Seems t’be, yeah.” He smiled down at you and you swore that your heart melted a little bit more, the gesture warming you up inside slightly. “Don’t wanna keep yer roomie waitin’,” he joked as you hesitated to bring your keys to the door, enjoying his presence in the space just outside of your door a little too much.

“Oh,” you laughed lightly as you waved dismissively, as if to shoo his worries away when you brought your keys up to the lock, “no need to worry about that. She went home for the whole weekend.” You missed the sparkle of excitement in his eye as you fiddled with twisting the lock on your door, the look already replaced with a look of worry by the time you looked back at him.

“You sure that you’ll be ‘kay all ‘lone in there?” He leaned slightly, peeking around you as you opened the door, his tone perfectly laced with worry.

“I’ll be okay, Kita-san,” you answered politely, smiling at him over your shoulder. “Thank you so much for making sure I got home safe.” You stepped inside easily, turning to face him again as he leaned against the wall just outside your door. “I can’t think of how I could possibly properly repay you.” You were smiling and looking up at him shyly as you tucked yourself against your door.

Kita loved when you looked up at him like that. You did it often without your knowledge at the library too. Innocently putting all your faith and trust in him, batting pretty eyelashes up at him.

“I’ll see you next time, Kita-san.” Your smile didn’t leave as you began to shut the door.

The door stopped just before it was closed, your eyes darting up in confusion and widening as you saw Kita’s fingers wrapped around it, catching it and cracking it back open so you could see each other again. You felt your body freeze, unease slipped into your muscles, tensing them as you watched the door creep back open.

Kita thinks that maybe he liked this look on you a little bit more. Your eyes wide, fear starting to invade your features as you mentally questioned why he was making such a bold move.

His hand came up to the back of his neck, imitating sheepish nature as he gave a gentle smile, intent on soothing your nerves. “Sorry, y/n, would ya mind if I stole back m’scarf fer m’own walk home?”

You laughed, the sound mixing with a breath of relief, your body immediately relaxing at the sight of his smile and the sound of his request. Your cheeks heated up at the fact that you’d just let the sweetest boy on campus scare you because you’d forgotten about the possession of his currently wrapped around your neck.

“I’m so sorry, of course,” you sighed and reached to unwind it from your neck. Kita’s hands found the fabric first.

You froze again, but this time due to his closeness as he looked down at you, his warm fingers a stark contrast against your cold skin as he unwound the fabric from your neck. You swallowed hard from your own nervousness. He was so close you could feel his breath ghosting across your skin and he could faintly smell the sweet scent of your conditioner in the air around you.

Your eyes were trained on his face, locked onto his features in shock. His own, however, were trained on the empty apartment behind you, taking in what he could see from the doorway.

“Y’kmow,” he mused, side-stepping slightly, “I wanted t’make sure y’got home alright. Wouldn’ feel right, leavin’ y’here ‘lone.” Your joints began to lock up again as you watched him place a hand on your shoulder and step past you, his body moving fluidly as he crossed the threshold into your apartment.

“Stay here for a sec,” he requested, gesturing to the door, “with all the break-ins lately, jus’ wanna make sure yer ‘partment’s empty.” The warm smile he shot you eased some of that ice in your body as he moved around the apartment on his own.

He was just trying to make sure you were safe. That’s what you were telling yourself. There had been a lot of break-ins around campus in the last month. Kita Shinsuke was just living up to the title of nicest boy on campus.

You took a deep breath to relax yourself as you hovered in the front entrance of your own apartment like he’d requested of you.

He was just ensuring your safety and you smiled at that. He was so kind and it did absolutely nothing to quell the little fantasies poking in your mind about coming home to him in a house the two of you owned. Of him helping you make dinner or walking you to classes.

Innocent little fantasies compared to the ones he was currently entertaining.

Because Kita Shinsuke, the nicest boy on campus, was currently looking at your bed as he ‘ensured no one was in the room’, and thinking about how you would look laid out under him on top of it. Kita Shinsuke, the nicest boy on campus, who had to shake the thought out of his head and remember what he was supposed to be doing. Checking locks on your windows and making sure that everything was in order, that no one was there to hurt you when he wasn’t there.

“All clear.” He laughed lightly as he came back into your view, checking one last window in your kitchen. The window that pointed out towards the open road behind your apartment. “I’d blame myself if somethin’ happened t’ya.” His charming smile sent a wave of warmth and comfort through you as you watched him make his way easily back to your front door, keeping his hands to himself as he went this time. “Keep yerself safe fer me t’night, m’kay?”

He winked soft;y as he passed you again and you nodded along obediently, giddiness flooding your body at the thought of him caring that much about you. “Thank you, Kita-san.” You looked at him dreamily as you leaned on the door, watching him turn to face you again, now back on the outside of your home.

“You should call me Shinsuke,” he gave a soft laugh as your expression morphed into surprise at the request, “if I could keep calling you, y/n.”

“Um-” you cleared your throat quickly, picking up your dropped jaw to help preserve whatever was left of your composure, “yes of course. Thank you, Shinsuke.” His name came off your tongue like honey and he smiled as he heard it. “I’ll see you around.”

He only nodded in response this time, turning to walk away and leaving you in your doorway, still enraptured by the interaction. You were sure to heed his request and lock the door after him, perfectly content and feeling safe now that he had made sure you would be okay here alone.

It made it easy for you to go to sleep, knowing that, even though you were unusually alone in the space, Kita Shinsuke himself had made sure you would be safe. Easy to go to sleep still fantasizing about Kita Shinsuke walking you home all the time, always there to keep you safe.

Campus at 2am was much less populated than campus just before midnight. Dead, really.

With fog creeping down the streets, the only people really to be seen out at this time were the boys sneaking home from their girls’ apartments and the students who lost track of time at the 24-hour study hall while doing last-minute studying for that exam that they’d forgotten about until the night before.

On a weekend night like tonight, there were a few students who were drunkenly making their way back to their apartments after deciding the party they were at didn’t warrant them staying the night like most decided to do. All of those, and then the ones who were up to no good…

Kita Shinsuke wasn’t usually one to be out around campus at 2am. He never fell into the above categories. He ran by a fairly strict routine and rarely broke it. And if someone were to claim they’d seen him walking in the dark, along the open street that ran behind the campus apartments? Well… no one would believe them.

But Shinsuke knew what he was doing. He knew where he was going. He knew exactly which kitchen window he’d checked on just two hours before. The window he also knew that you wouldn’t double check before going to bed.

Because Shinsuke knew his reputation. He knew he was the nicest guy on campus and that you believed he had nothing but well-meaning intentions behind his charming smile.

He also knew that at 2am, you would be sound asleep. All safe and tucked into your bed. The very bed that he so desperately wanted to see you laid out on.

All for him. Only for him.

Shinsuke knew what he was doing as he popped the screen off the kitchen window to your apartment. The screen he’d discreetly loosened as he’d checked the window earlier in the night. Knew what he was doing when he slowly slid the window open, the one he’d left open just enough for you to not notice. The window creaked slightly as it graced along the track.

Shinsuke thought that you were incredibly naive to have put so much trust in him to not even double check his work when he’d entered your apartment without permission so easily. Incredibly naive to have fallen asleep so easily when you were so alone and the protection that you usually kept in your nightstand was no longer there.

That was something else you’d failed to notice from his earlier visit.

It was all too easy to slip his slim body through the window and onto your kitchen counter, submerging himself in the darkness of your apartment.

You had been sound asleep. Right up until the point when a loud crash woke you.

Shooting up from bed, a small gasp on your lips and your eyes wide. You tried to take in the surroundings of your room all at once. Your room was only illuminated lightly by the light that filtered in from the streetlights through the cracks in your blinds.

For a moment you thought that maybe you’d hallucinated the sound that woke you. Only a for moment, though. Because then you heard the sound of crunching class under boots almost echoing in your ears.

You scrambled out of bed quickly, yanking open the drawer to your nightstand to search it. Your fingers froze when they couldn’t find the safety net that was supposed to be there. Your eyes snapped back to the closed door of your bedroom as the steps came closer.

You quickly found yourself tucking yourself into the closet, the first place you could think to hide. You pulled the shades closed and ducked down low, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Sudden terror pulsed through your veins as the door to your room creeped open and you held your breath.

A familiar head of silver and black hair peeked its way into your room and you nearly breathed out a sigh of relief to see Shinsuke.

Nearly.

Because then you realized that Shinsuke had no way to get into your apartment unless he’d left himself a way when he was there earlier. Your eyes flickered to your open nightstand and where your protection was supposed to be, a sinking feeling settled in your stomach as you heard the nicest guy on campus chuckle when he stared at your empty bed.

“Oh y/n,” he singsonged your name as he stepped past the door to the closet you were hiding in. The sound set goosebumps rising along your neck. “Come out, come out.” He had to stop himself from laughing at the cliche statement as he said it.

You watched as he placed his palm on your bed to lean over and check under it. You knew the closet would be next and so you made a move. Quickly pushing open the door and trying to make a break for it.

Shinsuke smiled as he heard your panicked breathing, your quick footsteps racing to your living room.

This was the best part.

His longer legs quickly caught up to you. His hand grabbed you by the arm, pulling you against the wall and caging you against it.

Against that innocent look of faith and trust he loved that you gave him. Against that look he liked more, where fear slightly covered your face as you questioned his rather bold actions. He knew he liked this look on you the most.

You looked up at him, tears starting to well up in your still tired eyes, your every feature emanating the utter terror that you felt being pinned against the wall. The look of betrayal across your face.

Yes. he loved this look on you most of all.

You couldn’t seem to move. Your mind suddenly wiped of every self-defense tactic you’d ever been taught. There was a predatory smirk painted across his lips, much different than the charming smile that usually sat there. His deceptively kind eyes were calculating your every movement as you shook in your spot.

“Wha’s the matter, sweet?” His hand comes up to brush gentle fingers against your jaw and he tsks at you as you flinch away, turning your head to look away from him.

“Please, Kita-san.” You’re whispering it, begging.

He only clicks his tongue in disappointment at you again. “I told ya,” he chides, suddenly gripping your chin in a harsh grip, turning it and forcing you to look at him again. He ignores the soft whimper you make at the pain and the shake he can feel in your chest as you hold back a small cry. “Call me, Shinsuke.”

He can’t help the way his thoughts turn to how you look so adorable like this; your lips trembling as you try not to cry, still not fully awake and trying to process why exactly the campus ‘nice guy’ currently had you caged against a wall.

He sighs softly and brushes his thumb against your bottom lip, pulling it down before letting it pop back into place. “It sounds s’pre’y comin’ off yer lips.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat. “Please, Sinsuke,” your voice stressed his name, shaking and wet with tears, “just let me go, please.”

“But baby,” he put on a fake pout as he looked down at you, hand coming gracefully wrapping around your throat, “ya wanted t’repay me fer earlier.” He let a sly smile cross his lips as your eyes widened realizing you’d said just that to him earlier.

That you couldn’t think of how you could possibly properly repay him.

He squeezed your throat slightly for your attention, pulling a small squeak out of you and regretfully sending a wave down your core. “Gonna tell me ya ne’er thought ‘bout me like this?” He smirked as you looked away shamefully, he was right, of course your fantasies weren’t always innocent, that sometimes they strayed. But this was more than you’d ever thought of. “Hmm, what I thought.”

“Sinsuke,” your breath hitched around his name as he pressed his body against yours, desperate to feel you more, his fingers easily brushing the bare skin between your loose top and shorts, “please. Just let me go.” You let out a soft sob, fresh tears coating your cheeks. “I won’t tell anyone.” You tried to pull yourself further away from him, but he persisted in pressing against you.

“Course ya won’t,” he chuckled, his lips coming down to nip at your ear, reveling in the way you flinched away from the action. “Who’s gon’ believe ya? The nicest guy on campus.” His laugh sounded deep in your ear, sending shivers down your spine, stiffening your joints, turning your limbs to lead.

No one would believe you.

Kita Shinsuke, the most respectable boy on campus, currently had you trapped against the wall in your apartment. The apartment he had broken into while you were sleeping. The action clearly having been planned for at least a few hours.

“C’mon, tell me, princess,” he mumbled against your skin, “how ya don’t want it.”

Shinsuke took a step back from you, removing his presence completely, just under a foot between you now. His eyes were taunting you, challenging you to run.

You did.

You willed your legs to move, peeling yourself from the wall and taking off towards the front door. Desperate to make it away from him. You made it to the boundary, your fingers fumbling to undo the deadbolt.

Your hand had just wrapped around the handle, just about to pull the door towards you when his strong arms wrapped around your waist. His muscles flexed and easily lifted you up as you kicked at the air. His hand clapping over your mouth to stop you as you went to scream, the sound now muffled by his palm.

He only laughed in your ear as he turned with you, walking your kicking form back to the bedroom. “Oh, knew ya’d run. Yer s’cute tryna get ‘way like that.”

Fearful tears washed over your cheeks, collecting along the top of his large hand, which was fully covering the bottom half of your face, muffling your cries and keeping your head pinned to his broad shoulder.

It was pathetic even to you, how easily he carried you back to your room as your hands tried to pry at his arms and your legs swung wildly, trying to get his grip to loosen. Pathetic and useless.

“Now, now,” Shinsuke cooed in your ear, his voice dropping lower by an octave as he nudged your ear with his nose, “calm down.” That was an order. You could hear it in the growl of his voice, that sent a cold chill down your spine.

Fight or flight or freeze. Your body couldn’t seem to choose between the three options, it was confusing and disorienting and you cried harder.

His hand slipped from your face to close around your neck, applying a deadly pressure against the sides of it. “Stop strugglin’ yeah?” The sound of it sent your head into a dizzy. The pressure was immediately building, starting with your ears, muting sound slightly, and pushing past your eyes, making things spin slightly. You could feel the blood flow slow down.

A strangled cry left your throat, “Kita-san, please.”

“Please what?” he mocked, his tone condescending as he watched the small sobs as they shook your body. “Please take ya?” he smiled as you tried to shake his head in a violent protest to his tight grip. “Tha’s what ya wan’ right?” He pressed a deceivingly soft kiss into your neck as he stood in front of your side of the bed. “I see ya lookin’ at me when yer thinkin’ I’m not payin’ attention.”

You whimpered in shame, of course you had. You didn’t know a single girl, or even guy, that didn’t look at him when he wasn’t looking. It wasn’t even a question that he was ridiculously attractive. The campus nice guy… supposed nice guy.

“Please. Please,” you begged more, shaking your head frantically.

“Shut up,” he growled out before tossing you down on the bed. You didn’t even wait for your body to stop bouncing before you were trying to crawl away from him, scrambling across the sheets to reach the other side and get yourself out.

You’d thought you’d almost made it but his hands wrapped around your ankles and yanked you back. You let out a small scream as your hands scrambled to grip the other edge of the bed, just out of reach as he dragged you back to him.

There was a throaty groan that left his lips, “the more ya fight, the rougher I gotta be with ya.” He laughed again as he moved his grip to your thighs, prying them apart as you struggled to keep them closed and placing himself between them. “But hey, maybe ya like it rough.”

You could hear the smirk in his voice as you cried out again, the sound of fabric ripping turning into cold wind felt against your hips now, your destroyed shorts falling away from your body. The low whistle he let out told you that he now knew you’d gone to bed without any panties on under those shorts he just ruined, that your entire lower half was now visible to him.

You tried harder, struggled more to close your thighs, but his hands kept your hips pinned to the bed and his own knees kept your legs stuck open. It felt like he’d done this before, the positioning too perfect, too impossible to escape from.

“Please,” you whimpered, “please no,” you tried to beg as your hands came back behind you, trying to pry his own away from your body. “I don’t, I don’t like it rough.”

“No?” he asked, his tone low, mocking, curious, and you thought that maybe you’d succeeded at removing one of his hands from you. But instead, a gasp ripped from your throat as you felt his cold fingers drag easily along your slit, your shame coating them easily and aiding in how they glided against your most sensitive areas. He leaned over you, lips placed next to your ear, body weight pinning you to the bed as he easily slid a finger inside of your cunt, the sound of it squelching echoing around the room. “Then why’re ya s’wet like this?”

You whimpered at the humiliation of it. You didn’t know why your body was betraying you like this. Why your hips twitched when he curled that one finger inside of you. You were frightened by this side of Shinsuke, fresh tears dripping down to your chin. But your body still responded…

“Like a bitch in heat.” Shinsuke laughed and leaned off of you only slightly.

Your whispered pleas for him to stop did nothing to the affect you wanted, they only served to make him harder as he quickly pulled himself out of the sweats he’d worn over. He had one hand on the back of your neck, effectively keeping your upper body pinned as you tried to futilely kick your legs.

“Stay still now, sweet.” He was smiling down at you, small and helpless under him, legs spread so he could see just how embarrassingly wet you were getting from him forcing himself onto you.

Your slick glistened against the tops of your inner thighs and tears dripped into your mouth as you cried and begged, pleaded for him to let you go.

He loved you like this.

He lined himself up, considering his options.

“S’might hurt.” He didn’t give you time to process his statement, the warning before he shoved himself inside of you in one single thrust. No prep. No time to adjust to the feeling of being impaled on his length.

Shinsuke didn’t think it was possible for him to get any harder than he already was, but the sound of the scream that ripped through your body, the immediate freezing of all your muscles as your body struggled to process the abrupt and painful stretch proved him wrong.

“Fuck, baby.” He crumbled slightly, a broken moan seeping through his lips when you let out your own sinful moan against your will, fingernails digging into the forearms that caged around you, keeping you pinned in place for him. “So fuckin’ tight and wet fer me,” he mumbled against your skin.

Suddenly, remembering your predicament, you cried out and moved to try and shove his hips back from yours. “Stop, please,” your voice was a broken whimper, softer than before and using the rest of your willpower to beg the words.

“Yer right,” he pulled out slowly and you, naively, thought, for even just a second, that he was letting you go. He thrust back into you roughly and groaned when you cried out again. “I should be movin’ fer ya, let ya really feel it.”

He gripped your wrists from where they tried to push at his hips and pushed them down closer to the mattress before yanking them backwards, effectively manhandling your body and forcing you to lift your hips off the bed and into the air for him. He used his grip on your wrists to yank you back against the thrusts of his cock as he buried it deep inside of you, bullying that soft spot inside of you that had stars spinning behind your eyes.

“Listen t’how that slutty little cunt sounds fer me, she’s beggin’ t’be treated like this,” he mocked over the sound of your cries, drawing attention to the wet noise that echoed every time his balls hit your clit.

You hated it. Hated your body. Hated how good it felt to have the head of his cock slamming against your insides, forcing the breath out of your body along with cries. Pleas for him to stop. You hated the way you could feel that familiar curling in your gut as he ignored your pleas.

Hated the painful stretch from the lack of prep, the burning pressure from his hands locked around your wrists, the cock that was fucking into you with reckless abandon, hated that it all added up to that coil tightening, begging to be undone.

“Feel how ya squeeze me?” he groaned lightly as he forced himself to fuck into you faster. “Feel s’fuckin’ ‘mazin’.” Your cries built up, louder and louder, but he only laughed, clinging to the way those cries mixed in with your moans and gasps, sounds you couldn’t control.

He could feel your body about to cum, tuning into all the signs. He could almost feel the shame that pooled in your chest at that fact, too, and how it dripped out of you right onto his cock, making it easier for him to fuck you faster, harder, deeper. He was determined to fuck you through your orgasm, to rip it out of you and still not stop.

You could feel yourself cumming before you could even process what was happening, your muscles squeezing and fresh tears falling down your cheeks, moans bubbling from your lips as you begged him to stop or let you go.

“Shut up,” he growled, releasing your wrists and switching his grip to your hips instead. He pulled them up so your body was forced onto its knees. Keeping one hand on your hips, his other found your throat again, picking up your upper body and pinning it to his chest with that vice grip.

“Actin’ like ya didn’t jus’ cum like a whore on my cock,” he groaned the words into your ear, his voice dark and rough with pleasure, “and yet gonna do it again.”

Your head felt fuzzy from the pressure of his hand around your throat, restricting airflow and blood flow just enough that you could feel everything more intensely as he continued to pound into you.

Sound was muffled as it reached your ears, your vision blurred from either tears or pleasure or both. But you were explicitly aware of the way your body tensed under and gave into his rough treatment. Of the way your second orgasm built inside of you, coiling up tightly and quickly, more every time that the new angle he was fucking you at caused the head of his cock to slam into a soft sensitive part of you, sparking both pain and pleasure across your insides.

“Fuck, fuck,” he moaned in your ear, “wanna fill ya up,” your brain seemed to go even fuzzier at the sound of the words and you whimpered. “Tell me ya wanna be filled up by me,” he ordered and the words fell from your lips almost immediately, obediently.

Tears continued to fill your vision and stars circled around your room, the light-headedness from Shinsuke’s hand around your throat helped the moans fall from your lips easier. “Wanna feel y’cum,” you slurred the words, feeling like your brain was turning off from the way he expertly handled your body.

A soft chuckle barely registered in your ears as his hand left your hip and found its way to your clit, rubbing tight circles as he fucked you over the edge again.

You were barely aware that you were cumming again, your body acting on its own. Soft words of “good girl” whispered in your ear put a blissed out smile on your lips as he came inside of you. You were barely aware of him pulling out, the cum starting to leak out of you, dripping down your thighs.

His hand unwound from your throat and your body softly hit the bed. Sound blared back to its normal volume as you laid on the bed panting, trying to catch your breath. The feeling of Shinsuke’s body hitting the bed next to you was paired with his own heavy breathing, just as out of breath as you were.

There was about a minute of silence between you before you finally spoke up. “I loved those shorts. You owe me a new pair.” Your voice was hoarse from the noises you’d previously been making, breathy from your panting, but surprisingly still there.

He laughed then, not menacing like it had been before, but a soft and amused sound the way it usually was. You turned your head to the side to look at him. He was lying on his back next to you, soft smile on his face. “I told ya not t’wear things ya liked,” he teased lightly, turning to catch your eyes. His predatory gaze had softened and was replaced with one filled with love.

His fingers lifted to graze along the soft freckle-like bruises near your eyes. “I wen’ t’hard,” he mumbled, frowning at himself as he assessed the damage his hand had done to your throat. His eyes trailed down and spotted the bruises starting to form on your wrists and hips, no doubt your ankles too, but you shook your head at him.

“No,” you assured him, shifting closer to him, “I liked it, Shinsuke, promise.” You hummed as he gingerly wrapped his arms around you. Touches much softer now than they had just been, treating you like you might break now, although they’d tried only minutes prior to be the things that would break you.

“Let me get ya some ice?” he asked, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your shoulders as he held you.

You shook your head lightly, “in a bit?” He hummed in agreement and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I love you, Shin,” you whispered as you buried your head into your boyfriend’s chest.

You missed the soft smile that passed his lips now, “I love ya too, princess.”

Kita Shinsuke. The nicest guy at your university.

You could ask anybody in the school to describe him and you’d only get compliments.

Kita Shinsuke.

Who, if you tried to tell them, no one would believe that he does nasty things to his girlfriend in the dead of night. That he would break into her apartment if she asked him to and force her to get fucked stupid while she begged for him to stop. And no one would believe that he liked it too.

But Kita Shinsuke was in love with every part of you. Especially when he could have you in his arms. Any way he could.

a/n please remember that aftercare is important on both sides for things like this <3 assure your partner that things are okay after and take care of each other!! consent is important!!

TAGLIST -

@intergalacticrory @tsukiran @awkwardaardvarkforever @all-in-the-fandoms @mightyknight501

@pearl-blue-musings @qichun @megumuro @s0uldarling @samus-onigiri-stand

@seiri-ously @deepenthevoid @albakugo @winniethepooh-lover @stunie

@little-miss-naill @theycallmenanamisgirl

#cw.cnc #kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #kita smut #kita shinsuke smut #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #𓇻 Kita’s Gravity #𓇻 Void Screams Back #𓇻 Dark Side Writing

476 notes · View notes

worlds-we-write · 2 months ago

Text

Shelter in the Storm

Chapter 1: Ashen

pairing: Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: She came to Jackson broken and half-alive, carrying more weight than anyone could see. Joel didn’t mean to get close—but some things don’t give you a choice.

Chapter WC: 4.3 K

story warnings: This story contains themes of trauma, PTSD, and emotional recovery. Future chapters will include depictions of hostage situations, non-consensual sexual assault (referenced, not graphically detailed), and non-consensual pregnancy resulting from that event. Please read with care. Tags and warnings will be updated as the story progresses.

Tags: Joel Miller x Reader, Jackson era, slow burn, hurt/comfort, trauma recovery, emotional baggage, found family, protective Joel Miller, reader is a survivor, reader has PTSD, past hostage situation (implied), PREGNANCY reveal, soft moments in a harsh world, Joel cares in his own way™, gentle intimacy, angst with hopeful undertones, canon-typical violence (referenced), no smut (yet).

AN: Hi friends — this fic is very close to my heart. It’s a slow burn set during the Jackson era, centered around healing, found family, and the kind of care that doesn’t always come with words. Chapter 1 deals with trauma and emotional recovery, and future chapters will include sensitive themes (please read the content warnings beforehand). This is a story about survival, softness, and what it means to let someone stay when everything in you wants to run. Thank you so much for reading — comments, reblogs, and gentle thoughts are always welcome. 🤍

Series Masterlist

The first thing you remembered about Jackson was the cold.

Not the kind that came with winter. That you could handle. Snowfall didn’t scare you. Ice could be scraped away. Fires could be built, layers piled on. That kind of cold was honest.

But the cold you carried inside? That was something else. Something you didn’t talk about, didn’t even have the words for. A silence that seeped into your bones. That stuck even when the fire burned hot, and the blankets were thick and someone kind left food on your doorstep every morning.

That cold lived in you now. Since them. Since the days you didn’t count and the nights you didn’t sleep.

They found you in the snow just before dusk.

You weren’t sure how far you’d walked. You didn’t remember crawling to the tree line or collapsing just outside the gates. Someone said it was Tommy’s patrol who spotted you first—bloodied, shoeless, stumbling through the woods like a ghost.

They thought you were infected at first. You couldn’t blame them. You probably looked infected. Blank eyes. Slow steps. Covered in dried blood and ash and things that didn’t belong to you.

Then you collapsed.

Face-first into the snow. No weapon. No fight left.

Just a girl with torn clothes and hollow eyes.

And somehow… still alive.

You woke up in Jackson.

Everything after that was fog and firelight.

You woke up in a bed, but it took a long time to realize that’s what it was.

At first, all you felt was warmth. It surrounded you—thick, unfamiliar. Something wrapped tight around your shoulders, tucked beneath your chin. Your body ached. Your lips were cracked. Your throat felt raw. But for the first time in days, you weren’t cold.

You weren’t cold.

That realization hit harder than it should’ve.

There were voices—low murmurs. A woman’s, calm and steady. A man’s, deeper, sharper. They spoke like they didn’t want to wake you. You didn’t move. Couldn’t, really.

But you listened.

“She was half-dead out there.”

“She’s dehydrated, bruised. Some older wounds too. Malnourished. Whoever left her out there didn’t expect her to make it.”

“Do we know what happened?”

“She hasn’t said a word.”

They didn’t push you.

That surprised you.

The room was warm. You remembered that. The smell of antiseptic, the rustle of clean sheets, someone pressing a damp cloth to your forehead. You didn’t open your eyes for two whole days, barely aware of the voices nearby.

“She’s lucky. The temperature dropped below freezing last night.”

“Lucky” didn’t feel like the right word.

The second time you woke, there was soup.

Someone—maybe that same woman—pressed a chipped ceramic bowl into your hands. You stared at it for a long time before bringing it to your lips. Your hands shook so badly half of it spilled down your front.

But she didn’t take it away.

She just handed you a cloth and said, “Take your time.”

You couldn’t remember the last time someone said that to you.

You stayed in the infirmary for a week.

They bandaged your wrists, stitched the cut above your eyebrow, checked for infection. They didn’t ask for details, though you knew they had questions. You were an outsider. You showed up bloody and half-frozen, too thin and too quiet.

But no one pressed.

They didn’t ask questions, not at first. Maria, one of the leaders, introduced herself with soft eyes and a strong presence. “You’re safe now,” she said. “You don’t have to talk if you’re not ready.”

You weren’t.

They gave you a cabin near the edge of town.

Small, but warm. A bed. A stove. A door that locked.

That last part mattered the most.

You checked it every night. Once. Twice. Sometimes more. You listened for footsteps in the snow. For the creak of a floorboard. For someone breathing where they shouldn’t be.

But no one came.

No one shouted. No one dragged you from your bed. No one tried to break the lock.

You were alone.

And it was the most terrifying relief you’d ever felt.

The days blurred.

Sometimes people knocked on your door. Left food. Clothing. A new pair of boots. A bar of soap wrapped in cloth.

You never opened the door until they were gone.

There were kids outside sometimes, throwing snowballs, laughing so loudly it made your chest ache. You watched from behind the curtain, heart pounding like they might turn their attention on you.

They never did.

No one did.

Except him.

He was just a shadow at first.

A man in flannel and denim, stacking wood outside the cabin across from yours. Broad shoulders. Quiet steps. Always outside, even in the snow. You noticed the way people spoke to him—careful, respectful. Like he had history.

You didn’t know his name.

But he nodded at you once, when you ventured outside to get firewood.

You didn’t nod back.

The next day, you found your wood pile stacked for you. Neat. Freshly chopped.

You didn’t ask who did it.

But you knew.

The first week, you barely left. You stared at the walls and listened to the sounds of the town beyond your window – boots crunching snow, kids laughing, wood being chopped, dogs barking. Life, loud and insistent, kept moving.

You didn’t feel like part of it.

Then there was Joel Miller.

You didn’t know his name at first. Just the man across the path. Always outside. Fixing things. Splitting logs with a quiet precision. Sometimes walking with a girl who looked too young to be his but clung to him like she trusted him more than anyone else on earth.

You liked watching him. He moved like someone who had been through hell and learned to live with the scars.

He never tried to talk to you. Never asked what happened.

But he saw you.

Really saw you.

You weren’t used to that.

You began walking late at night.

The cold helped. It reminded you; you were still here. Still breathing. Still real. You walked the perimeter of the community, gloves tucked deep in your sleeves, scarf pulled over your mouth, eyes scanning the tree line out of habit.

No one followed you.

No one chased you back inside.

You walked until your legs gave out, then stumbled back into bed and slept like the dead.

Sometimes you dreamed.

Sometimes you didn’t.

And then, one morning, you stepped out to find Maria standing on your porch, holding a steaming thermos and a pair of worn leather gloves.

“You good with animals?” she asked.

You shrugged.

She handed you the gloves. “Stables are short-staffed. You look like you could use something to keep your hands busy.”

You hesitated.

“I’ll pay you in food. Trade for firewood if you want. But more than that,” she added, eyes softening, “it’ll help. Routine does that.”

You didn’t know why—but you believed her.

So the next morning, you showed up at the stables.

And for the first time since before, you did something that didn’t feel like survival.

It felt like living.

The stables smelled like hay and sweat and old leather.

It should’ve overwhelmed you – but instead, it calmed you. It smelled like life. Like routine. Like something not trying to hurt you.

You didn’t say much that first day. Just nodded when spoken to, kept your eyes down, followed instructions. You mucked stalls, filled buckets, shoveled snow out of the paddocks. By midday your arms ached, your legs burned, and you were sure you were going to collapse.

But when Dusty – the gray mare in stall three – nuzzled her head against your shoulder, something in you cracked open.

You hadn’t been touched gently in months, if not years.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and brushed her coat like your life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

You settled into a rhythm after that.

Up before sunrise. Gloves on. Stable doors creaking open. Work until your muscles scream. Quiet nods from the others, small smiles when you earn them.

Horses didn’t need small talk. They didn’t expect you to explain why you flinched at sudden movements or why your hands sometimes shook. They just were. Present. Real.

Dusty became your shadow. She’d huff if you passed her stall without stopping. You whispered to her in the quiet moments – stories she didn’t understand, truths you hadn’t said out loud. Sometimes you cried while brushing her mane. She never minded.

That horse saved your life. And you never even told her.

Joel showed up more than you expected.

Sometimes he came to help Ellie, the girl who called him “old man” with affection. You didn’t know the full story there—only that she was sharp, loyal, and didn’t seem to take shit from anyone.

She’d shout across the paddock, complain about chores, then race off when Joel called her on it. You liked watching them. It felt… normal.

Safe.

Occasionally, Joel would stick around after Ellie left. He’d mend a fence post or help move hay. He never pushed you into conversation. Just gave you space. You appreciated that more than you could ever say.

Once, you caught him glancing at your hands as you struggled with a frozen latch. He didn’t say anything. Just stepped in, popped it open, and left without a word.

That was Joel’s way.

Showing up without making a show of it.

He always gives you space.

But he was always there.

You liked that more than you were willing to admit.

One morning, you sipped on a patch of ice just outside the barn.

Didn’t fall, just jolted hard and caught yourself on the wall.

Joel appeared out of nowhere, hand steadying your elbow, his brow furrowed deep.

“You alright?”

His voice was low, rough, familiar now.

You nodded.

He didn’t move for a second. His hand stayed, warm and strong, before slowly releasing you.

“Careful out here. Snow’s slicker than it looks.”

Then he walked off like it didn’t mean anything.

But it did.

You thought about that touch for the rest of the day.

It started with dizziness.

You blamed the long shifts, the heavy lifting. You hadn’t eaten much. Appetite was unpredictable these days.

Then came the nausea.

You brushed it off as nerves. You hadn’t been sleeping. The nightmares had returned—flashes of the cabin, the screams, the smell of smoke and blood.

It got worse.

By the third day, you could barely keep down a cup of broth. Your skin felt clammy, your limbs weak. You worked through it, teeth gritted, determined not to give the others any reason to worry. You didn’t want attention. Didn’t want questions.

You just wanted to feel in control again.

Because deep down, the truth was starting to whisper to you. And you didn’t want to hear it.

You shoved it down.

Hard.

The morning started like any other.

Snow drifted lazily from the sky, dusting the roofs and walkways of Jackson. You bundled into your thickest layers, tugged your gloved over trembling fingers, and stepped out into the biting cold. The air was sharp, slicing into your lungs with each breath, but it kept you grounded.

You hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of toast that morning. Your stomach had turned against you – again. But you were determined to work through it. If you stopped moving, you were afraid the silence would catch up to you again.

The stables were quieter than usual. Most of the volunteers were helping repair a fence on the east side. It left you mostly alone, just you and the horses and the sound of your boots crunching through old hay.

You brushed Dusty first, her familiar snort greeting you as you slipped into her stall. She leaned her head into your chest, and you rested your cheek against her mane, closing your eyes just for a second.

Just a second.

Then came the wave.

Sudden. Sharp. Wrong.

Your knees buckled.

The world tilted sideways.

You staggered back into the wooden wall of the stall, your breath catching as a sharp pain bloomed low in your abdomen. Your vision blurred. Darkness crept in at the edges, slow and terrifying.

You tried to call out, but your throat refused to work. The tools you’d been using slipped from your grasp, landing in the hay with a dull clatter.

And then – nothing.

Your body crumpled.

He’d noticed she wasn’t right for days.

The way she moved—slower, like she was walking through water. The way her hands shook when she thought no one was watching. The dark circles under her eyes weren’t from bad sleep. He knew what starvation looked like. He knew what it looked like when someone was trying to outrun their own body.

She was pale that morning. Paler than usual.

And Joel didn’t like it.

He’d stopped by the stables under the excuse of checking on one of the broken latches. Ellie had run off after ten minutes—some excuse about helping Tommy haul lumber. Joel stayed behind.

He found her in Dusty’s stall, hunched slightly, brushing the mare with slow, careful strokes.

Something about the way she was swaying—like the ground underneath her was moving—twisted in his gut.

He was about to say something. Ask if she needed water. A break. Anything.

Then it happened.

Her brush hit the ground with a thud.

Her knees buckled.

“Hey—!”

Joel was across the barn before he even realized he’d moved.

She collapsed hard, her body hitting the cold-packed ground, limbs tangled in on themselves. Her head nearly struck the corner of the stall—he caught her just before it did.

He was beside her before he realized he’d moved.

“Shit,” he breathed, kneeling in the slush. Snow soaking through his jeans. Her body limp in the hay.

“Hey, sweetheart—hey. Come on. You with me?”

No response. Her skin was cold. Face too pale. Lips slightly parted, like she was trying to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

He brushed the hair from her face with one shaking hand. The other was already cradling her head. God, she looked small like this. Fragile in a way he hated seeing.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, more to himself than her.

Someone shouted behind him. He didn’t even look.

She was the only thing that mattered.

He wrapped his coat around her, fingers fumbling with the buttons. When her head lolled to the side and her eyelids fluttered, he nearly lost it right there.

“I got you,” he said softly. “You're okay.”

But he didn’t believe it—not yet.

Not until she opened her eyes.

Voices in the background. Someone shouting for help. Ellie’s voice. Distant.

But all he could see was her.

The pain on her face.

The tremble in her lips.

The way she didn’t fight him when he gathered her up in his arms—like she didn’t have the strength left to resist.

She weighed less than she should’ve. Too light. Too fragile.

His coat came off without a second thought. He wrapped it around her like it was the last thing he could offer.

The next moment came in pieces.

Boots pounding against the frozen ground. Shouts. Distant. Fuzzy.

“Shit – hey! Get someone!”

Then closer, louder.

“Hey – hey – hey. You with me?”

Warm hands touched your shoulders, your back. Steady, careful. A voice cut through the fog, low and rough and familiar.

“C’mon. Open your eyes, sweetheart. Don’t you do this.”

Joel.

You blinked. Once. Twice. The world swam in to view, color too bright, the light too sharp. The snow had soaked through your pants. Your back was cold. The air bit at your skin.

But his voice was there. Steady. A tether.

“I got you,” Joel muttered, more to himself than anyone else. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

He slid an arm beneath your back, lifting you with a gentleness that didn’t match the strength in his body. His jaw was tight, the muscles twitching like he was trying to stay calm. But you could hear it – just beneath his breath. Panic. Buried, but there.

You tried to speak. Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Joel noticed. He leaned closer, brow furrowed deep. “You’re alright. Don’t talk, just breathe. Stay with me.”

He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around you, tucking it close like it could stop the shaking that had taken over your body. His hands were big, warm, and rough. And when he pressed one against your cheek, you leaned into it without thinking.

“Shit, you’re burning up,” he muttered.

“Joel?” Ellie’s voice called from across the paddock. You could barely register it.

“She passed out,” he called over his shoulder. “Go get the doc. Now.”

You felt your body slipping again, the world beginning to fade. But Joel pulled you closer, cradling you like something precious.

“Stay with me,” he whispered. “Please.”

You’d never heard him sound like that.

You didn’t want to let go.

He carried you all the way to the infirmary himself.

Held you like it wasn’t a question.

Held you like someone who’d already lost too much and couldn’t lose one more thing.

And even as you drifted in and out, slipping beneath the waves, you heard his voice in the distance – raw, breaking just slightly –

He didn’t remember kicking the door open—just the sound it made when it slammed against the wall, and the nurse’s startled gasp as he crossed the threshold with her in his arms.

“She passed out,” he barked. “She’s burnin’ up. Somethin’s wrong.”

“Over here!” someone called, motioning him to the cot near the fire.

He laid her down carefully, but his hands didn’t want to let go. She looked worse under the lights—skin pale and slick with cold sweat, mouth parted like she couldn’t quite catch her breath. He felt useless the second they started checking her vitals, calling out numbers, moving around her like she was already halfway gone.

He stood back, heart in his throat, arms crossed so tight over his chest it felt like he might snap something.

He hated this.

Helplessness.

It felt too damn familiar.

Ellie showed up minutes later, breathless and wide-eyed, hovering near the door. “Is she—?”

“I don’t know,” Joel said, voice low, sharp. “Go wait outside.”

She didn’t argue.

Joel sat down next to the bed once the nurses backed off. Said she was stable for now. Just needed fluids, rest. Bloodwork results soon.

None of it helped. Not really.

So, he sat. One hand curled into a fist on his knee, the other twitching with the urge to do something. Fix something.

Anything.

But all he could do was wait.

And watch.

Her face twitched in her sleep—tiny things, micro-reactions. He wondered if she was dreaming. If the pain was still chasing her in the dark. If the past was dragging her under even now.

He wanted to take it from her. All of it.

But that wasn’t something he could do.

So, he stayed.

Because that was the one thing he could do.

You woke in a haze.

Your throat was dry. The light above you soft and flickering.

The infirmary again.

For a second, you panicked. You weren’t sure where you were. Then a familiar voice reached you, low and rough and steady.

“Easy. You’re alright.”

Joel.

You turned your head slowly.

He was sitting next to your bed, legs spread, arms resting on his thighs, leaning forward just enough to feel close but not overwhelming. His jacket was just with snow, hair slightly damp, like he’d come straight her from outside.

He looked like he hadn’t moved in hours.

“You passed out,” he said. “Scared the hell outta everyone.”

You blinked slowly. “I’m… I’m fine.”

His eyes narrowed just slightly. “You ain’t. But you will be.”

He reached for a cup on the nearby table and held it out. You struggled to lift your arm, and he moved without hesitation, helping you drink without spilling.

The warmth hit your throat and settled in your chest.

You closed your eyes.

“Why are you here?” you asked, voice rasped.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

“Was close by. Heard what happened. Figured you wouldn’t want a crowd.”

You opened your eyes again. His gaze was steady, unreadable.

He shifted slightly. “The doc ran some bloodwork. Just to check for infection. Came back with somethin’ else.”

You stared at him.

He hesitated.

“You’re pregnant.”

It didn’t register.

Not at first.

The words felt far away. Like someone else’s news.

Then everything clicked.

The nausea. The fatigue. The cold.

Your hands went to your stomach, trembling.

“No,” you said softly.

Joel didn’t correct you. Just let the silence settle.

“No,” you said again. Louder this time. “I can’t – that’s not – I didn’t – “

“I know,” he said gently.

The tears came fast and hot, and you hated them. Hated how weak they made you feel. How exposed. You turned away from him, shoulders shaking.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t try to touch you.

But he didn’t leave.

When your voice finally came back, it was barley a whisper.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know.”

“I don’t even know if I can… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Joel’s voice was quiet. Firm. Grounded.

“You don’t gotta know. Not yet. You just take the next breath. Then the next one. I’ll help with the rest.”

You turned back toward him, eyes red, breath hitching.

“Why?” you asked. “Why would you care?”

He leaned back slightly, his jaw flexing, something dark passing behind his eyes.

“Because I know what it’s like,” he said. “To lose control. To think you ain’t got anyone left. To be handed something heavy when you’re already broken.”

You stared at him.

Joel’s voice softened.

“You don’t gotta carry it alone.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t look away.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were drowning.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the infirmary after that.

An hour. Maybe two. Time felt strange – warped by exhaustion, by fear, by the ache blooming in your chest that had nothing to do with injury.

The nurse, Laura, came in eventually. She was kind, but brisk. The kind of kindness that didn’t smother you. She checked your vitals, spoke gently, didn’t ask any questions. When she mentioned Maria had stopped by, you felt your chest tighten, expecting judgment.

“She left a coat for you,” Laura said instead. “Said it’s colder tonight. You’ll need it.”

Joel hadn’t moved the entire time.

When Laura left, he finally leaned back, cracking his neck like he’d been in that same position for far too long.

“You should go,” you said, voice hoarse. You didn’t look at him. “You’ve been here for hours.”

“I know,” he said.

You waited for him to leave.

He didn’t.

“Don’t gotta talk if you don’t want to,” he said after a beat. “I’ll just sit. If that’s alright.”

You weren’t sure why, but something inside you loosened at those words. You nodded – barley.

He didn’t say anything else. Just settled in the chair again, one hand resting on his thigh, the other draped over the armrest. Watching the fire. Breathing slowly.

Eventually, your eyes drifted closed again.

And this time, the cold didn’t follow you into sleep.

The next morning, Maria showed up in person.

You’d just finished changing out of the infirmary gown and into clean clothes when the door creaked open and she stepped inside, holding a thermos of coffee and the coat Laura had mentioned.

She was already talking before you could speak. “It’s insulated. The coat. Might not be the prettiest, but it’ll keep you warm through the next few months.”

You stared at her.

She stared back.

Then, gently, she added, “You don’t owe me an explanation. I just came to bring you this – and to say I’m glad you’re okay.”’

You didn’t know what to say.

So you nodded.

She handed you the coat, gave a small smile, and paused at the door.

“I know you’ve been through hell,” she said. “But you’re not alone here. Not unless you choose to be.”

And then she left.

You walked home in a daze.

The cold bit at your cheeks. The snow crunched beneath your boots.

Everything felt louder than usual. Sharper. Like the world had moved on while you were stuck in place.

You could still feel Joel’s presence beside your bed. The weight of his voice, steady and unflinching.

“You don’t gotta carry it alone.”

Why did he care?

What did he see in you?

You didn’t have answers.

But you knew one thing: when the bottom fell out, he didn’t run. He didn’t try to fix you. He didn’t promise you that everything would be alright.

He just stayed.

And somehow, that meant everything.

Later that night, you stood in the doorway of your cabin, staring across at his porch. The lamp beside his window was still on, casting a low glow against the snow.

You thought about walking over.

Saying thank you.

Asking him to stay again.

But your feet wouldn’t move.

Instead, you turned back inside, wrapped the new coat around your body, and sat on the edge of your bed.

Your hand went to your stomach.

You didn’t know what the next day would bring. Or the day after that. But for the firs time since the woods, since the blood and the screaming and the silence –

You didn’t feel entirely alone.

And in this world, that was the closest thing to hope you’d known in a long time.

234 notes · View notes

si11yw0rm · 5 months ago

Text

HALLOWEEN NIGHT.

pairing: bangchan x afab reader blurb: drunk and high one night, you decide to confide in your best friend about one of your darkest fantasies. he decides to help you out with the fantasy, because what kind of best friend would he be if he didn't, right? tags: consensual non consent (cnc), mask kink, semi-public sex, hair pulling, knife kink, dirty talk (praise and degradation), size kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up please and stay safe!), mate pressing, angst, use of little red (reader is wearing a red riding hood costume), baby, ladybug and pet. wc: 7.6k+ (edited, but no beta reading) a/n: this was written half high, half sober. i hope you love it! i know i haven't being online much this (last) year, but i have set a few deadlines for myself this year and i hope to achieve them. happy new year!

You look over at Chan one more time before tipping back your cup of beer down your lips. The flush of the alcohol in your system as it made its way down your throat had your back melting against the couch you were sitting on.

Chan’s head tips forward, and his hands come up to press a palm against his forehead, a low strangled groan slipping past his lips. He hadn’t taken off his jacket when he had started hosting the party earlier, and now you could see the effects of partying the last twenty hours away looked like.

The jacket was slick with his sweat, and you found yourself itching to take it off him completely. You wanted to see his skin and touch and press your lips to him, but you knew what everyone else knew. To Chan, you were just his best friend from childhood that he was almost completely unattracted to and had nothing for.

But to you?

You push away the thoughts as you drop your cup on the floor, straightening up to crack your joints. Chan had asked you to co-host, and as best friend of the year award, you had said yes.

That simple statement ignited a chain of wildfires that had happened that night. You sigh, standing up and ignoring the way the beer sloshed around in your system. You would sleep after tidying up the place a little.

You start to pick up the leftovers, arranging them in a pile over by the corner. The repetitive movement cleared your head a little, and by the time you were done with the whole den, you felt relatively sober.

Sober enough to wake Chan up and take him up the stairs to his room.

You grit your teeth as you make your way over to the couch and pull him up. You nearly collapsed under his weight, and you get a mental reminder. Chan may look small, but he didn’t play around with his body. You heave, pushing yourself up to a standing position as you take the first step forward.

Chan’s musk and cologne drift into your nose as you make your way up the stairs, and you have to hold your breath at a point because you were sure he was hearing how much you were breathing him in.

You finally made it up to his room, and Chan’s autopilot kicked in from there. He completely got off you and made his way to his bed, taking off his clothes as he got closer to his bed till he was simply wearing boxer briefs.

The routine was as familiar to you as the back of your palm, but you never got over seeing Chan’s body silhouetted in whatever light was streaming in through his windows. He was glorious, like a statute of old. You felt like you were reverencing something of God’s pure creation and you held your breath till he fell forward on his bed.

You sigh, stripping off your pants and top, picking up his sweatshirt on the floor as you climb onto the bed, before slipping his shirt on and snuggling under the covers. Chan immediately shifts, making room for you.

In the last year since you had started doing this routine with Chan, he had always stayed on his side of the bed, no matter how gone he was. But this night? He turns over and pulls you in by your waist, tucking your back to his chest.

His heat immediately spreads over you and before you can speak, Chan does, his lips directly against your ear. “You know I always mean to tell you thank you. For putting up with my childish ass. For always being there for me. I’m going to turn it around this year. And to make it up to you, I would fulfill whatever favour you want…Sexual or otherwise.”

Your breath catches in your chest, and you bite your lip, deciding to fake sleep. Chan knows you better than that, so he lifts his hand and smacks your hip, groaning. “Stop. I know you are awake, Ladybug. Answer me.”

“Nothing.”

“You don’t expect me to believe that, do you?”

“It is actually nothing, Chan. Go to bed.”

“I have my ways of finding out, Ladybug. You know that. Isn’t it better for you to tell me now?”

You are quiet for so long, the memories of what your last ex said to you when you told him about this cropping up into your head. You couldn’t tell Chan that. He would leave you alone, just like everyone else.

You are about to say it’s nothing when Chan moves, tugging you under him as he shifts up on his palms. The move makes him hover over you, and you are even more aware of how his scent drifts into your nose.

Chan’s full gaze on you suddenly has you fighting the urge to squirm. Your best friend was many many things, including unbelievably stunning. Looking at him was enough to make you believe in a higher entity.

His features are so perfectly arranged and fit in his face, and when Chan smiled, with his full face and eyes, you could swear he was an angel. He had to be an angel. It made no other sense.

“I can tell when you are hiding something, Ladybug. Come on. Tell me. You know I wouldn’t judge.” His voice is smoky, and it was pouring over you like a cup of honey slides down your throat in the morning.

You open your mouth, the words getting stuck somewhere in your throat, and the intensity of his gaze on you makes you finally look away. Your eyes land on the alarm clock on his bedside table, and it makes you remember a particular fact.

Before Chan crashed out after a party, he never remembered anything you said to him when you were in bed together.

You had told him about your ex last time, and from the way he had hugged Nick earlier this night, you were sure he couldn’t remember. Chan was fiercely protective of you, and learning that Nick cheated on you would make Chan end anything that amounted to Nick’s social life on campus.

The information has your tongue loosening. “I want to be chased down. And then fucked.”

You close your eyes, and Chan shifts above you, and you can feel his eyes on your face. “Fucked? Like forced?”

The two words leaving his mouth made it sound so sinfully delicious, and you were suddenly aware of how drunk you still were, even though you felt sober. This was wrong.

You nod, swallowing. “Yes. I want it to hurt sometimes. Have someone pin me down and have their way with me. To force me into submission.”

Chan is so quiet that you immediately regret speaking, and you are about to push him off you when his hand comes up to rest on your neck, pinning you in place. “So, say the person had you like this, you would want that?”

The room is so silent that you are sure a pin could have dropped and you would be aware of it, but you still refuse to open your eyes and look at him. “I would put up a struggle, but yes. I would want it.”

Chan moves off you in one swift move, and you feel your chest loosen. You hadn’t even known there was a tightness in it before. You hear Chan land on his side of the bed, and you shift onto your side, opening your eyes to look at the alarm clock.

It wasn’t even up to twenty minutes since you looked at it last, but the minute between you and Chan had felt like a century. It was as if you had been thrown into an alternate world where time moved much much slower.

Chan is silent, and you turn over a little, and you immediately notice his position. Chan usually slept in one particular way, and when you teased him about it, he complained that it was because he shared a room with his friends during their bi-annual road trips.

He was already sleeping.

You can’t tell if the shake in your chest is disappointment or relief, and you turn back on your side, pressing your eyes closed. You can still hear his low breathing, and you start counting backwards from ten as you try to regulate yours.

You had already told Chan, so there was nothing you could do now but sleep, and pray that he already forgot when you both woke up the next morning.

“You feel it in your system, you want it more.”

Chan woke up first, and the first thing you notice when you open your eyes is the smell of fresh coffee and bacon. Chan lived in a huge apartment that wasn’t so far from your campus, and he had bought it with one of his other best friends, Changbin.

You immediately pull on one of his sweatpants, tightening the waistband as you move downstairs. The apartment was big enough to contain over twelve rooms, with a basement gym and movie theater. You hadn’t understood the need for that much space till you met the other six occupants, apart from Chan and Changbin.

Half of them were already in the dining room, nursing steaming cups of coffee. Felix brightens up when he sees you enter, his usually messy hair pulled back into a ponytail at his nape. “You are up earlier than Chan was expecting.”

It was an inside joke that Chan and you were in a relationship, and no matter how much you tried to convince them otherwise, the rest of the gang didn’t believe it. You were sure they teased you sometimes just for the sole fact of getting you worked up.

“When was he expecting me?” You slide into the seat across from him, sitting opposite Seungmin, who had his head on the table. He was the one controlling the DJ booth yesterday with Han and Chan, so you are surprised to see him at the table.

“After his shower.” Hyunjin answers before Felix can, making the latter smack his arm. Hyunjin looks refreshingly fresh, and you wince when you glance down at your outfit. You could tell he was on his way out just by looking at him, and it explained his absence last night.

Chan walks into the dining room, balancing four plates on his arm, Minho behind him. Chan’s face breaks into a smile when he sees you, and everyone else at the table groans.

“Great, now we are subjected to being third wheels again.” Seungmin grumbles this as he lifts his head, swiping one plate from Chan immediately he reaches the dining table. Seungmin tosses a bacon into his mouth, ignoring the glare from Chan.

“How did you sleep, Ladybug?” Chan places the other three plates on the table, before pushing one in your direction. Minho places two plates down on the table and throws you a warm smile before sitting down next to Hyunjin.

“It was great. Breakfast woke me up.” You gingerly spear a bacon with your fork, and Chan doesn’t sit down like you were expecting. He stands instead, his eyes flickering. Your heart catches in your throat, almost expecting him to bring up last night and what happened in his bed after, but Chan just smiles.

“Great! I was hoping it would. I am just going to shower. You remember Jay is expecting us for our project, so you better hurry. I would drop you off at home to shower up and change.” He drops a kiss to your forehead before breezing out of the kitchen, and your heart is heavy with longing as you watch him go.

Minho’s voice breaks you out of the trace, and you start with surprise. “I know we all joke about it, but when are you going to tell him that you are in love with him? I am pretty sure everyone but Chan can tell by now.”

You flinch, glaring at him, but Minho just shrugs, turning to Hyunjin. “I am not lying, am I?”

Hyunjin also ignores your glare as he spreads avocado over his toast, before sprinkling salt on top of it. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Sugar, but Minho is right. It is sickeningly obvious. Even a blind bat could tell if they just spent time with the two of you.”

Seungmin laughs, almost spilling his coffee everywhere and you sigh, resting your head back on your chair. “He doesn’t feel the same, and I am sure that it will pass soon enough. I just don’t want him to think I am one of his fangirls or anything.”

Felix rolls his eyes before snorting, and he passes off one of his bacon strips to Seungmin’s plate. “If it makes you sleep better at night, darling, I wouldn’t say anything more.”

You don’t say anything else as you finish your breakfast, and when

Chris had invited you for his Halloween party, this time as a guest and not a co host. That was the only reason you had agreed, but you currently wished you were back in your bed.

The turnout was massive, and you could tell Chris was thriving. He always did, especially when he was the center of attention.

The house lights are blurring your vision and the music's loud enough that it starts to hurt your head. The strap of your bra slips, and you yank it up before turning to Chan, who was still looking at his phone and nursing a red cup.

“I am going upstairs. I might head up to your room, just to change and sleep.” You have to step close enough that his scent is wrapped around your nose and settling somewhere between your skin for him to hear you, and you pull back to see Chan nod.

His Ghostface mask is obscuring your view of his eyes, but his hand drops to cup yours, before squeezing once. “I will wrap the party myself, Ladybug. You have done enough. Go ahead.”

Chan smacks your hip, and your cheeks flush crismon, and you pray the party lights hide it from him as you step past him, heading up towards the back steps. Chan had sealed off the main stairs leading upstairs after a few partygoers had started using the bedrooms for sex, and you still shivered when you remember how livid he was.

You are about to take off your hood and reach for the door knob when you feel someone coming up from behind you, and before you know it, a pair of hands blocks your vision. Your first instinct is to knee them in the balls with the heel of your boots, but a low voice vibrates in your ear and your anger clears.

You would recognize that voice anywhere, even in your sleep.

“Boo, Little Red.”

You sigh with annoyance, pushing Chan off. He laughs as he steps back, and you turn to face him, and you can’t see his face, but you know he has a sheepish expression on. “That wasn’t funny, Christopher.”

Your use of his full name makes him flinch, but he just slips his hands under those robes, and into what you assumed is his pockets. “I was thinking about something. You know the path to the rooftop gardens, right?”

He waits until you nod before he starts speaking again. "Do you remember what you told me that night in bed?"

He doesn't have to clarify, and you feel your cheeks flush red as you immediately close your mouth to say something, but Chan laughs, raising his hand. "Ladybug, it's fine. I am not disgusted. I am not Nick."

You flinch, and Chan's voice turns into pure venom, making goosebumps spread up over your arms. "I assure you that that bastard would not be disturbing you ever again."

The words jumble around in your throat, but all that leaves your mouth is "You remember everything I tell you."

Chan laughs, and it is a low smoky sound that has your heart racing. "I do, Ladybug. I am sorry for making it seem like I haven't, but I knew you wouldn't talk about it otherwise. And I would take everything I can get of you."

You are sure the shock and confusion is written all over your face because Chan steps forward, holding your hands. "I want to do that with you. I need to know if you trust me to do that. If you trust me to do that here...and now."

He tips the bottom of his mask up, placing his Ghostface mask at the top of his head and exposing his face, and you see his eyes, and the clatter in your head comes to a shrieking stop, and Chan smiles. "If you don't want to, we go to my room and watch anime and forget this ever happened."

The unspoken but lingered in the air, and you found yourself melting the longer his eyes stayed on you. You wanted it with Chan, and this entire moment felt like a fever dream, but you wanted to be selfish. "I trust you, Christopher."

Chan groans, shaking his head. "You have to stop calling me that. Come on, get into the room." He didn't let you answer, reaching behind you to open the room to his door and push you inside, shutting the door shut behind you.

"Sit." The pure command in his voice has you moving, and you take a seat on his bed, watching him come to stand in front of you. He folds his arms around his chest, and even under the robes he was wearing, you could make out the build of his arms.

You push down the desire bubbling through you as Chan's lips purse, and he clears his throat. "You should have a safe word prepared, but I am going to tell you what my plan is."

Chan comes to stand in front of you, dropping to a squat. He is careful to not touch you, but you wished he would. "I am going to chase you up to the roof. Then I would pin you down and use my knife on you. If you want us to go further, we will. Otherwise, I am fine ending things there."

"Knife?" You echo, and Chan smirks, and a shiver of fear dances down your spine. He brings out a small penknife from underneath his robes, before pressing against the skin above your garter.

The cool steel of the knife is like pure fire against your heated skin, and you can't stop the moan from spilling out your mouth. Chan's eyes flash with heat, but his hand doesn't shake. "I wouldn't cut you, unless you want that."

He didn't make it a question, but it might as well have been one. You shake your head, and Chan lifts the knife off your skin immediately. You try to keep the disappointment from showing on your face, but when Chan smirks, you are reminded that you can't hide anything from him.

"That's it. You can try to push me off, but I assure you wouldn't be able to. If I am going too far but you want to continue, tap any part of my body three times." He gets to his feet, and you have to crane your head back to stare up into his face. "Do you have a safe word?"

"Vodka." You say, referencing the liquor that you both drank the first time you had met. From the way Chan smiles, you know he got the connection.

"Okay, Ladybug. One more thing. Am I allowed to kiss you?" He grabs your arm, yanking you up. You nearly collapse into his arms before he steadies you, and you take a small step back.

"It's fine." You say, feeling your palms get sweaty. You had seen him kissing other people before, of both genders, and you had longed to be the one behind his lips. You couldn't believe it was about to happen.

Chan smiles, one of his bright genuine smiles that lit up his entire face and made your stupid foolish heart beat like it was pumped up on adrenaline in your chest.

"Great. Are you ready? I am inclined to give you a headstart." He steps back as he speaks, tugging his mask back over his face. He cocks his head, watching you wipe your palms on your skirt.

"I am ready." You step forward towards the door, pressing your hand on the door handle and push it open, and the thrill starts to burn its way through your system. You can hear Chan behind you, and before you step your foot over the threshold, he starts talking.

“Immediately your foot goes over that frame, the game is on. You got that, right?” His voice is muffled because of the mask, but you can hear him as clear as day anyway. You knew his voice like the back of your own hand.

Chan is silent, and you glance over your shoulders to see him bending down to take off his shoes. Instinct spikes its way through your muscles, and you immediately jump forward, taking off running. You can hear Chan laughing behind you, but it doesn’t make you slow down.

You can hear your heart beating funny in your chest, and the pounding is enough to give you a headache. You cut through the gym rooms, heading for the other hallway. It would mean you would have to climb an additional flight of steps, but you don’t care.

“Don’t run from me, little Red. You know I would catch you regardless.” Maybe it’s the excitement, but Chan’s voice sounds menacing, and you can’t stop the shiver that climbs up your spine.

You yank your skirt up, even though it wasn’t restricting you and jump the flight of streets, hearing his heavy footsteps get faster behind you. You risk taking a look over your shoulder, and your heart leaps in your throat once you see the distance between the two of you. You grit your teeth as you move up the steps, before finally getting to the top and pushing the glass door open.

The rooftop was domed, and the boys had filled it with all sorts of things, since it was here almost everyone came to lounge and hang out. It was huge as well, meaning they had an infinite amount of possibilities when it came to furnishing the place, so you weren’t surprised someone put a bed.

You wouldn’t have minded Chan using the floor, but considering this was your first time doing this fantasy, you wanted it to be special. And comfortable. You haven’t stopped running, since the bed is on the far edge of the roof.

Behind you, you hear the distinct sound of the door opening and you curse, miscalculating a step. It makes your skirt hook in the joystick of an arcade machine, and you start tugging it out, breaking it free just as Chan caught up to you, ducking and grabbing low to get a hold of your ankle.

A scream gets stuck in your throat as you tip forward, and you fling out your hands to brace your fall.

You land against the carpeted grass, and you scream as Chan’s grip on your ankle tightens and he tugs you back, before his hands slide under your thighs and pick you up. Your scream cuts off as you land on his shoulders, and he walks you both over to the bed, before tossing you on it.

You spin around, both palms coming up to push him off you, but Chan was right. His body is like a rock, and a chuckle leaves his lips, making you shiver.

He grabs you, spinning you back to land on your stomach and pins you down with one hand on your neck. His other hand roams along your body, rubbing up and down your side, before squeezing your breast, and the hand on your neck grips your nape, giving it a light squeeze.

“You are so pretty like this, Ladybug.” You squirm and raise your hips off the bed as his hands move back down, teasing under the hem of your skirt. You don’t think as you kick, and Chan curses, his grip on you loosening enough that you can push him off you.

Scrambling on your hands and knees, you try to get off the bed, but you are not quick enough as he grabs you again, before pushing you flat on your stomach. Your face slams against one of the pillows as a garbled scream escapes you, and the sound falling from your lips coaxes a low chuckle out of him.

Chan has his hand back on your nape, a tighter grip this time, and you whine, pushing back against him. You bite the hand that’s beside your head, but Chan’s grip doesn’t budge and you are about to kick him again when he shifts position.

He leaves the hand on your nape, before settling down to hover above your spine, giving leverage to lift his free hand off the bed. You are about to try jerking again when you suddenly feel something cold press against the side of your neck, and you freeze on the spot.

His knife.

“There you go. I knew you could keep still for me.” There’s a dangerous undercurrent to Chan’s voice, one you have only heard once, and it sends shivers down your spine. You needed him. “Be a good little victim now, okay? I really don't want to hurt you with this. Don’t make me do that, okay, baby?”

His voice tells you he wouldn’t hesitate to use the knife on you like that, but the memory of his promise back in the bedroom isn’t enough to loosen the ache in your chest. You don't even dare to breathe at this point, because you can feel its metallic coolness as it teases against your delicate skin.

His hands leave your nape, and you hear fabric rustling. The pressure of the knife against your neck eases slightly and before you can exhale with relief, Chan curls one arm around your middle, pulling you back and flushing against him.

The position makes you sit back on your thighs, and you can feel his warmth leaking in through your clothes at your back, and you release a breath, trying to calm your thundering heart. “Let me go. I don't know what I did to you. I didn’t do anything.”

The words spill out of your throat, and you gasp when Chan raises his knife again, pressing the sharp tip against the side of your neck. You can’t stop the word from bursting out of your chest, and your voice trails off in a whimper as you tilt your body away. “Please!”

“Pity. But don’t worry, baby. I won't kill you,” Chan says quietly, and the mask is brushing up against the side of your face, and you knew if he didn’t have it on, you would feel his breath against your cheek.

Chan must notice your mind wandering because he makes a sound of disapproval in his throat as he starts pressing his other hand against your stomach. “I just want to have some fun. And I'm sure you do too. That’s all. You can do that for me, right?”

His words have the desired effect and a whimper leaves your throat as you press back against him, letting his fingers dance up and down your belly.

This is Chan. Your Chan.

You can’t see his face, but you know Chan must have heard your whimper because his hand suddenly slips down your stomach, slipping under your skirt. A strangled gasp leaves your throat as his fingers curl right between your legs, before pressing against your underwear.

“Ah, you don’t even need to answer me, see? You are ready for this.” Chan’s voice snakes into your ear, before reaching down and tugging on your core, and you close your eyes as you feel yourself get slick with arousal.

“So wet. Maybe you have a knife kink?” Chan’s tone is menacing as he speaks, and before you can answer, he chuckles and simultaneously presses the blade against your throat just as his fingers slip between your wet folds, making you gasp and stiffen.

His fingers felt so good. It has been so long, and you can’t stop the needy whimper from leaving your throat as you fight the urge to squirm.

Chan pays no attention, instead leaving his fingers where they are as he keeps rubbing along the drenched fabric of your panties, teasing your entrance through the cloth. “Would you like to have something bigger in that cute little cunt, baby?”

You open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off by pressing his groin against your back, and you can feel just how big he is. You always knew Chan was bigger than average. His ex girlfriends used to text you about it, but experiencing it in person was different.

“Well?” he whispers, rubbing his plastic mask against your cheek. You can hear his labored breathing through it now, and he seems just as excited as the wetness dripping against his fingertips makes you appear.

Chan was turned on. By you.

The feeling is enough to make you dizzy, and you croak out an affirmative answer. Chan nudges the side of your cheek with his mask, and you can hear a muffled “Good girl.”

You don’t have time to think or ponder it any longer, because Chan suddenly pushes you forward and you land on the bed again. You blink, shock rendering you immobile and you let him manhandle you onto your back.

Chan moves again, and before you know it, he's crawled over you, pushing your skirt up and your legs wide apart, before holding them open with his knees.

Chan’s hands roam up your body, and you realize with a start that he has dropped the knife somewhere, and his fingers knead your breasts through the fabric of your top, briefly scattering your train of thought. “What a good girl. So submissive. You have no idea how much you please me, mhm?”

His words make you shiver. You inhale sharply when his rough hands make contact with your soft breasts as they slip right beneath your bra, pushing it up, and you can't help pressing your chest against his touch, wanting more.

He's strangely gentle in how he touches you, despite the power he clearly has over you, and it only adds to your arousal, making you squirm beneath him.

“Little Red's excited, huh?” he mocks as he gropes your tender tits until you feel your hard nipples pressing into his palms. “Don't worry, I'll fill you up in no time.”

His fingers grip the sides of your top, ripping it open and exposing you completely, before trailing over your stomach until he reaches to the side and grabs the knife again. “Maybe I want you to beg for it though. See how good you can be for me.”

You let out a surprised whimper when you feel the cold edge of the knife press between your breasts, teasing at the soft mounds. He's looming over you, his head tilted to the side, and you swallow hard, barely daring to move with the blade so close to your skin.

“Come on, Little Red, beg me to fuck you... or beg me not to kill you?”

Suddenly his hand is on your throat, and you gasp as he closes his fingers around it, while pressing the knife firmer against your chest, the blade scratching along your skin with every rapid breath you take, no matter how hard you try not to move.

“Please.” You whimper, a series of shivers crashing down your spine. “Don't... hurt me...”

Chan freezes, and you can feel the grip on your neck loosen, but his hand holding the knife doesn’t shake. “You would like it.”

He gives you no further warning as the knife pokes a little deeper, and you're sure it has broken your skin now, but he keeps holding your neck, keeping you in place. “Chan.”

Your whisper of his name makes him laugh, his laugh low and menacing. “What do you want, baby? I am not giving you anything until you say it.”

“Fuck me. Please. I am… I want it so bad. I want you so bad.” You are surprised at the steel in your voice, and from the way Chan’s hand twitches around your throat, you can tell you have gotten him.

“Good girl.”

Your head is still spinning as you feel his hands lifting your hips before his fingers pull your panties down. He's shifted to kneel beside you, and you realize Chan has placed his knife right on your fluttering stomach.

Your hands claw at the edges of the pillow as you ground yourself, still not even thinking about fighting back or even escaping.

Why would you? You've never felt this exhilarated. This was everything you had wanted, and it was Chan giving it to you.

You watch his dark figure, and you gasp as you notice that he already took off the long black robe and even if it’s too dark to make out his full figure, you know how he looks already. You can’t get rid of the image in your head even if you tried.

When his fingers are back between your legs, you gasp in surprise, blinking your eyes into focus as he rips you from your thoughts. His fingertips move expertly, and all you can do is squirm slightly, moaning softly the more he touches you.

Suddenly he moves, hands on your thighs as he pushes your legs wide open, before he grabs the knife and teases the pointy tip down your stomach, over the fabric of your bunched up skirt, until you feel the cold metal against your inner thigh.

You let out a croaked whimper, forcing yourself not to move too much. While he teases you with the blade, he puts his hand over your mound, pumping his palm against your wet folds until a lewd squelching sound rings in your ears that makes your head spin as your cheeks flush.

“Nice and wet for me, aren't you?” Chan mocks quietly, repeating the motions a few times before he pulls his hand back and probes two fingers against your core instead. You brace yourself for the intrusion, but you still cry out softly when he pushes inside you.

Big hands with thick fingers, and two of his feel like four of yours, as he stretches your entrance and presses hard against your protesting muscles. You groan in response, thrashing your head back.

He keeps fingering you, his digits slipping in and out in a lazy rhythm that he mirrors with his knife as it scratches up and down your inner thigh, and every time he presses the blade harder against your skin, you feel your walls clenching around his fingers.

“You like that, huh?” Chan whispers menacingly. “Knife kink confirmed. Such a dirty girl.”

You bite your lip hard to suppress more telltale noises of pleasure, but Chan makes a sound of disapproval in his throat. “Don’t hold them back, baby. Let me hear you.”

As if to buttress his point, his fingers switch their rhythm and his thumb brushes over your clit as he curls his fingers inside you, pushing up against your g-spot.

The tension starts to push up your spine, the pressure building almost relentlessly, borderline painful, but it's only when you suddenly feel the cold metal of the blade right against your throbbing clit that you snap apart with a loud mewl, and a broken litany of words leave your mouth as your hips start bucking up, and you no longer care about getting cut. The one focus that drives your head is to ride the waves of bliss, as if nothing else matters.

“Beautiful,” You hear Chan speak, but his voice is in the distance as you slowly come down from your high, and the stars in the sky are like bright lights dancing behind your eyelids.

Your pussy walls flutter, and your eyes snap open as you feel him still massaging your walls as they contract around his fingers. “Can't wait to feel that around my cock, baby. You are perfect.”

You hear a soft clicking sound when he seems to fumble with his belt, the knife back on your belly. His hands are on your waist then, pulling you down a little until he drapes your legs over his thighs, guiding your crotches together.

You barely register any of it, your mind reeling from your orgasm, but also anticipating the feel of his dick inside you. You don't have to think about it for long as you feel its tip pressing between your wet folds when he rubs it against you to gather your slick.

Breathing harder, you open your eyes, trying to watch him. The moonlight is enough now to show you how he looks like a big strong body kneeling between your legs, and his glowing mask makes it all a little eerie, but when he finally enters you, you don't care about appearances anymore. He feels glorious.

Big, oh so big, filling you out more than you would have expected as he presses deeper, nudge by nudge, little rolls of his hips until he bottoms out inside you.

His hands dig into your waist, holding you against him, and you feel bruises forming, but you don't mind, you need this. His first thrust makes the knife on your stomach bounce, and you gasp loudly. The second is equally harsh as he withdraws slowly to slam back in with force.

When he finally settles into a slow but steady rhythm, you're mewling softly, overwhelmed by how he feels inside you, how your walls cling to his shaft, sucking him in and dragging along it with every push and pull, rubbing so deliciously you feel a scorching tension building up inside you, burning brighter with every snap, every deep plunge, filling you up more and more.

His hands leave your waist to grab your throat, turning your soft moans into loud gasps, as he slowly picks up the pace and rams into you, using his hold on your neck as leverage to angle his pelvis against you, allowing him to hit all the good spots with ease.

You cry out over and over again, your eyes rolling back, the last thing you see is that ominous white mask above you, before you come hard around him, clamping down on his pistoning cock, your wetness gushing past him as you convulse beneath him.

You feel lightheaded, blinded by bliss, barely able to breathe, but you couldn't care less. He fucks you through your literally mind-blowing orgasm, pushing you higher and higher, until you feel it building up all over again. He lets go of your throat, allowing you to cry out hoarsely as you come again.

He pushes you down into the bed, one hand on your shoulder, holding you steady, while his other hand grabs the knife off your stomach, and you only realize that when you feel the cold blade against your cheek, gathering your sweat on its tip.

Or maybe your tears, you can't be sure, your body feels like it belongs to somebody else at the moment, and you're just here to enjoy the ride.

“Open wide,” Chan tells you, his voice muffled and strained, and you comply, parting your lips before you feel the blunt edge of the blade pressing against them.

“Tongue out.”

You follow through, still too dizzy to question anything.

He presses the knife flat against your tongue, holding it there while he keeps pounding his cock into your fluttering cunt.

You can hear his labored breaths from behind the mask, his movements becoming jerkier as you just lie there, staring up at him, goosebumps rippling over your skin as your legs twitch against his sides.

Your own sounds are muffled with how he holds your mouth open, and you have to really force yourself not to move your tongue against the blade.

Chan leans down more, putting more of his weight on you, pinning you down, his hips snapping against yours in a wild rhythm, until he finally stills, a loud groan echoing in your ears as he falls forward, mask pressed to the pillow beside your head, the hand holding the knife to your tongue shaking slightly.

That last thrust made you whine as he pushed as deep as he could possibly go, bullying your cervix, and your mind is swimming in bliss as you feel him throbbing inside you, his balls drawing up against your folds as he empties himself in your depths, filling you with spurt after spurt of hot cum.

You clench around him, trying to milk him, and the motion only makes you moan into the blade pressed against your tongue as another wave of pleasure crashes over you at the sensation.

Your mind is too hazy to know what he would do next, but Chan eventually leans back up, keeping himself propped on his elbow as he lifts the knife off your tongue, and the way the cold pressure disappears makes you all too aware that all that remains is a numb feeling and a whole lot of spit.

Without thinking, you close your mouth and swallow hard, but freeze when he suddenly reaches out and wipes his fingers over your wet lips. He traces your mouth with his thumb, and before you can blink, Chan curses, pulling his mask over his head.

You barely have enough time to drink in his features before he dips down and kisses you, almost swallowing you whole. His tongue slips into your mouth, and all you can taste, feel and touch is Chan, and his name is ringing in your head like it’s the only word you know how to say.

He groans, his hands coming up to tug on your hair once, before lifting off you. His eyes are glazed over, and his lips are swollen and his chest is rising and falling almost as heavily as yours. “More?”

Chan dips down again as you nod once, and as your lips meet, his hands start to trail down your body, giving your breasts a few more squeezes before he grips your hips and brushes a hand over your clit, the same time as his teeth nip your bottom lip, and your low heady is swallowed by his mouth.

Chan leans back, and you let your legs drop from around his lips. His eyes dip to your lips and you push yourself up on your elbows as Chan comes forward to nip your lips one more time before he watches his cock slip free from your cunt, and a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Clench and unclench for me, baby.”

You do as he says, and you can feel a large warm dollop of his cum leaking out from between your puffy lips. He groans loudly and his hand twitches, as if he is struggling to stop himself from touching you again.

“Chan.” Your voice is hoarse, but Chan’s eyes flash with heat, and this time, there is no mistaking what his smile means.

It was pride.

Chan immediately tugs up his boxers, and you say a mournful goodbye to his cock just as his hands come to grab your waist gently. “Ladybug.”

The soft endearment is too much, considering what just happened and your heart cracks open, and you bite down on your bottom lip, feeling all your emotions for him threatening to spill out of your mouth. You had to behave. He had just given you a gift and an experience you hadn’t thought was possible.

He brushes your hair out of your face, smiling softly. “You were perfect.” He leans in to kiss the tip of your nose, and there is no way you could have stopped the tears from coming out.

“Chan….I–” Before the words can get out of your throat, Chan cuts you off with a kiss to your jaw, sliding his hands up the nape of your neck. He tugs you into him, before falling back on the bed with you tucked into his side.

“You don’t have to say anything yet, Ladybug. Just breathe with me.” You breathe in his scent, feeling his warmth spread over your body. He yanks up the blanket, and you snuggle into him, hearing his heartbeat under your ear.

Chan didn’t say anything, but you knew as well as he did that your relationship just got more fucked up. There was nothing you could both do to stop it.

(endnotes)

AHHHHH! i am so happy to push this out. this one has been in my head a lot, and i am so so excited to start this series. The pairings will be around the reader and skz in university, and while each can be read alone, they will be interconnected.

the next person is going to be minho x han x reader, and it’s going to be about han using the reader to make minho jealous and they end up being a throuple. aka one of my favourite tropes ever. (of course, chan and reader will have their part two, but i have a lot of plans for them, so it is going to have to wait.)

thank you for reading, and any feedback, like and comments you leave behind mean the whole world to me. (please, imagine me with a bowl in my hands begging for your validation)

#si11yw0rm #si11yw0rm smut #fanfic #bang chan #christopher bang #bangchan x reader #skz smut #bangchan smut #stray kids x reader #stray kids #stray kids smut #bangchan stray kids #bangchan x you #bangchan fanfic #bangchan fluff #skz bang chan #christopher chan #ghostface

291 notes · View notes

klemen-tine · 1 year ago

Text

For the Greater Good (Platonic! Yandere Batfam x Uncle!MaleReader)

MAJOR WARNING: There is physical harm in this, near the end, please proceed with caution. Non-consensual drugging at the end as well.

Fun fact I learned but felt like I knew, some pain medications can actually make you lose your memories.

Reader is Bruce Wayne's younger brother.

___________________________________________________________

Crying woke him up. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he sat up with a lot of effort and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. Grabbing his cane, he threw on a robe to protect himself from the chilly air the manor tends to have, and he hobbled out of his room. His leg was still stiff and he cursed at how long it took him to get to the room, but once he did he limped inside and towards the crib.

He smiled down at the crying baby, dressed in the cutest starfish onesie. When crying blue eyes made eye contact with E/C eyes, the crying stopped and instead a smile bloomed on their chubby face. A chuckle escaped the exhausted man, reaching down carefully and picking the small thing up. He put his weight on his good leg and stood there, holding the little being in his arms.

Their cheeks have filled out, creating a plumpness that reminded him of the cream puffs he has tucked away in the freezer, and those sparkling blue eyes were something many people would be jealous about.

“You shouldn’t be up.” He could hear the cape swishing behind the other figure, and the all but silent footsteps that inched their way into the room. A smile bloomed on his own face, mimicking the baby, “Don’t come closer if you’re wearing that bat costume. You’ll give him nightmares.” A chuckle escaped from the other and when exhausted E/C eyes looked up, he was met with the amused blue eyes of his older brother.

Bruce ignored his younger brother’s words, walking closer to peer at his nephew in his brother’s arms. His mask was off, and he only wore the suit and cape. This way his nephew could at least recognize his favorite Uncle’s face. To which the baby did, smiling and laughing when Bruce came into their line of suit.

Y/N smiled, holding them closer and nuzzling his head with his cheek. Bruce watched his nephew flail his arms in that starfish onesie, making it all the more hilarious. His brother chuckled, gently bouncing the baby in his arms to try and soothe them.

“You stink.” Bruce chuckled, “How rude. I just came back from patrol.” Y/N rolled his eyes, “Everyone alright?”

“Yes, everyone is safe. It was an easy night.” Y/N’s shoulders relaxed and Bruce observed how the exhaustion creeped up on his brother. His shoulders sagging and the bags under his eyes looking heavier. His grip on Bruce’s nephew tightened only a little bit, pulling the baby closer.

If Bruce was better at art, it would be this moment he would wish to paint. The moon light streaming in through off-white curtains, over the sage green crib, and on the two bodies in front of him. His younger brother, wearing a black silk robe and his nephew in his starfish onesie being bathed in moonlight. The soft light reflecting off of H/C lock and S/C skin. It is the way that the moonlight casted soft shadows and seemed to only highlight his brother’s features. Blue eyes looked down to his nephew, who was fluttering those large blue eyes of his and trying to fight sleep.

It’d be more beautiful than any other renaissance painting.

His nephew looked so much like Y/N when he was a baby. A memory Bruce holds onto with care. Besides the eye color, which blue was a common trait in Waynes, his nephew could be nearly identical to Y/N as a baby. From the smiles, to the happy laughs, the waking up in the middle of the night just to be held.

It’s most likely what made this image all the more better.

Until Y/N’s face screwed and Bruce watched him shift his weight a bit. Worry taking over his features, he rested a large hand on his brother’s shoulder, “Y/N, you should go to sleep.” Y/N shook his head, “Not yet.”

“Y/N.”

“No, Bruce. Just… just a bit longer.” He wanted to look at what was left of the life he once had. His baby was a reminder of the love he had once felt for another. A love he didn’t know he was capable of feeling, until a few years ago. The very proof of said love, the only thing left was his baby. This cute, innocent, and lovely baby that held Y/N’s heart. Or at least what was left of it.

The Wayne brothers are intimately familiar with how quickly life can be taken away. Their parents’ lives taken by a bullet, and Y/N’s wife taken by a car. Anything could take this young life, and the very thought terrified Y/N. It had him jolting awake in the middle of the night and visiting the nursery whenever he could. His son was always near him, and he only just started letting himself leave the baby with his cousins, Uncle, and Grandfather alone.

His heart always beats anxiously whenever he couldn’t see his son, but Alfred and Bruce assured him that that response was normal. Bruce has been helping get over that hurdle, slowly drawing him further and further away from the room his baby would be in for a longer period of time.

Staring at the now sleeping bundle in his arms, all he wanted was to ingrain his son’s features into his memories. Just in case the grim reaper decided it needed another Wayne. If it does decide that, Y/N prays it’ll take him. He prays that it will leave Bruce and his nephews alone, that it would leave Alfred alone, and most importantly his son.

With help from his brother, he set his son down in the crib, watching the baby stir for only a bit before grabbing Bruce’s outstretched arm. His cane in Bruce’s other hand, and Y/N chuckled. Looping his arm in his brother’s as the older, broader, and irritatingly taller man walked back to his room next door.

“Do you want to take your medicine?” Y/N shook his head, “No. The pain isn’t bad, it was just a twinge.” Bruce nodded, sitting on the edge of bed and watching his brother settle under the thick comforters. He could see the anxiety forming in those eyes, and he knows if he doesn’t quell it now, Y/N will be up again to go see his son.

Taking off his gloves, he gently began to run his fingers through his brother’s hair, softly lulling the other to sleep. Bruce smiled, “It’s okay, Y/N. Everyone will be here in the morning.” A few more minutes later, Y/N was softly snoring, taking deep breaths and his body no longer moving besides the stead rising and falling of his chest.

Bruce shuffled quietly out the door, shutting it without a sound, and making his way back to his own room. No before checking in once more on his nephew. Bruce wasn’t as paranoid as Y/N was, but he did enjoy staring at the baby. Not with haunted looks like Y/N used to have, or the forever ogling gazes his own son’s had when looking at the youngest Wayne.

He gazed upon the baby just how he used to stare at Y/N when he was this small. Waking up in the middle of the night to stare in fascination that a human could be so tiny. When he was younger, Bruce used to climb into the crib with Y/N and sleep next to him. It would be quite the sight in the morning, when either Alfred or his parents found him snuggled next to Y/N.

Bruce is four years older than Y/N, and he took his older sibling role seriously. When they were younger, Bruce always had his hand in Y/N’s. Making sure that the other was never far from him. Which wasn’t hard even if they weren’t holding hands. Y/N has been attached to Bruce from the moment he could walk.

His protectiveness increased ten-fold after that fateful night. A night that robbed the both of them of their parents, and Y/N of his mobility. His hip had been shot due to Bruce pulling him close to him. If Bruce didn’t that bullet would have hit Y/N’s stomach, and Alfred had explained that a limp is a small price when it comes to a life.

Bruce had agreed.

Y/N had never held it over Bruce. He never blamed him, nor has he ever given him a dirty look for it.

The man wanted to ensure that his nephew will never have to go through what Y/N went through. He wanted this baby to grow up with a family already wrapped around those tiny, stubby fingers and he wanted Y/N to know that this family would bend over backwards for them. They would do everything in their powers for the two people that always seemed to be in the middle of everything.

He’s grateful that his nephew inherited Y/N’s looks. From the shape of this eyes down to his nose, everything looked like Y/N.

Nothing like that wretched woman.

His jaw clenched at the thought of her, and he quickly walked around the crib to pull the curtains closed. Cutting out the moonlight that illuminated the room and leaving them in almost complete darkness besides the hallway light from the open door.

He reached down, gently dragging his callused finger across the thin and fragile skin of his nephew’s cheek, who smiled in his sleep. Completely and devastatingly unaware of the mad house around him.

++++

“What are you doing?” Y/N stared down at Cass and Stephanie that were surrounding his son. The baby’s hair tied up with a small bow, and looked like a radish.

“Dress up,” Cass answered seriously, and Y/N nodded with a stoic face. Gone were the clothes he was dressed in early this morning and instead he was wearing a cute blue dress under a white top with puffed sleeves.

“Why a dress?” Stephani snickered and pulled out a photo from nowhere, and she stood to hand it up to him. He took the photo and he brought his other hand up to rip it.

“No!” Steph snatched it out his hands and Y/N stomped his cane, “Get rid of that! How did you even get that?!” It was a photo of him, as a baby, in girl clothes. Almost the same dress, same shirt, and same hairstyle. In the back was a cheekily grinning Bruce.

“Bruce.” He’s killing him.

“What?” Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Y/N whipped his glare towards his brother, “Why do you have that photo?!” Bruce blinked at him, took a look at the baby in the room, and then chuckled, “Oh, that photo.”

Y/N hates that his brother knew what photo he was talking about by just looking at his son.

“He’s cute.” Cass held up Y/N’s son, who continued to laugh and Steph whipped out her phone to take a photo. Y/N huffed, “I’m not mad you dressed him up. Bruce, why do you have that photo?!”

His older brother shrugged, “It’s a cute photo.” Y/N’s cheeks burned and Bruce had to stop himself from chuckling, taking advantage of the fact that Y/N needed a hand to hold onto the cane, and he squished his brother’s cheeks with his own hands.

“Bwuush.” Bruce watched those E/C eyes focus on him and fill with annoyance as well as with embarrassment. Those squished cheeks of his were red with a flush and Bruce knows that his baby brother’s nose would be scrunched if he wasn’t currently having his face squished.

The man released Y/N’s cheeks, smiling as he did so. His nephew started laughing and he turned his attention to Steph and Cass who were cooing and taking photos. At least some people were enjoying this.

Y/N sighed, “What other photos do you have of me as baby?” Bruce’s smile turned cryptic smile, walking over to pick up the laughing and smiling baby who squealed in the arms of his Uncle.

“Hey! We weren’t done!” Steph cried out, getting ready to try and snag the baby back, but Bruce cut her off, “It’s lunch time. Alfred is expecting us.”

“Steph, Cass, at least put him back in his regular clothes,” Y/N tried to defend some of his son’s honor, knowing that as an adult the photos will be haunting him. Stephanie grabbed Cass’s hand and ran out of the room, pretending not to hear Y/N calling their names. The man huffed, turning to Bruce who shrugged, “I’m sure everyone will be fine with it.” “I know they will be fine with it. It’s just my poor son is going to be haunted by this story and these pictures.” Bruce chuckled, moving his nephew to sit in one arm, while his other hand rested on Y/N’s back. He gently guided Y/N to the dining room, listening to his brother complain about how this whole family was just filled with people who do what they want when they want.

He was halfway through it when they heard running steps followed by a “Stop running!” Dick’s blue eyes locked on the three of him and his face looking feverish, “So they didn’t take him out of it!” Cheers were heard and Y/N swears that one day he’s going to club all of them. His oldest nephew walked over, his smile large as he took in his cute cousin who was babbling away and looking unbothered.

“Uncle, he really does look like you in that photo.”

“How do you know of that photo?!” Dick picked up his cousin from Bruce’s arms, and cooed at the chubby baby. Said baby squealed and gushed at the sight of Dick, raising his little hands and pawing at Dick’s cheeks and nose. It had Dick making a sqwauking sound and nuzzled his nose into those plump cheeks.

He motioned for the two other adults to follow him, “Alfred made lasgana, caesar salad, and some bread loafs.” Y/N can already picture the mess his son will make and that poor dress of his is going to ruined.

“Before he naps he’s going to need a bath,” He reminded Dick, who nodded, “Of course! Can’t have a dirty baby going to sleep dirty, now can we?” His hands held both sides of his cousin and he held him in the air as he wiggled him a bit, eliciting a cry of delight.

The walk to the dining room was filled with Dick asking his Uncle questions and Bruce walking besides the limping man. Both of their attention on him as he answered Dick truthfully.

“You guys are terrible,” Jason grumbled once he saw his cousin’s state, but it lacked any bite and he was holding back a smile. Stephanie cackled while Dick set the youngest Wayne in his high chair.

“Master Y/N, I can feed the Young Master while you eat.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, “Are you sure? I don’t mind feeding him, Alfred.” The Butler huffed, “Of course. It is not a hard job to do.” It was something everyone was grateful for. The youngest Wayne was not, by any means, a picky eater. He was a joy to feed and oftentimes Y/N’s nieces and nephews fought over who could feed him. Although, everyone could admit that Alfred is the best when it comes to making sure that their cousin’s food ends up more in his mouth than on the tray.

Smiling, Y/N and the rest of the Waynes dug into the italian-themed meal.

Damian watched his Uncle eat from his peripheral vision. He took into account how much food he was eating and how much just spread throughout his plate to look like he ate some. When he had first moved in after the accident, it was a common thing to witness. Their once gluttonous Uncle, because Y/N could and does eat a lot, was barely taking any bites of the meals.

The first month was hard on almost everybody. His Uncle always looked paranoid and he had his son sleeping in the same room as him. Damian understood that his Uncle was grieving and grief takes time. Even now, he could still see the signs of sadness in those E/C irises as he stared and took in everybody. Almost like it would be his last chance to do so.

It is that look that puts everyone on high alert around him. Monitoring and excessively checking on him just how he does to his son.

What Uncle Y/N doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

After an eventful lunch, it was Uncle Y/N who ended up taking his son to go put down for a nap, balancing the baby in one arm and using the cane in the other, he masterfully evaded everyones’ hand to help and limped through the manor.

Damian was the one to pull out his phone and watch the feed of his Uncle making it too his room with the baby still in his arms. Masterfully opening and keeping the door open until the both of them were in the room.

“He made it.”

“Good.” Call them cautious and they will agree. How could they not be? Y/N has had a tremendous impact on nearly all of their lives in some shape or form. His patience, kindness, and genuine happiness of just being alive was infectious and capable of attracting even the haughtiest of people.

He was too good for someone like her. Someone who was so impatient, deceitful, and not worthy of Y/N’s attention. Let alone hand in marriage.

When Y/N had first introduced her, everyone banked on it not lasting. It is why they did nothing to stop the continuation of the relationship. A simple fling. Only for two years later they would be married. It was only the revelation that she was pregnant that halted the plans for a bit.

Seeing Y/N as happy and excited as he was was enough to stave off the anger. Bruce’s grip became more possessive, Dick’s hugs became tighter, Jason’s bookstore trip became more frequent, Tim’s help in learning how to run Wayne Enterprise more demanding, Stephanie’s and Cass need to go shopping became longer, Duke’s need to understand his metahuman abilities became more intense, and Damian’s desire for his blood-Uncle’s attention all the more prominent.

Everyone all of a sudden needed something from Y/N more than before.

Then when the baby was born, all of the Wayne’s were present, including those who didn’t fall under Bruce Wayne’s legal care. All of them waiting for Y/N and his son.

Tim can recall his first time holding the baby, and how small he was. He had been terrified that he was going to break them, but Y/N’s careful guidance and soft instructions, that fear turned into admiration. To think, something this small could be this breathtaking.

His blue, exhausted and surrounded by bags from the lack of sleep, looked up and sure enough, Y/N was staring at him and Tim’s new cousin with so much love. Those delicate hands, hands that Bruce dirtied his for so they would stay clean, held his forearms in a gentle grip as he helped Tim find the right bounce to ensure that the newborn stayed asleep.��

Tim quickly obtained that hospital video and saved it on the Batcomputer for everyone to remember the first time they held their cousin.

There had been a huge argument after that. How long should they wait for their plan to be put into action?

A lot of them wanted it to happen while their cousin was still a baby, unable to remember that woman’s face because she doesn’t matter. Only they did. Only Y/N did. Their cousin only needed to remember his father, Uncle, Grandfather, and cousins.

That was it.

But how young should they do it? Surely before any core memories were made right? Because then Y/N would only be hurt more. However, if they did it to young the stress might be too much for Y/N.

The first month after the accident was horrid. Y/N rarely got any sleep, and when he gory nightmares haunted him. The car was not supposed to crash in front of him, but by the time anyone made that realization it was already too late. The black car was completely crushed, and up in flames while Y/N could only hold their son and watch. Bruce was next to him, and he had caught his brother before his knees could hit the concrete.

It was a horrible day for multiple parties, and the aftermath was just as bad. Y/N couldn;t even handle the funeral proceedings, to which Bruce and shockingly (and funny enough) Jason handled. The second oldest nephew responding to every whim and whimsey his Uncle had, doing everything in his power to make the pain lessen.

Anything in the powers. Sometimes that meant anti-depressants and bumping up Y/N’s pain relievers.

A loopy Y/N was a calm Y/N, and a calm Y/N meant a well-rested Y/N. Sometimes he would rarely leave the bed, trusting on someone to take care of his son. To which they all happily jumped on the chance to do. He’s been weening off of the pain medication, choosing to once again deal with small pain in his hip, but he stayed on the anti-depressants.

That is the one pill everyone made sure he took. He needed them. Just how he needs this family. All he needs is this family.

++++

“What did you do, Bruce?” Bruce had to stop himself from cursing at his luck and at the boys for also not nooticing. All five of them in this room and none of them heard Y/N enter? Of course he enters when a comment was made about make someone disappear just like Y/N’s wife. They wouldn’t have a hand in it, because they don’t kill, but is it a murder if one of them lets it slip what type of car she drove to the man she screwed over the most?

It’s not their fault that her ex worked at the mechanic shop they frequented. It isn’t their fault that Tim accidentally said somethin about the car being his Aunt’s, because how was he supposed to knoow that the mechanic he was talking to was her crazy-ex? It’s not his fault. It’s not any of their fault, because she didn’t say anything about this.

She lied, repeatedly over and over again to Y/N’s and everyone’s faces. Only, she lied to a house full of detectives, a former soldier Butler, and a man whose happiness was at the forefront of everyone’s reasoning.

“Y/N-”

“What did you do?!” Terrified E/C eyes stared at Bruce’s rigid form. The older man did not intend for his younger brother to hear those words, and he didn’t like that all the blame was being pinned on him. It was a group effort.

One they all happily took part in.

Dick raised his hands, as if he could ease the tension, “Uncle, c’mon there might be a misunderstanding.” Vibrant E/C eyes, swirling with pain and rage, flickered to him and effectively shut him up for a bit. Jason, for once, chose to remain silent at the sight of conflict while Tim thought the paintings in the library looked interesting. Damian, like his father and oldest brother, was looking at him.

Y/N could feel his heart beating faster and his head hurting. He didn’t want to believe it. How could he? His brother, the nephews he loves, and the nieces he adores, all conspired to kill his wife?

Who… No, why? The question was written across his face and Bruce took it upon himself to clear the air. He motioned for the others to get out, which they did with no complaint. Dick sending him a guilty look, Jason not meeting his eyes, Tim and Damian sending an apologetic look before disappearing.

The heavy doors of the office shut behind them and Y/N clenched his jaw. Bruce and him maintained eye contact, staring each other down.

“It was a choice made by the Family.”

“The hell is this? A mob?” Bruce stared into Y/N’s enraged eyes, and he sighed, “Y/N, I know this hurts but it is for the best.”

“The best? The best for who?! Not for me! Not for my son! Not for your nephew!”

“You don’t know that!”

“And you do?! What are you clairvoyant now?!”

“She wasn’t good enough for you, Y/N.”

“Who are you to decide that?” Y/N hissed out, glaring at him with all the rage and resentment in his body. The past three years of the family getting together, photos, smiles, all of it now burning in flames and he was choking on the smoke and ashes.

How long had they been planning this?

“Y/N-”

“Don’t ‘Y/N’ me! Bruce, what the hell?!” It terrified him. His brother, the one he trusts most, and he just threw all of that back into his face.

If Bruce could do that to someone Y/N loves, what's stopping Bruce from hurting him? Y/N’s eyes widened. What’s stopping Bruce from hurting his son?

The boys walked out.

His head whipped to the door, and was about to start making his way out to the nursery, but Bruce had grabbed his arm, kicking the cane from his grip and making Y/N rely on Bruce’s weight to keep standing.

“Bruce, I swear to God, don’t you dare-”

“My nephew will not be touched in any malicious way, if that is what you are so worried about.” Y/N snarled at him, trying to get out of his iron grip.

“I don’t believe you.” Bruce nodded, “You don’t have to. Can’t you trust that your nephews won’t hurt him?”

“No. How can I trust the murderers of my wife?” Bruce’s expression changed, and the hold on his arm tightened. Y/N’s teeth clenched, “How could you do that? I trusted you! I fucking trusted you and you go and…” The weight of the situation fell on his shoulders and Y/N would have crumbled if it weren’t for Bruce holding him up. Tears leaked from his eyes like they were faucets and his chest started aching.

Bruce kissed the side of his head, and where he kissed felt like it burned. Like the heat of the fire on the day that car crashed with his wife in it.

“I know. I know it hurts but it’ll get better Y/N.”

“Don’t talk to me about something getting better when you’re the cause of it.” Bruce lowered them to the floor, making sure that Y/N was still out of reach of his cane. Y/N wanted to throw a punch, an elbow, or something to vent all the anger and pain he has in his body. However, the grip Bruce has around his arms keeps them pinned to his sides and it’s not like Y/N had the strongest legs. If they were to get into it, it would be literal boulder versus a twig.

Bruce has always been the bigger one between then, even before Batman. Bruce had inherited Thomas Wayne’s imposing figure, while Y/N had Martha’s thinner one. His brother had been his rock, just how he had been Bruce’s now he wonders if Bruce was the heavy ball at the end of the chain. His nieces and nephews the chains, his son his collar, and the manor the cage.

Y/N felt as if the reality around him was crumbling and he couldn’t even pick the pieces up. He choked down a sob, “How long have you been planning this?”

“The accident or having you here?”

“All of it.” Bruce rested his forehead on Y/N’s shoulder, “You were supposed to stay here in the manor. The very thought of someone being more important than me, than Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, Alfred, all of them, it is so infuriating and terrifying.

“Because I was scared that one day you would leave me, alone in this manor with only the walls to talk to and the mirrors for company.” Y/N glared at him through his tears, “You’re lack of faith in me is astounding.” He would never have left Bruce, because they are all they had left of their family.

Not to mention, Bruce has the boys and girls for company. He wouldn’t have been alone. There’s Alfred and Y/N would have visited.

“I know its not an excuse, but dammit Y/N, it’s so terrifying.” Y/N tried to still his beatin heart, pumping his blood throuoghout his body and making him want to run. He wants to leave. He really, really, wants to leave. Y/N wants to pick his baby up and run.

“Do you know why I am telling you this?” Bruce’s grip loosened and Y/N waited until those arms removed themselves from around him and he lunged for his cane. Only for a large handd to wrap around the ankle of his bad leg and pulled. Dragging him away from the cane and causing Y/N to shout in pain.

He stared up at his older brother in fear, his leg still in Bruce’s iroon grip. Y/N wonders if this is what criminals see when looking at Batman.

“Because you’re not going to remember it.” His foot stomped on Y/N’s hip and there was a sickening crack and white flashed behind his eyelids. The scream he released sounded foreign to his own ears, and the tears now became ones of physical pain rather than emotional.

He started coughing from the amount of screaming and crying, and Bruce continued to look down at him. His eyes full of sorrow, but also acceptance. He was looking at Y/N similar to a parent getting ready to discipline their kid. Not wanting to but needing too.

Bruce released Y/N’s leg, eliciting another cry and he widened his eyes when he saw Bruce raise his foot again, “Wa-wait, Bruce–”

“It’s not believable if you only have a break in your hip.” There was another crunch and Y/N’s not even sure what broke but the scream he released was silent. The pain was excruciating and the questions searing into his brain. Who is he trying to make believe and believe what?

“You of course.” Bruce stared at his brother on the floor, and he knows Y/N’s screams and crying are going to haunt him but it is for the better. Y/N’s watery E/C eyes stared at him in fear and pain, tears rushing down his blotchy face and confusion across his face.

“Poor Y/N, you fell and broke your leg. So now you have to go back on your pain meds and now bedridden for a while.” Fear coursed through Y/N’s veins and although he knew it was futile he tried to crawl. His older brother watched, before walking behind his desk and rummaging through the drawers. Y/N wasn’t even close to the door when Bruce stood over him, and gently flipped him over.

Y/N screamed, trying to get away from his brother, but with one leg out of commission and his one arm now pinned to his side, it was a futile struggle.

“Get away! NO! I hate you! I absolutely fucking hate you.” Bruce held a pill in his hand, and in his mouth between his teeth was a water bottle. Y/N clammed up, biting his lips to keep them closed as Bruce came in closer with a pill. He wanted to knock it out of the other’s hand, but before he could even do that, Bruce’s knee rested on his broken hip and Y/N cried out in pain. His brother was quick in shoving the pill in his mouth, covering the orifice, and opening the bottle with the other arms that were pinning Y/N’s arm. He all but waterboarded Y/N with it, washing the pill down.

Afterwards, he held Y/N and slowly rocked back and forth in a mocking show of comfort. Y/N hit him, bit, and tried to shove him off. His cursing and shouting fell on deaf ears and the drug was beginning to take effect. His limbs became heavier and eyelids stayed closed longer.

“Shh Y/N, just sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.” Feeling one last bit of defiance, Y/N glared at his brother, “Tell me how you can kill my wife, but are unable to kill the Joker?” His eyes were closed by the end of the sentence, unable to see his brother’s reaction, but he heard the tight, “Good night, Y/N.”

++++

Crying woke him up. Groaning and rubbing his eyes, he tried too sit up but realized in confusion that his leg was casted and his head was incredibly foggy. A sound of discontent left him, but then there was a shuffling in the room and the crying stopped. In his blurry vision he saw Dick holding his son and Tim gazing at him softly.

“What…”

“You fell, Uncle. You broke your hip and shin and your cane unfortunately broke as well,” Tim informed as clinically as he could, holding his Uncle’s hand and staring into the hazy eyes.

“We had to give you a higher dosage of pain medication, and you’ll need to stay on them for a bit.” Y/N nodded in understanding, his attention returning to his gurgling son and smiling Dick, “It was terrifying Uncle, seeing you laying there like that. It’s a good thing Bruce and Timmy found you. Can’t imagine how bad it would have been if you were on your own.”

Y/N blinked, the situation dawning on him, “Yeah, that…that would be bad. Sorry Timmy, you had to see me in a traumatic state.” Tim shook his head, “No, I’m happy we found you when we did. I’m sorry that we didn’t get there sooner.” Y/N smiled, moving his arm to gently cup Tim’s cheek. It took all the effort in him to even make it that short distance, but Tim rested his own hand against the back of Y/N’s, nuzzling his cheek further into Y/N’s palm.

“Sleep Uncle, we’ll all be here when you wake up,” Dick encouraged, sitting next to Tim and bouncing his cousin. Y/N chuckled, “Okay. Please watch–”

“We will Uncle. Now, please rest. You and our cousin will be safe, I promise.” Y/N made a small hum before shutting his eyes once more, dreaming of when he and Bruce used to play in their mother’s garden.

________________________________________________________

Very Dark on this one. Was not the intention at all, but that's how it happened....

#batfam x reader #yandere batfam #yandere dc #platonic yandere #platonic batfam #Brother!Wayne #Brother Bruce Wayne #Male!Reader #Dc Male Reader #Batman Male Reader

2K notes · View notes

twola · 5 months ago

Text

Passerine - Chapter 6 [Finale]

PAIRING: High Honor Arthur Morgan x Fem!reader

Wading through blood, you must confront the reality of where the road has taken you.

Warnings: This fic has graphic descriptions of non-consensual sex, violence against women, the trauma thereafter, and somewhat unhealthy coping mechanisms. If any of that content makes you feel uncomfortable or triggers you, this may not be the fic for you.

chapter cw: graphic childbirth, smut, violence, blood, illness, graphic rape, death.

This is it, folks. Thank you for coming along for the ride. Please, I'd love your feedback after all is now said and done. Feel free to leave a comment or hit up my inbox. See you in the New Year.

➵ AO3 Link ➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ Previous

The wagon roughly bounces on the path, your teeth sink into your lower lip to stifle a groan. You cannot stop the tears from streaming down your face, not anymore.

One of your hands lies upon your distended abdomen, the child's movements having grown frantic and agitated.

Jack looks at you, fearfully, as he’s clutched in his mother’s arms. Another jostle of the wagon and the boy buries his face into Abigail’s bosom.

Sadie drives the wagon, cursing each time it hits a rough patch in the road, which is often this north in Roanoke.

From the ride to Copperhead and then turning around and piling into a suspiciously procured wagon, the last two days have been hellish. One hiding in plain sight along the river and the marshes, and the second was riding by night north again, trying to at least get past Annesburg. Ambarino -it would be safe there -

A horse pulls up next to the wagon, and a dirty and disheveled John Marston looks down at you, then down the bed of the wagon with a grimace, clutching at his bloodied arm. “How is he?”

Tears spill from your eyes anew as you look down.

Arthur, bloodied, bruised, and barely breathing, lies in the wagon bed, his head perched upon your thigh, your hand lightly draped over his collarbone.

You can’t respond.

John realizes this, looking up the trail again as the horse plods forward next to the wagon. “We need to keep moving, get to Ambarino.”

Abigail, who has been quiet for most of the ride, pipes up. “John. We need to find somewhere to hunker down. Soon.”

“I know-”

“No, I mean now. She ain't gonna give birth in the back of a wagon.”

John’s eyes dart back to you, wide and fearful. “Shit, shit, alright,” he looks up the road again, then looks behind them.

He figures they are just north of Annesburg, he chews his lip before remembering, “Arthur told me of a widow that lives up at Willard’s Rest. Kind woman. We can see if she’ll take us in.”

Abigail reaches over and places a hand on your belly, frowning when she feels how hard it is. She looks up at you, “Don’t you worry, we’ll get you settled.”

Another burst of tears overflow from your eyes. Your hand clutches at Arthur’s shirt, but your lover does not respond.

God bless Missus Balfour. She missed not even a step when a wagon and rider full of women and bloodied men appeared at Willard’s Rest, this safe haven hidden away off the road, far, far north of civilization.

“Here, here, you can put him in that room there. Let me get this room ready for her. I’ll boil some water.”

John and Sadie half-carry, and half-drag an unconscious Arthur up the stairs as Charlotte slowly walks you into the house, her arm under your shoulder. Abigail follows with the little shadow of her son directly behind her and rubs at her brow tiredly when they reach the kitchen.

Jack tries to bury himself in his mother’s skirts. She frowns down at him for a moment, and when John reappears from the other bedroom, she leans down and kisses Jack on the forehead. “Jack, I’m gonna need you to go with your father. You gotta stay with him and help him, alright?”

John looks as if he is about to say something, but wisely closes his mouth as Jack leaves his mother’s side to tuck himself against his father.

Abigail gives John a tired look, her brow furrowed and serious, “Please, take him a bit away from here. For a while.”

“What, wh-”

“So he don’t hear the screaming. John, please.” Abigail takes John’s hand and squeezes it, whispering low in an attempt for her son not to hear.

John blanches when he realizes what she’s talking about. He steels his jaw and nods, his other hand falling on his son’s head. He nods to Abigail, taking her hand and pulling it up to his lips quickly. “I hope everythin’ goes alright.”

Abigail’s brow falters, and she leans forward and catches him quickly on the lips, surprising him. He quickly recovers and kisses her back, and they both pull back slightly and lean their foreheads against each other, “Me too, John, me too.”

Your groan from the bedroom takes them from the moment and John’s mouth falls into a straight, hard line. “I’ll take him over by the waterfall. Far enough not to hear, but we’re close if you need anythin’.”

Abigail nods a quick thank you and darts into the bedroom.

John looks down at his son, the son for so long he had ignored, “C’mon now, let's get to see if we can get some fish for dinner. That’ll make everyone happy.”

Abigail leans over and undoes your boots as you sit in the bed, and after she works them off your feet, she helps you swing your legs up and sit atop the bed, as you breathe heavily. The tightening sensation in your abdomen comes again, and you hiss in pain.

“Breathe through it, that’s it.” Abigail takes your hand and lets you squeeze it. When the pain subsides, you let out a deep breath.

“I’ll be gettin’ everything together. You’re safe, and you’re gonna have the most beautiful baby.” Abigail cups your cheek gently, lovingly. Assuringly. You nod and her hand squeezes yours again before she leaves the room.

You close your eyes, the aching in your hips is near unbearable, and the pain that comes every few minutes is like a bolt of lightning strikes you at your core.

“You must be his wife.”

The dark-haired homeowner steps through the door, carrying folded linens and a large bowl of water, steam wafting upward as she sets it on the dresser.

You're genuinely surprised at the statement, unable to respond at first, “I-….”

“He’s a wonderful man, your husband Arthur. Probably saved me from starving. He couldn’t stop talking about you, his wonderful wife, how you were back home about to have your first child together, how he couldn't wait. He is smitten with you, dear.”

Oh god, your Arthur, your wonderful, sweet… dying Arthur.

“He’s, he’s…. agh-!”

You double over in the bed, clutching your belly and wincing, yelling out in pain as your belly tightens and hardens. Charlotte takes one of your hands in her own and lets you hold it through the contracting of your body.

Abigail bursts through the door, followed by Sadie. Grimacing, she rolls up her sleeves, muttering to Charlotte and Sadie to lay you back from your sitting position. Your head falls back on the pillow as you gasp in pain, clutching at your belly. Abigail pulls up your skirts, folding them at your hips. A warm liquid trickles against your inner thighs as Abigail mutters to Sadie, and the two women manipulate your legs to slide your bloomers off.

Another pain, and this time you cannot help the moan escaping your throat as your abdomen tightens. It's like your body is collapsing in on itself, and you are barely cognizant of the women in the room. Charlotte steps in and helps as well, and by the time the pain lets up, they have stripped you down to your petticoat shift, have propped your legs up, and your knees falling open.

You're in so much pain that you don't think about decency at all, Abigail propping herself between your legs, your entire lower half on display. Another strangled cry claws its way out of you as you throw your head back.

“Arthur-” you call out in vain, “I need Arthur-”

“I know, honey. He’s just in the other room.” Sadie pats your hair back as she holds your hand.

“H-how am I supposed to do this without him?” You weep, squeezing your eyes shut against the waves of pain.

Sadie frowns, looking across the room at Charlotte. The women share a knowing, pained glance between them - a look of familiarity, of pain, of uncertainty.

Of losing one’s other half.

The shitty, ramshackle cabin smells of unwashed men and rotting food. Arthur doesn’t know what’s going on -why is he here, what is this place?

Two men sit at a table, playing cards and drinking from open bottles of whiskey.

Their vests are green. Arthur seethes and goes to pull his gun from his belt, to find that there is none. There’s no gun, no belt. He looks down, and frankly, there is no him. He is not… really there.

His confusion is interrupted as a half-dressed man bursts through a door from another room, hoisting his pants up as he steps in.

“Donal, you rat bastard - how’d you pick up a thing like that?”

The dark-haired man laughs as he places his h cards down. “Enjoy it while she lasts - I’m sure she won’t be so tight when we take ‘er back to Hanging Dog.”

The returning man rebuttons his pants before sitting down in an empty chair, “‘er cunt is still real nice.”

“Wait till you fuck her ass, talk about real nice.” The third chuckles, taking his bottle of whiskey and taking a long drag.

“Ain’t you worried about Van der Linde?”

“Naw, ain’t no one comin’ for her. She ain’t anyone important.” Dark-haired man takes a large swig of whiskey before slamming the bottle on the table. He takes his gunbelt off and places it on the table as well as he stands up.

“Now if you excuse me, think I’ll fuck that tight little hole again.”

Why couldn’t do anything, why couldn’t he kill them? What was this all?

The door swings open. That old, dirty, ratty bed where he found you, it’s there. Lantern light spills out, casting shadows through the room. Arthur is able to follow, somehow, in this incorporeal form.

You’re curled on the bed in a fetal position, nude and unbound. Your skin is peppered with bruises and your hair disheveled and dirty.

Arthur has never felt so helpless, like he was on the outside, looking in.

“Come on now, get on your back f’r me. Been thinkin’ bout you all day.”

The terrible clicking sound of a belt being undone pierces the stillness. You don’t move on the bed. The O’Driscoll starts to work at his trousers as he approaches your battered form. His pants drop to the ground as he reaches the bed. He manhandles you onto your back with no resistance, no fight in you.

He climbs atop you, parts your legs, and settles himself between them. The O’Driscoll spits in his hand slathers it over his hard cock, and without any preamble or gentleness, he pushes himself inside your abused cunt.

Arthur is stuck - he can’t look away, he can’t do anything. You don’t scream, or cry, or fight. You simply squeeze your eyes shut for that moment of penetration, completely resigned. Is this… is he seeing what happened to you? This, this heinous violation that happened because he wasn’t able to keep you safe.

The O’Driscoll moans in pleasure and Arthur wants to tear the world apart. Your body moves back and forth on the bed with each heinous thrust of the man on top of you. He grabs one of your legs and pulls it to rest on his shoulder. You don't react at all, staring at the wall.

“P-pretty miss.”

You need him, you need him, and again, he cannot keep you safe.

Arthur sees red, unable to do anything but watch.

You turn your head, catching Arthur’s gaze. Your eyes are dull, worn, dead. You can see him, the first acknowledgment from anyone all night.

You open your mouth and the most blood-curdling scream he has ever heard fills his ears.

Arthur’s eyes open; his vision blurred for several moments before being able to focus on the ceiling.

The screaming - it's not from his dream, it’s real, it’s happening right now - you need him-

He blearily awakens, his mouth filled with the coppery taste of blood as he pants. He struggles to sit up, but finally does so, his head spinning. He feels so weak. Another pained scream from down the hall. Wheezing, he clutches at his chest as he sits up in the bed. He wipes his mouth with his sleeve, blood staining the fabric.

He hears Abigail through the wall, some sort of murmured affirmation that he can’t understand.

The baby-

Arthur slides from the bed onto unsteady feet, nearly falling as he stumbles forward and grasps onto a dresser to stay upright, loudly panting.

Another scream. The baby, you’re having his baby-

He wipes his mouth again as he looks around, recognizing the bedroom as one he’s seen before - he’s up at Willard’s Rest, Charlotte must have taken them in.

Arthur musters the little strength he has and takes step after unsteady step, leaning against dressers and the wall as he exits the bedroom and slowly drags himself down the hall.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, breathe through it.”

God bless, Sadie Adler is here too.

Arthur sucks in a loud breath as he leans against the frame of the open door, quickly exhausted by the exertion he has already gone through. It takes moments for his vision to correct and his lightheadedness to subside a little. Only then is he able to take in what is happening in this other bedroom.

You recline against Sadie, who rubs at your biceps gently as Abigail sits between your spread legs, arms bloodstained up to her elbows. Her brow is furrowed in concentration. Charlotte Balfour leans over and places a wet cloth against your forehead, wiping away the sweat.

He must be dead, he must be. There’s no way on god’s green earth he’s seeing this. He’s completely unnoticed by the women, all rightfully focused on birth and life and not on a dying man.

“There we go. Alright, come on now honey.” Sadie coos gently. You grab at one of her hands and she holds it with the strength that Sadie is known for.

Abigail looks up to see Arthur leaning against the doorframe. Heaving breath, trying to keep himself upright. For an instant, she wants to go to him, but another scream escapes your throat and she immediately turns back to you. She mutters something to Sadie that Arthur cannot hear, and Sadie moves to let you lay down in the bed as a racking sob shudders out of your body.

“Couple good pushes left, you can do it-” Abigail places one of her hands below your knee and pushes your thigh back to round your belly. Sadie does the same with the opposite thigh, one hand free to brush back sweaty strands of hair from your forehead. Abigail nods to Charlotte and the latter takes Abigail’s place at the side of the bed, taking your thigh in her hands, holding it back the same as Sadie.

You scream again, head craning back on the pillow. Your hands clutch at the bedding beneath you with an unmatched strength.

“Yes - yes, there we go, here we are-” Abigail mutters, her free hand disappearing between your legs.

Your voice, rough and abused, suddenly changes tone. From fearful and pained to something fierce. The scream from your lungs is one of determination - of strength and power and by god, he’s never been so in awe of you.

Arthur’s heart stops beating at this moment, and he nearly forgets the weight in his chest that makes it nigh impossible to breathe.

“Now push-” Abigail orders.

A fresh burst of tears works its way down your face as you suck in a breath and clench your teeth as you follow Abigail’s instructions. A defiant yell claws out of your throat. Arthur’s hand squeezes the doorframe with a strength that nearly escapes him, all from you. He wheezes, trying to keep quiet as the birth unfurls.

Fitting, a dying man witnessing this space of women delivering life. Fitting, that he's at the very least able to see this feat of strength from you, after everything you’ve been through.

But in this moment, you didn’t need saving. Not by him.

Your screams are of strength, not fear nor pain.

You didn’t need him.

You’d be fine, even after he’s gone.

One last strangled cry from your throat and you grit your teeth, pushing with every fiber of your being. Sadie leans forward and pushes your thigh apart just a bit more, Charlotte following suit on her side of the bed.

“Yes, yes, that's it!” Abigail exclaims.

The world slows, collapsing in on itself, he wasn't just watching the labor of a woman, he was staring at the birth of stardust, creation, and holiness incarnate. He, the sinner that he is, does not deserve to bear witness to such a thing.

From his vantage point leaning against the doorframe, he sees the baby’s head appear between your legs, cradled by Abigail’s waiting hands.

He can’t hear the women’s exclamations, a tinny sound having taken over his hearing. Arthur watches you suck in another breath and bear down once again.

In a rush of blood and fluid, Abigail catches the child as you deliver.

Arthur has never seen something so beautiful in his life. All the riches in the world, he’d have traded for this moment. The three women murmur joyful praises at you as Abigail rubs at the newborn roughly swaddled in the clean linen.

The tinny noise goes away when the babe wails, a high-pitched screech that fills the room, over your panting, over the beating of Arthur’s heart, the crackling of his lungs.

“Oh honey, y’ did perfect.” Sadie grins, letting your thigh down gently as she leans over toward the table and picks up her hunting knife. Abigail coos at the baby and undoes the linen enough to make that pulsing blue-white cord, the last connection between you and the child, accessible for Sadie to cut above the child’s stomach. Charlotte blots your forehead again with a wet cloth, holding your hand as you try to crane your neck to see your baby.

Abigail smiles as she places the newborn on the bed and wraps it tightly in linen with practiced ease. Once satisfied, she nods up to Sadie, who with Charlotte, slowly and carefully adjust the pillows behind you and help to pull you into a reclining position.

Abigail places the child into your waiting arms.

The baby wails and it’s the most beautiful goddamn sound that he’s ever heard. This sight is the most beautiful goddamn thing he’s ever seen. You, in all of your glory, settling in on the other side of childbirth.

And then reality crushes back in.

Arthur can taste the coppery blood in his mouth, and he slumps down the doorframe as he coughs, losing his breath as the back of his hand is covered with blood. Through his fading vision, he makes eye contact with you, hazy, but perfect lying there on that bed, holding his healthy child. You look horrified as you try to get out of bed, crying out in pain as Abigail and Sadie try to push you to lie down gently again, the baby wailing against your breast. Charlotte begins to round the bed to reach toward him as he collapses.

Crumbling to the floor, blood bubbles across Arthur’s lips as he wheezes, drowning in the weight of his own sins.

Your head pounds as you awaken, being jostled roughly and uncaringly. It takes you a moment to realize you are gagged, something tied across your jaw. Your eyes dart back and forth as they get used to the light in the room.

You know this room. The pit of your stomach opens up as you are roughly placed against an old bed, and you can see your companion.

Dark, greasy hair. Dark, ruthless eyes. A green scarf tied around his neck.

Companion, captor, rapist.

‘Ello there love, time for us to get to know each other.

You try to claw at him, but he proves to be too strong - and the both of you tumble onto the dirty old bed. He is able to hold you down as he stands up, one elbow across your back and his hand encircles your neck, pushing your face into the mattress.

You’re just gonna make this worse for yourself.

You scream against the gag, in rage then in pain when he pulls your arms backward and tucks them behind your back. Rolling you over, he keeps weight and one on your shoulder, your arms scream in pain as he holds you down.

He snarls as he catches his breath, pulling his knife from his belt.

You goddamn witch, I should kill you instead of fuck you. But it’s been so goddamn long since I’ve gotten my cock wet-

He draws the knife’s blade slowly across your collarbone. You stop fighting, afraid that the blade is going to pierce your skin. Instead, he starts drawing it down the front of your blouse, and buttons start popping and flying as he drags the blade against the fabric. He reaches the last button before your blouse gets tucked into your shirt and places the knife on the bedside table.

This is takin’ too long. He smiles, and your stomach drops as he takes a fistful of your blouse and rips.

You scream into the gag again as he continues, tearing the blouse off of you, the sleeves falling down your biceps, disconnected from the rest of the fabric.

His arm moves from where he holds you down to land on your chemise’s neckline and you immediately take advantage of his weight being gone, trying to sit up and throw an elbow. He is wise to your moves, however, and catches your arm as you swing it.

Fuckin’ Van der Linde whore-

The O’Driscoll backhands you across the face, leaving you smarting and gasping out in pain, falling back to the bed.

Another rip. Your chemise is torn at the neckline, between his two hands, and he continues to tear the cotton in half, your breasts uncovered as he looms over you. You can taste blood in your mouth as your eyes water over, dizziness taking over your being.

You can feel the cool knife blade against the curve of your waist as he slides it against the ties of your skirt, pulling the blade up and slicing through the strings, placing it back on the table side as he starts to pull your skirts off, his grubby fingers digging into your skin, gathering your bloomers as well as he works them down your hips, thighs, and legs. Your knee-high stockings get pulled from your feet.

You begin to weep as the O’Driscoll strips you naked on that shitty bed, every scrap of clothing gone. A rough, dirty hand squeezes a breast, grabs your hip, smacks your ass. Fingers reach to toy with the dark curls hiding your cunt.

He leans over you and pulls the gag down, smirking evilly.

Your man isn’t here to save you. He’s not coming. It’s just you and me like it always has been.

Like it always has been.

You know how this ends. You know what happens next. You know the pain, and the shame, and the pity and hurt in Arthur’s eyes when he finds you.

You cannot keep letting him do this. He’s right, Arthur is not coming.

The O’Driscoll stands to full height and begins to undo his gunbelt, a sickening grin still on his face. He looks down, starting to unbutton his pants and you see the glint of the knife on the side table as the lantern light flickers. With his eyes off of you, you swing your arm up, grasping the knife and immediately turn it on him before he has a chance to react, jumping up from the bed.

You sink the knife into the O’Driscoll’s neck. He sputters in surprise for a moment as he rears back, his blood spraying out between your bodies.

You grit your teeth and pull the knife out of his neck and immediately plunge it in at a different angle. Warm lifeblood splatters all over your chest, your naked breasts, your neck, your face. The man makes a gurgling sound as he begins to slump forward on top of you. You let go of the knife and push him with all of your might, and he rolls to the side off of you, off the bed, crumbling into a jumble of limbs on the floor, blood seeping out of the holes in his body.

You lean over and pull the knife from his neck.

You stand above him as he dies, his blood dripping down your naked form. For so long, this man has controlled you, taken your body as his own, and held you down in fear and nightmares, long after his death. But now, now you stand above him, knife in hand, like a warrior queen.

You are unashamed of your nakedness - you needed no armor to vanquish him. You are unashamed of the blood - it is not smeared between your thighs as evidence of violation, it is splattered across your face, your breasts, trailing in rivulets down your belly and your legs.

The O’Driscoll shudders in a death throe, his eyes wide as he stops twitching.

You grip the knife tightly in your hand. He’s dead, he’s dead and he can’t hurt you anymore. He can never hurt you again.

The room begins to fade away.

And for the first time in so very, very long, you wake up in your bed, alone, at peace.

The oil lamp flickers, casting a shadow throughout the room. You frown, mentally taking note to get more oil the next time someone goes to town.

You tiredly wipe the table of crumbs with an old rag, collecting said crumbs in your hand and tossing them in the sink, along with the dirty dishes from dinner. You had no desire to address those dishes tonight, the sun has long gone down. Sighing, you wipe your forehead of dotted sweat with the back of your hand as you clear the rest of the table.

A muffled bang comes from the door, and you hurry toward it before another knock rings through your house. Opening the door, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.

John Marston stands in your doorway, holding a large canvas sack over his shoulder. You smile and step out of the way for him to come inside. He does so, stepping immediately toward your newly cleaned table and placing the sack down on the table. You consider scolding him, but hold your tongue as he unrolls the canvas, a large, paper-covered slab of meat as his bounty. Freshly shot, you know, Abigail having mentioned that John was out hunting this morning.

“Guess you were successful?” You laugh as John rolls his shoulder.

“A little bit.” He mutters, rubbing at it.

“Gettin’ old there, cowboy?” You tease, and Marston scowls back at you, his scars across his face always making him look more severe than you know he is. But the scowl does not remain long.

“Shaddup.” He laughs in that rough voice that brings you such comfort.

You laugh as well, placing your hand on his bicep, “Thank you, John, this means a lot.”

“You sure you’re alright out here? You know Abigail would rather you stay with us.”

“John, I’m fine. Besides,” You motion over to the wrapped flank of meat that he has placed on the table, “You provide enough as is.”

He rolls his eyes, “You do know I’m gonna get an earful from Abby when I get back to the house.”

“John Marston, both you and I know that you was gonna get an earful from her no matter what my answer was.”

He smirks, looking at his feet. Still bashful, after all these years. He looks up again, that half smile across his face, the silvered lines of his scars visible through the beard that doesn’t grow along them.

His gloved hand reaches toward you.

“You let me know if you need anything. Seriously. You know I watch out f’r you.” John squeezes your shoulder in a comforting manner.

You smile, brushing his hand from your shoulder, and reach around his shoulders to bring him into a hug, “Thank you, John.”

“You’re family to us.” You can feel him nod, wrapping his arms around you and squeezing gently.

“You tryin’ to butter me up to watch the baby?” You smirk as you unwind yourself from him, laughing.

John scratches the back of his head sheepishly, tilting his hat for a moment before resettling it, “I mean… an extra pair of womanly hands carin’ for a baby is always welcomed.”

“Think it’ll be a boy or a girl?”

“Abigail thinks it’s a girl. Says she’s feelin’ different this time around.”

“And you?”

“I don’t do a lot of thinkin’… you know that.”

“You’re a silly man. Now go back up that hill and take care of your pregnant wife.”

“Mama.”

You crack one eye open. The sun has risen in the east, and the door to your bedroom is open wide, and a small shadow appears at your bedside.

“Susannah.”

“Mama please-”

You sigh, yawning before giving in, knowing you can’t win this fight, “C’mon now, come get into the bed.”

The girl giggles and dives under the blanket that you hold open. You wheeze as she climbs over you, a knee to your belly, a hand squishing your breast, and finally her small body curls in against you under the warm covers, and you blow away a few strands of sand-colored hair from your face as she tucks her head upon your breast. You close your eyes again as you wrap your arm around her, hoping she will fall back asleep with you.

Blessed silence.

“Mamaaaaa-”

Interrupted.

“Yes, dearest?” You sigh, but you can’t help but to smile as the small body next to yours squirms under the blanket.

“Tell me about the house by the waterfall again.”

“Sweetheart, I’ve told you about it four times this week.”

“But I wanna hear it again.”

You sigh, looking up at the ceiling, but start the story anyway, “You were born on a bright, sunny day… like today.”

She crawls up to look you in the face, “And everyone was there.”

“Yes, everyone was there. Abigail and Sadie and Missus Charlotte helped me bring you into the world, just like how I’m gonna help Abigail bring the new baby into the world in just a few days.”

You kiss her forehead, brushing the mess of her honeyed hair back. “And when you came, and you cried and cried, but it was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.”

“Before you were born, your papa said he loved the name Susannah. That’s why you’ve got that name,” You poke her little nose and she giggles, just like every time you tell the story. What joy simple things bring to a child.

The songbird that perches outside your window chirps gaily. It sits outside most mornings, and you have grown accustomed to its song, greeting you in bed. A horse whinnies from outside and your daughter bolts upright, throwing the blanket off her body and half off of yours. In a jumble of limbs, she bolts out of the bedroom, “Mama, mama!”

“Susannah, mind your shoes!” you call as you climb out of the bed, but secretly you want to run as fast as your daughter as you find a robe and throw it over your nightgown. You know you just scolded her to put on her shoes, but you also forego anything on your feet as you hurry toward the thrown-open front door, where Susannah bounds out as fast as her little legs can take her.

“There she is!”

Oh, your heart. Oh, your world. You have to hold onto the doorframe as you watch your daughter dart from the front door across the grass to the hitching post, several strides away. The large horse, tied to the post, swings its head toward the joyful shouts of the child. From behind the horse’s rump, a figure strolls around, tall and strong and bursting with excitement.

He stoops down on one knee and catches Susannah as she throws herself into his embrace.

“How is my favorite girl?” He easily swings the child up into his arms, holding her out and twirling her in a circle before gathering her into his chest.

“I missed you so much, Papa.” She buries her head into his shoulder.

“I missed ya somethin’ awful, sweetpea.”

The man looks up at where you stand in the door and smiles. His dark beard is long, his hair unruly underneath that old gambler’s hat.

He marches toward the door, and when he’s a step away from you, he lets your daughter down, who immediately latches herself to his pants leg.

“Susannah, Go on and get dressed. Give your father a moment to wash up.”

She scrunches her little nose in mock irritation, but dutifully does so, scooting past you and into the house, leaving you and him alone in the threshold of the door.

“Missed you somethin’ awful too, darlin’.”

You smile as his hands find your hips, “You owe me, Arthur.”

Arthur snorts, and his lips press gently at your exposed neck, “For what, leavin’ you with the little one while I rode a cattle train all the way to Denver ‘nd back? Sounds like you got the better end of the deal.”

You lean forward in his embrace as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“Think you should stay closer to home next time.” You muse as you close your eyes.

Arthur’s hand creeps up from your waist and cups one of your breasts, squeezing firmly. You squirm in his embrace, gasping.

“Stop - Susannah is right there, you-” You push his hand away from your chest but he only chuckles in your ear as he unwinds himself from you.

“I’m bringing her up to Abigail’s. She can watch ‘er for an hour or two.”

“You just got back-” You are cut off when his hand darts forward and grabs your rear through your robe and nightgown. You can barely keep yourself from squealing.

“Yeah, and I need to make love to my wife ‘til she can’t take it no more.” Arthur rumbles roughly into your ear with a tone of voice that goes straight to your cunt. You are unable to find the words to respond as he pulls back and nods, a smirk painted across his face.

“Gimme fifteen minutes. You better be naked in that bed when I get back, woman.”

You frown as he rights his hat back on his head.

“You know how obvious that is going to be?”

Arthur waves his hand dismissively, “You didn’t notice me takin’ Jack out on so many rides nine months ago?”

“Mama, can Jack take me for a ride on the pony?” Susannah darts past you, having changed into a cotton dress and thrown little boots on, her hair a disheveled mess.

“Ah, ah, come back here missy. Go get a ribbon and let me tie your hair up.” You scold, and your daughter scowls back at you with a nearly identical look before stomping back to her room.

Arthur chuckles, and your finger wags at him, “Don’t think I don’t know where she gets that from.”

“Her mother, exactly.”

“You son of a -”

Your daughter reappears and you close your mouth before cursing. She holds a ribbon out as she marches to you, turning around right in front of you so that you can reach her hair.

“Mind your mother, Miss Susannah.”

“Papa-”

“Or there won’t be any pony rides. I’ll tell Jack to have you clean out the pony’s stall today.” Arthur laughs, completely unable to be serious.

“Ew!” She shrieks, her hand darting upward to give you the ribbon. You laugh to yourself, taking the ribbon and gathering her hair into a ponytail, tying it up and over her head. Once secured to your liking, you gently tap her shoulder and she bounds toward Arthur, who immediately scoops her up into his arms again.

Arthur juggles the five-year-old onto his hip, to her joyous, shrieking laughter, “C’mon, let’s go up and save Jack from his daddy’s chores.”

As he opens the door to the cabin, Arthur glances back at you, his eyes darkening, “You best be ready when I get back.”

You roll your eyes, but secretly, a shiver goes down your spine at his implication. He gets like this - ravenous, hungry, passionate whenever he comes back from a cattle drive. As much as you hate the weeks alone, the amount of money Arthur brings home makes the ranch nearly abundant. Last year both John and Arthur went, and kept the families fed throughout the winter comfortably.

Of course, this year Abigail threatened to castrate John if he left her alone for six weeks at the end of her pregnancy… so this drive, Arthur went alone.

You pick up his mud-speckled leather coat, laying it over the wash bin. The sack of clothing Arthur left outside the door was sure to smell of a cattle herd - he was smart enough to leave it on the porch this time.

You make your way back to your bedroom, sighing as you idly rub your back. Your gaze catches the mirror above your bureau and you slowly walk toward it.

You stand in front of that mirror, pulling your nightgown up, up and over your knees, your thighs, your hips, your belly. You pull the fabric over your breasts and finally your head, holding it in one hand as you look at yourself.

There are no scars, just like that night standing in front of the fire in Valentine. There are no outward signs of what happened to you those years ago. Placing the nightgown atop your dresser, you glance in the mirror one last time. You see fuller hips, silvered lines at your belly, your breasts flatter against your chest.

A half smile comes across your face. No, the scars on your body were not from the O’Driscoll that raped you - they are from growing and birthing the best thing that has ever happened to you.

You look away from the mirror and let a breath out through your nose as you climb back into bed. Flopping back against the pillows, you smile to yourself as you wait for your husband’s return, naked in the marital bed as requested.

It is not several minutes more before you hear the front door slam and smile to yourself as you hear Arthur’s heavy gait beeline toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door swings open as Arthur barges in, and his hungry eyes immediately devour you whole as you recline into the pillows.

“Jesus Christ.” Arthur huffs, unable to move for a moment, staring at you. He pulls his hat from his head and chucks it to the floor.

“C’mon, ain’t known you to be one to keep your lady waitin,” you smirk, some of that old flirtation that you had at the beginning of your relationship shining through. You open your legs to bare your cunt, the dark hair parting as you spread your thighs further.

You’ve never seen him strip himself down faster. Boots tossed across the floor, his shirt thrown over the dresser haphazardly. He steps out of his pants and leaves them in a pile on the rug.

Fully nude, he climbs onto the bed, his hulking muscles undiminished by the years. Maybe, at first, in those months when he was bedridden at Willard’s Rest, where he slowly recovered from tuberculosis and you recovered from the ordeal of childbirth - was he a lesser man. But now? Now he was the Arthur you knew and loved - the Arthur who could tear men apart.

But you feel nothing but safe. You giggle as one of his hands immediately cups your cunt.

“Wife.”

You smile, your hands brushing down his shoulders to his biceps to his forearms.

“Husband.”

He parts your folds gently, rumbling as his other hand encircles his blood-hardened cock. He looms over you, and there is a secret sweet part of you that feels safe and protected underneath all of him.

“Sweetheart.”

He presses that trigger-worn finger inside you.

“Arthur-”

Your husband leans down and presses his lips against yours, his coarse beard tickling your chin as he begins to swirl and thrust that finger inside your cunt. You moan into his mouth as you begin to cant your hips, wanting more, more.

Arthur lets go of his cock to steady himself against your bucking, groaning at your desperation. His hard shaft smacks against your inner thigh and you mewl and gasp as he slides a second finger into your cunt. He begins to rut himself against the jointure of your thigh and hip, his cock settling in there as he prepares you, eases the way, ensures that he would never, ever hurt you.

God, you love this man so much.

He pulls his fingers from your body and immediately smears your slick on his shaft, the head of his cock already weeping. His eyes trail from his cock up your body to lock with yours.

You raise your arms, open wide, inviting him into your embrace and he smiles, knowing he is home. Arthur takes that hefty cock of his and lines it up with your cunt.

He grunts as he pushes into you, his head slipping inside as you whine; throwing your head back onto the pillow. He lowers himself down on top of you, plastering his entire body against you, and the two of you wind arms around each other’s boulders and your angles hook behind his back.

It’s slow, and full, as that first press inside always is. A strangled noise claws out of your throat as you dig your fingers into his back as those girthy inches stretch you. He rumbles against your neck as he works his way inside, his breath warm on your skin until he is hilted completely within you. He raises his head and kisses you headily.

Your bed is far more spacious than the small tent in Big Valley that saw your first coupling.

“Don’t know - how many times,” his breathless voice is interrupted by the frenzied kisses he gives you, “...I had to fist m’cock at night - thinkin’ of you and this perfect little cunt.”

Arthur begins to thrust his hips against yours, finding that rhythm perfected by years of experience together, “My perfect little wife-“

“Missed you so much, Arthur.” You throw your head back against the pillow as he continues to roll his hips against you, his cock dragging in and out, in and out of the vice grip of your cunt, “I love you so much -”

A particularly deep thrust makes you gasp and Arthur groans into your hair, panting as he continues his pace, “God, oh darlin’ -my darlin’ girl… I love you-”

He grabs your hand, pressing it down on the bed next to your head, interlacing your fingers as his pace slows, becomes more measured, deeper. The gold bands around your ring fingers make a soft clink against each other, nearly unheard among the sounds of lovemaking.

You cry out as he hits that spot within you again and again, sending you careening toward completion, the sensitivity of your channel making your legs shake and your breath hasten even more.

“Ar-Arthur- oh… I’m gonna-“ you whine breathlessly, squeezing your eyes shut as your husband groans in recognition.

“Come fer me, that’s it, come for me-” Arthur orders, throwing his hips roughly into yours in desperation, wanting, needing you to fall off the edge for him.

You cry out loudly as you throw your head back on the pillow, your hand squeezing his as the other claws into his back as you come, your entire body clenching as your arousal gushes around his cock.

“Yes, yes - oh, my perfect girl, oh-” Arthur praises you as you ride out your release, and gives three more heady strokes before he finds his own. You come down from your high just in time to dig your heels into his tailbone, the sign for him not to pull himself from your velvet heat.

His hips stutter, and he lets out a long breath as he stills, cock twitching as he comes inside you. You whine as you feel the warmth bloom in your core. He cuts off the sound from your throat by kissing you, hard and fast, needy and desperate.

“My…” he pants between kisses, “pretty little wife-”

You smile breathily against his lips, “My strong, handsome husband-”

The wet sound of lips meeting lips takes over for several moments before Arthur slides himself from your body, settling on his side next to you before laying his head upon your breast.

“Don’t go away for so long anymore. You gotta stay closer to home.” You muse as you run your fingers through his hair. The honey-blonde strands by his temple are peppered with grey- along with his too-long beard. Weeks in the saddle left your husband looking like a rugged mountain man whenever he returns. You’ll have to cut it later; it is growing longer than you like it.

He snorts playfully as he rolls off of you, sitting up on his elbow, facing you in the bed. With his other hand, he grabs the sheet that had been kicked away in the haste of lovemaking, pulling it up to pool around both of your waists.

You cannot help the smile that cracks across your face. You grasp his hand, his callused, rough hands that have built your home and provided for your family. The hands that rocked your daughter to sleep when she was a baby. The hands that keep you safe, warm, fed.

The hands that pulled you from your pit of misery those years ago. Maybe if that hadn’t happened - maybe - maybe that tawny-haired girl running around the house wouldn’t be here. Maybe Arthur would still be robbing and stealing and ushering himself to an early grave. Maybe he would have bled out on that mountain in Roanoke instead of being dragged out by John.

It hurts, still. Every so often on quiet nights, you awaken sweating and fearful and an O’Driscroll’s laugh echoes in your mind. But then - you turn into Arthur on those nights and he holds you through ‘til the morning. He whispers sweet nothings until you drift off again. He reminds you of his love for you, through words and touches and enveloping you in the most intimate of embraces. The circle of gold around his left ring finger, though tarnished as he never takes it off even when he works, still glints in the morning light.

And those nights that he’s out on the cattle trail? You pull yourself from your bed and pad quietly over to the other bedroom in the cabin, gazing through the sliver of the door partway open to see your daughter, born of struggle and the razor’s edge of that pain. How perfect she is. What joy she brings.

There will always be a part of you that O’Driscoll scarred you that night.

But maybe, just maybe - it fades, little by little over time.

Arthur playfully squeezes your hand in return, “Them weeks too long f’r my girl? Miss me that much, huh?”

You bring his hand up from where he holds yours to spread flat across your belly, and you lean toward him with a smile on your face and lightness in your heart.

Arthur Morgan’s eyebrow arches with confusion.

The songbird’s luted melody softly echoes through the window of your bedroom, the mid-morning light spilling out over your sheets, over your bodies in your warm, well-loved marital bed.

“No, silly man. I’m pregnant.”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan smut #twolafic #passerine #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 fanfic

192 notes · View notes

bucketsofmonsters · 2 years ago

Text

Without Expectation

You know how everyone is talking about how Astarion has a difficult relationship with hero characters bc he felt abandoned by them when he was suffering? What if, during his 200 years of imprisonment, he’d met one? Very much inspired by this post

cw: pre-game astarion, Cazador, prostitution and non-consensual sex alluded to but never shown, healing from trauma, Astarion being sexualized, Astarion sexualizing himself, objectification, blood drinking, he’s kind of sexually aggressive in this but it's just because he’s scared and he doesn’t know anything else, reader is from a group of monster hunters that I made up who have been harassing Cazador, they are separate from any in-game monster hunters who are less Astarion friendly

Astarion x gn reader

Word count: 6k

He was charming. Pretty words, perfect hair, a dashing smile, and hollow eyes.

The second Cazador had said the word, he was all over you.

You couldn’t turn down the offer. Not for the promise of pleasure, that was the last thing on your mind looking at him.

But if you got him alone you could talk to him, outside of the watchful eye of his master.

He had you pinned to the wall of your bedroom before you could even say a word. You had to shove him back and he stumbled, a frightened, hurt look crossing his face before the practiced charm slipped easily back.

“Oh, you like to play rough, do you? That’s fine with me, I don’t mind being pushed around a little.”

“Stop,” you pleaded with him. “Please, can I just speak for a second?”

“Say whatever you’d like, darling.”

“Listen… Astarion, wasn’t it?”

He smirked at you. “It is, but you can call me whatever you'd like.”

“Astarion, you don’t have to do this.”

“Of course I don’t. I want to. Don’t you want me?” He moved to get into your space again but you stepped back and he didn’t follow.

You did your best to push past his flirtation. “How often does he make you do things like this?”

“Like this? Not often. My lovers don’t typically live to see the morning. Although I suppose it doesn’t make much difference to me,” he said with a laugh, one that felt practiced and put on.

“Oh.” You couldn’t imagine it, being forced to not only be with so many people but to send them off to their deaths night after night.

Your eyes drifted down as your thoughts spiraled and he grabbed your chin, pulling your face up so your eyes met once more, directing all your attention back to him. “Is that what’s bothering you, darling? I promise Cazador has given me very clear instructions on how well you should be treated.”

“No, that’s not the problem.” You dropped your head into your hands as you tried to figure out what to do. “God, this is such a nightmare. Listen, I can sleep on the couch, you should take the bed,” you said, gesturing vaguely at the loveseat tucked in the corner of the room.

“Come now, that’s not necessary my dear,” he practically purred at you.

You felt a little more nauseous with every pass he made at you. “You really don’t have to do that, I swear. Not in here at least. It would probably be prudent to pretend in front of Cazador but that’s an issue for tomorrow.”

“Even if you don’t want sex,” he said with a little roll of his eyes. “The couch is not necessary. I promise I won’t bite.”

It was a bad idea. You knew that much. But the bed looked so soft and comfortable and the couch wasn’t even long enough to fit all of you if you tried to lie down.

You sat on the bed tentatively and sunk into the mattress. It was by far the most comfortable bed you’d ever been in and you ran your hand along the silky sheets. “Alright, but we’ll just be sleeping,” you said with a pointed look in his direction.

In a heartbeat, you were pushed back onto the mattress and he was looking over you, his hands on either side of your head as he grinned down at you. “Are you certain, my dear? I could make you feel so good.”

“I’m sure you could,” you said with a smile, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes lit up at the contact and it was clear that he thought he’d done it, that he'd won you over. “But that won’t be necessary.”

You leaned up and pressed a kiss into his forehead before gently pushing him off of you back towards his side of the bed.

He seemed wounded and frightened by the gesture, a far cry from the practiced seduction you’ve seen from him so far. “You don’t want me.”

“I assure you that is not the problem,” you said, careful to keep your voice gentle.

He did not seem convinced, a tragic vulnerability starting to seep through his facade.

As he stared at you, a worried look plastered across his face, you grabbed some of the many pillows from the top of the bed, placing a few between the two of you.

He scoffed at the sight. “I don’t know what those are meant to stop. Not exactly impenetrable security against a rabid vampire.”

“They’re not for you. I have a tendency to get… grabby, in my sleep.”

He huffed, folding his arms as he finally conceded ground and laid down next to you. “Good. Maybe you’ll be more interesting than when you are awake.”

You doubted he’d find you snuggling a pillow particularly interesting but you let him interpret your words however he pleased.

“Perhaps. Now if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to sleep now.”

“It’s not all the same to me, thank you very much.”

“Alright,” you said with a yawn. “Goodnight.”

You woke up with your arms wrapped around a pillow from your little wall, holding it close to your chest as you eased your eyes open to see Astarion unabashedly staring at you.

He spoke as soon as he caught wind you were awake. “You weren’t kidding about being grabby, you’re practically smothering the poor thing.”

Your face warmed slightly at his words, embarrassment fluttering in your chest. “It’s an old habit. What about you, couldn’t sleep?”

“Elves don’t sleep.”

You suddenly felt incredibly foolish. “Oh. Right. So you’ve just been sitting there all night then?”

“I tranced for a while. It was certainly a more boring night than I expected.”

You yawned as you sat up, setting the pillow you’d been holding behind you. “Terribly sorry to disappoint. Hopefully, there will be many more boring nights in your future.”

He pulled back, cocking his head to the side. “What?”

You realized you hadn’t told him of your little scheme yet. “I was thinking. This whole meeting with Cazador was more of a formality than anything. He’s killed too many of our people, we need to make this deal, at least until we can figure out how to sort him out for good. But he doesn’t know that and maybe, if you’re amiable to it, I could throw in a final term to the deal. Where he has to give me… well, you. Not that you should be his to give, but I figure if I can save someone from this place and I didn’t, what kind of a monster would I be?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you want from me?”

You shrugged. “I’d say nothing if I thought you’d believe me. If you need to rationalize it, let’s just say it’s an ego boost. Now I get to feel like a good person and you get to leave this place. As long as I don’t mess it up too badly.”

Mistrust was written across his face and it seemed like the first completely honest emotion you’d been able to pull from him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“That’s fine, we can fix that after I get you out of here.” You sighed. “Wish me luck. I’m an awful liar.”

He trailed after you as you left, seemingly incapable of letting you out of his sight.

Maybe he was. Maybe he’d been ordered to do so. You had no way to tell. It made your heart hurt, the sight of him here, the idea of Cazador’s other spawn that you couldn’t save. At least not yet.

He followed you like a loyal pup all the way to Cazador, who was lounging in a chair without a care in the world.

He chuckled at the sight of Astarion behind you. “And how was my spawn? To your satisfaction?”

You swallowed down that bile that rose in you as you said, “He was a delight. I was wondering, in the name of our agreement, is there any way I could keep him? It’s just that I’ve grown quite fond of him so very quickly.”

Cazador laughed, a putrid, callous thing. “I’m sure. He can be quite… convincing. And this would make you amenable to my terms?”

You nodded. “All the monster hunters in Baldur's Gate will focus their attention in… other places. You and yours will be entirely safe from our wrath.”

“And if we’d like to push you in the direction of another creature?”

You gave him a tactful nod. “We could be convinced.”

“Good.” He laughed once more. “Typical monster hunter. You pretend to hate us and yet you want to keep a vampire pet.”

Astarion leaned into your side and you felt a little queasy at the performance as you snaked your arm around him. “Like I said, he was very convincing.”

He sighed. “You drive a hard bargain. As you wish, you shall have your terms. Just tell me if he doesn’t behave. I can get him sorted right out for you.”

It took everything you had not to lunge at him thinking about everything he’d put this poor man through. “Of course, but I’m sure I’ll be able to manage just fine on my own.”

You got out of there as fast as you could. Even if you hadn’t had Astarion with you, you didn’t want to spend any longer than absolutely necessary with the monster.

You pulled him through the streets back to the house you were staying in, racing against the sun. You barely had enough time to get him there and pull him inside, but you had a feeling he’d prefer this mad dash over staying another day with his master.

Regardless, the whole time your eyes were darting around, looking for places you could hide him should you need to.

You wondered what you’d even do if it had come to that. Just sit with him for the rest of the day, you supposed, unless he wanted to try a risky maneuver with a thick blanket.

You tried to pull him inside but it was like an invisible wall had stopped him in his tracks. You gave him a questioning look and he grumbled, “You have to invite me.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, come in!”

As soon as the words left your mouth, he rushed in beside you and you set yourself to making sure all of the widows were fully shut, pulling the curtains tight.

He watched you dart about, tugging at the thick fabric. His gaze was judgemental but at least the emotion seemed genuine.

As soon as you were mostly certain he wouldn’t burn to death, you turned to him. “We won’t be leaving for a while so you can make yourself at home. If you need anything just let me know, okay?”

You didn’t see him for the whole day. You were busy and he made himself scarce. You couldn’t blame him. You imagined he’d long since made it a habit to avoid being seen by anyone. Anyone except his forced prey, you supposed. But still, he hid away from them, in his own way.

“Astarion, can you come look at this?” you called out as the sun finally dipped fully below the horizon, hoping he was close enough that he could hear you. And hoping he would come even if he did.

It took a few minutes but eventually he came sauntering down the stairs.

“Yes, my dear?”

You grabbed his arm and pulled him towards the window, gesturing out at the carriage that was illuminated by torches alone, shrouded in the thick darkness of the night. “Do you think it’ll be alright? The last thing I want is for you to get hurt.”

He stared out at the carriage you’d spent hours painstakingly attempting to make impenetrable to light. You’d painted the windows black, hung blankets over top of them, shoved old linens in the cracks in the doors.

He cautiously headed outside, staring at the carriage with furrowed brows. “Did you do this?”

“Yeah, I tested it during the day. It seemed pretty solid but obviously you couldn’t check then. I could bring a torch around the outside if you wanted to check for yourself.”

He looked at you like you were mad. “We could have just traveled at night.”

You shrugged. “It’s a two-day journey and I didn’t want to depend on inns and shelter along the road to protect you during the day. This seemed safer.”

He opened the door, sitting inside and looking around at the painstakingly covered windows and cracks, and you couldn’t tell if he seemed uncomfortable because he was worried about the sun or because of the sheer amount of effort you’d clearly put into it.

“Do you want anything for the ride?” you asked, pushing forward. “Some books or something? I could go get them for you.”

“Your company is all I could ask for.”

“Okay, but for real though. Never mind, I’ll just get you some books.” You doubted you’d be able to pull an honest answer from him for a very long time, if at all.

After a frenzied book run, the two of you were ready to head off, locking yourselves inside the carriage until the sun set once more.

The bumps of the carriage jostled the two of you as you rode. The flickering orange light of two lanterns, one for each of you, barely illuminated the darkened space and you couldn’t help but feel a little claustrophobic.

He was sitting, staring at you, book untouched on his lap.

You’d brought as many options as you could think of, romance novels, epics, history, a horticultural book that had pulled a snort and an incredulous look from him when he’d seen it.

He didn’t seem much in the mood for reading and under his unblinking gaze, neither were you. Instead, you stared at the painted-over window, wishing there was anything else you had to look at in the dim light.

“Admiring your paint job?” he asked with a chuckle as you continued to refuse to meet his unblinking gaze.

“Something like that.” You decided to take the broken silence as an opportunity. Anything was better than being silently stared at and you weren’t sure you’d get a better chance to ask him. “Can I ask you something that’s potentially insensitive?”

He smirked at you with that practiced allure. “Ask away.”

“Were you one of his favorites? Cazador's, I mean.”

He scoffed. “In a way. He loved torturing me more than anyone else.”

You leaned forward. “So it might be easier to convince him to part with the others?”

His eyes narrowed at you and you watched as he tried once again to figure out what your angle was. “You’ve got a real bleeding heart, don’t you?”

“We’ve been unable to hurt him for so long, failed at it for years and years. Every day you were there was because we weren’t good enough at what we did. I can’t help it, I feel a little responsible for you. For all of you.”

“Oh please,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Like I’m not one of the monsters you hunt.”

You cocked your head to the side. “Why would you be? Who have you hurt?”

He laughed a cold, cruel laugh. “Darling, you have no idea how many people I’ve hurt.”

“You haven’t though. Cazador hurt people through you, sure. But you didn’t hurt anyone, not really. You’re a victim just as much as they were. At least we managed to save some of them.”

He squirmed in his seat. “I think they might disagree.”

You shrugged, something delicate in his eyes telling you not to push. “Maybe.”

The rest of the ride was completed in silence, not only fueled by your discomfort but now also Astarion’s irritation with you.

Your driver gave a knock on the door as the sun disappeared, just as you’d instructed him to, and you opened it to find a quaint little inn surrounded by woods in front of you.

He left to take care of the horses and you led Astarion inside, securing two rooms for the three of you. In a perfect world you would’ve gotten Astarion his own room, but his vampirism wasn’t exactly subtle and you couldn’t help but worry that some overzealous patron of this establishment might take it upon themself to rid the inn of the supposed monster.

You led him up to the room you’d be sharing and as you entered, he stood in the doorway and took in the sight.

You were quick to give him a quiet, “Come in,” but he brushed you off.

“That’s for houses, not individual rooms. I just…there’s two beds.”

You nodded. “Yup. For two people.”

He eyed you suspiciously, as if the two beds might be part of some devious scheme. After a few moments, he seemed to decide it was just a normal room and took the bed nearest the door.

He seemed paler than he’d been the night before and a horrible thought struck you. “Oh my god, you need to eat! I haven’t been feeding you.”

He chuckled. “Good luck with that, there aren’t many disposable animals out here. At least, not ones you could catch. Unless you want to let me at the horses, but that would leave us in quite the predicament.”

“I mean, you could drink from me. Not everything, obviously, but I could spare some.”

You held out your hand to him, presenting your wrist and looking at him expectantly.

“I’m not allowed to drink human blood,” he spat back at you, the bile of hundreds of years of resentment lacing his words. “Cazador doesn’t allow it.”

“You’re not his anymore. He gave control over to me and I say you can do whatever you’d like and that you don’t take orders from anyone anymore. The offer stands.” You went to withdraw your hand until his hunger bested his hesitation but he grabbed your wrist, stopping you from pulling away.

“Well,” he said with a sly smile. “As long as you’re offering, I would be a fool to turn you down.”

It was so strange how quickly it happened, how easily he could slip right back into that faux confidence.

He leaned towards you and you backed away at the hungry look in his eyes, one you were more than familiar with.

“If you really want to I’m sure there’s ways we could make this a more rewarding experience for you,” he said and in a heartbeat he maneuvered himself over you, his hands interlaced with yours and holding you to the mattress.

You pulled yourself back in an instant, leaning against the headboard as you presented your wrist to him once more.

You didn’t fault him for it. After years of surviving with it, of course he would keep trying to draw you in with his sexuality. The instinct couldn’t be snuffed out overnight.

You’d bat away his attempts as many times you needed to, try and make him understand. You weren’t sure if it would ever work, not fully, but you’d keep trying.

“It’s easier this way,” you said in explanation, giving him something to latch onto that didn’t feel like rejection.

He rolled his eyes. “Easier, I’m sure. Typical, I got a master who’s allergic to fun.”

“I’m not your master. You can do as you please, could leave now if you wanted.”

“And go where?” he snapped. “You can pretend if you must but I know what I am. I know where I stand. I am a lot of things, but I am no fool.”

“I know.”

He studied you for a moment, eyes daring across your face before he pulled your wrist towards him, digging his teeth into your flesh.

The sharp pain lasted for a heartbeat before it faded away to a dull ache. He lapped at the open wound, his put-on demeanor disappearing as he got lost in it.

He cradled your hand like it was a lifeline. In a way, you supposed it was.

You could feel yourself getting lightheaded as he fed but you refused to stop him. You would not command it of him, would rather die than force him into it. You let out a quiet whine, your form slumping back into the bed.

He drew away immediately and your blood began pouring onto the white sheets of the bed.

A moment of panic reflected in his red eyes before he grabbed the corner of the sheets, wrapping them around your wound.

“There,” he said, his voice quieter than his normal bravado. “Should keep you from bleeding out.”

Your eyes were locked on his collarbone, a dark bruise becoming visible as your blood fled through his previously starved body. The longer you looked, the more of them you could see, peeking out from under his clothes.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you said in hushed tones, hands moving to reach for him before stopping in their tracks, unsure if your touch would be wanted.

He was otherwise preoccupied, his eyes alight with something entirely new. He looked stronger, livelier. There was a warmth to his cheeks you’d never seen before.

You resisted the urge to touch him, to see if he’d become warmer as your blood had begun to run through him, bringing a new light to his eyes.

“You should get some rest,” he said, looking down at you lying exhausted and drained on the bed. “You certainly need it.”

You barely had time to laugh at his comment before you’d drifted off.

The ride back was as quiet as it had been the day before, if a little less uncomfortable. Astarion still stared for much of it but he at least pretended to read his book. The healthy flush to his cheeks seemed to come with a bit of newfound comfort and ease around you that made you puff up with pride, even if you still felt a little woozy from the night before.

“Here we are!” you said as a knock sounded on the door, opening it and leading him inside your home. It was an old manor of your family's, not particularly big, right on the edge of nowhere, and perhaps falling apart just a little but more than suitable for your purposes. “It’s a little bit of a mess but I kind of like it that way. Come on, I’ll show you your room.”

You decided to put him in a room that was just a few doors down from your own, pointing out just where he could go to find you if he needed anything.

You laid down to sleep once you got him situated, more exhausted than you typically were at this time of night. Despite how tired you were, presumably from the blood loss, you had to fight the urge to go and check on Astarion just one more time.

You hadn’t known him for long but you’d already developed an intensely protective instinct towards the man.

You did your best to put him out of your mind when a knock sounded at the door.

“Come in,” you called out. You made no attempt to suppress your smile when he peeked in the doorway.

“I think I’ve grown accustomed to your company,” he said sheepishly, and for once it didn’t seem like he was trying to seduce you. He seemed worn down, looking just as tired as you felt, a defeated air present on his face.

You were too tired for subtlety, opening your arm to him and muttering a sleepy, “Just come here.”

He seemed grateful to not have to explain himself. To not have to ask.

He sat on the bed, looking down at you where you lay.

“No pillow this time?” he asked in that snide voice he used so often.

“I can if you want. Just thought you might appreciate the closeness.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine, I’ll be your little pillow to hug. Fair warning though, I run cold.”

You tried and failed to suppress a yawn as he got into bed beside you and you wrapped your arms softly around him. “I don’t mind. G’night.”

“Goodnight, my dear.”

Just like that, it became a bit of unspoken habit between the two of you. You felt it might honestly kill him to comment on it, to ask you for affection. But with no words, no pleasantries, there he was every night, beside you.

One night, about a week into his residence in your home, he seemed more restless than normal, fiddling endlessly with your hand, incapable of sitting still. You turned to him with a pointed look. “Come on, out with it, it’s not good to go to bed with things left unsaid.”

He scoffed. “Why not?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, what if I die in my sleep or something.”

“If you die in your sleep, I think I might have bigger problems than things I didn’t say to you. Namely, some monster hunters who might take issue with the vampire you died next to.”

You shook your head. “No, I already told them about you, they wouldn’t hurt you.”

That seemed to take him by surprise, pulling back a bit at your words. “You did?”

“Of course I did. Now come on, out with it, what’s going on it that head of yours?”

He sighed dramatically and flopped back on his pillow. “It’s really nothing.”

“Not if it's bothering you. I want to help.”

“Did you mean it?” he blurted out, like the words had to be forced out of him quickly or they wouldn’t come out at all. “When you said you wanted to save the rest of them too?”

“Of course I did. And I will. At least if I have anything to say about it,” you said quietly, your stomach turning at the thought of the other spawn you’d left behind.

He turned from you as if you’d slapped him. “Right. I’m going to sleep in my own room. I should’ve been in there anyway, this was silly. Goodnight, darling.”

You chased after him in a heartbeat, catching up at him before he’d even managed to open his door. “Wait, what did I do? Astarion?”

He was an unstoppable force, storming into his own room.

“I don’t understand what I did,” you pleaded with him, desperate to fix it. You raked through your conversation, trying to dissect every word spoken, every facial expression. You found nothing. Shouldn’t he be happy you wanted to help them? It didn’t make sense to you.

He sat on his bed, one he’d never slept in, arms crossed and brows furrowed. When he spoke, there was a faux casualty to it, like he was trying to pretend none of it mattered to him. “I’m just making room for the next stray you let into your bed.”

You sat next to him, careful to keep your distance as you moved your head down to try and catch his eye. “You know I’m not replacing you, right?”

He huffed in response, turning away from you again.

You made sure to keep your tone gentle and soft. “You know I wouldn’t let just any vampire spawn sleep next to me, right? It’s because I care about you, it’s not just because you’re there. No one is replacing you and I promise there is enough of me to help people while also still being there for you. I will save as many of them as I can until I can rid this world of Cazador but you’re not just Cazador’s victim, you’re my friend.”

He turned to you suddenly. “Stop saying that. Stop saying you’re going to hunt down Cazador. If he catches wind of any of this you’re dead. At least, if you’re lucky you’ll be dead. And then where will I be?”

“Hey, I’ve been doing this a long time. I know what I’m doing, we all know what we’re doing. He’s not going to get me.”

“That’s why you made that deal, is it? Did all the other hunters he slaughtered know what they were doing too? You aren’t a threat to him, you are a nuisance. You need to stop,” he snarled.

You couldn’t stop. You both knew that, could see it as clear as day.

Instead, you just said a quiet, “Come on, come to bed,” and walked out of the room.

He trailed behind you, the unendable argument weighing heavy on the both of you, no more words spoken as he slipped under the sheets. You gave his hand a squeeze, trying your best to reassure him despite knowing it would never work. Not as long as he was still out there.

And then, as he leaned into your space, head brushing against your arm, something he’d been getting slowly more comfortable doing, something occurred to you that should have many days ago, back when he’d first arrived here. It was strange that he was here, now. Not just because of his uncomfortability with any sort of nonsexual closeness, but because of when it was.

Not only did elves not sleep the same way nor as long as humans did, but vampires slept during the day typically, to enjoy the night as best they could.

“I’m going to start sleeping during the day,” you said decisively. “That way we can keep doing this,” you said as you gestured around vaguely, “and you can go out, can do things with your waking hours. I’m sorry it didn’t occur to me sooner.”

His eyes widened. “You’d really let me leave?”

His surprise felt like a shard of ice through your chest. “Of course I would. You can do whatever you want. I’ll even do my best to help if you’ll ask me for it.” Another horrible thought struck you. “Wait, you didn’t think you could leave and you’ve been with me most nights. What have you been eating?”

“Whatever I could find. I make for wonderful pest control.”

Your heart sank. You should’ve considered this sooner, never put him through any of this.

“Here, drink from me,” you said, sticking out your hand. “I can get some bigger animals for you, keep them here so you don’t have to hunt for them if you’d prefer, but for now I will have to do.”

He hesitated, although his gaze was less suspicious than the last time you’d done this. Instead, he looked nervous. “You’ve… you’ve already done so much for me. I shouldn’t.”

“Astarion, you’re starving,” you said quietly, trying to reason with him.

“I’d rather not push it. Eventually, even your charity will run out.”

You shook your head. “It will not. It’s fine if you don’t believe me, I know it’ll take time, but I will keep being here for you until it sinks in. Promise.”

He laughed quietly, seeming more for himself than for you, something that had been happening more and more lately. “You underestimate my distrust, I think I could outlast you.”

You smiled back. “Challenge accepted. But until then, you need to eat.”

You held out your wrist for him, the marks from the last time just beginning to fade. He took it, gingerly, bringing it slowly to his mouth and watching your face for any apprehension.

You showed none, instead giving him a soft smile. “Go on. I don’t bite.”

That got a real laugh out of him. “That’s not funny.”

He pressed a soft kiss into your skin before sinking his fangs in, that sharp pain coming with a flutter of warmth inside your chest.

He was slower this time, more intentional as he drank. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was because he wasn’t as hungry or if it was because it felt less like his meal might be ripped away from him unceremoniously.

He didn’t get as lost in it this time, eyes flicking up to meet yours, checking in on you.

You didn’t even get the chance to try and tell him you were feeling woozy before he drew back, pulling a handkerchief you hadn’t even noticed off the side table to wrap around your wrist.

“Wouldn’t want to get our sheets all bloody,” he said as he knotted it tight around your wound.

Your hands moved slowly as soon as he released them, reaching up towards his face and giving him plenty of time to back away.

For a moment, when he first saw you reaching for him, he pulled back and you were ready to retreat and shower him in endless apologies when, as suddenly as he’d moved away, he leaned into your touch.

Gentle hands cradled his face, ones he’d flinched away from but a moment before. He leaned into them openly now, unabashedly, making a home between your palms.

He was warmer like this, with your blood rushing through him.

You pulled him closer as his head tucked right under yours, your fingers carding gently through his hair.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, barely loud enough to reach his ears, and you had no idea if he believed you.

You doubted it, doubted that you’d been able to break through all those years of his living hell so quickly. His walls had been carefully constructed for a reason, and you understood why he was so hesitant to break them down. You couldn’t blame him, would never blame him.

It didn’t really matter. You’d keep trying either way.

#astarion #astarion x reader #vampire x reader #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 astarion #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion needs a hug

1K notes · View notes

monster-disaster · 1 year ago

Text

[shadow monster] Monster at midnight

male!shadow monster x male!human!Reader Good to know: well, cheating and dubious/non-consensual, but not in a traumatizing way, I guess? mxm, oral

Summary: The new bed your wife got came with something else.

It all begins with your wife's newfound obsession with antique stores and online markets. What starts as a casual interest for her soon turns into a frequent activity for you, with mornings and afternoons spent in parking lots, waiting for strangers and whatever she bought from them through the internet. These transactions are mostly pleasant surprises—garden tools, books, and seasonal decorations that would cost much more in stores. They are harmless things, and you have no issue picking them up just to make your wife happy.

The situation takes a strange turn when she gets another bed. At first, there is nothing wrong with it. It is much bigger than your previous one, giving her and you enough space at night to sleep without kicking each other every few hours. It looks good, and it's comfortable.

So it's fine, right?

However, after a month, things start to feel off. You begin waking up at odd hours with an unsettling feeling of being watched or touched. Sometimes, you wake up drenched in sweat, feeling inexplicably hot and agitated. On other nights, you find yourself waking up aroused, ready to climax at any moment. This last detail you keep to yourself, driven by a strange instinct to remain silent about it.

When you finally bring up your concerns to your wife, she just laughs it off. "I don't know what you are talking about," she says. "I sleep like a baby." You hum in response, uncertain whether it is a good sign or something you should worry about. "Maybe you're overworked," she continues. "You're always so tired when you get back from work." You are tired because you can't sleep at night, but you keep this answer to yourself, partly because your wife's explanation sounds much more rational than the unsettling fantasies that have been plaguing you. Her suggestion that you're simply overworked and exhausted from your job is a comforting alternative to the bizarre thoughts swirling in your mind.

Yet, even with her reassurances, the nights don't get any easier. The feeling of being watched, the burning heat, and the unbidden arousal continue to haunt you. You toss and turn, trying to rationalize these experiences, but they persist stubbornly.

In the quiet, dark hours of the night, your thoughts wander, and you can't shake the growing sense of unease. There's an underlying tension, a feeling that something is not quite right. Despite the logical explanations you try to offer yourself, a part of you wonders if there's more to this new bed than meets the eye. The once-pleasant surprises from your wife's shopping sprees have now taken a turn, leaving you questioning what you've welcomed into your home.

- With an exhale through your chapped lips, you let your head fall back on the pillow, arms tucked beneath it. Your body melts against the mattress as your muscles relax and your eyes close, ready to fall asleep again despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.

It's nothing, you tell yourself. Your wife is right; it must be stress from work. Maybe you should take some time off. A few days of vacation would do some good for both you and the still-sleeping woman next to you. Go somewhere warm and sunny. No matter how much you love living in Grimbrook, the gloomy town can play tricks on one's mind if they're not careful.

Something nudges your leg, and you scowl into the darkness. Your wife's name rolls off your tongue in a low, barely audible grunt as you pull away from her, but the sensation remains around your calf. The hold reminds you of long, slender fingers with sharp nails grazing your skin. It's warm and heavy, and you have to shake your head to dispel your ridiculous thoughts.

A shiver runs down your spine, and you tell yourself it's just your imagination, fueled by exhaustion and stress. Yet, the feeling lingers, making your heart race. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but despite your efforts to rationalize, the sense of unease is undeniable. You glance at your wife sleeping peacefully beside you, and suddenly, a thought crosses your mind; what if your wife is right? And wrong? What if there is really nothing wrong with the bed, but stress has nothing to do with your problems? What if you are going insane?

What if…

But no. There is a hand on your calf, moving up and up until long nails graze the back of your thigh. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you jump as you struggle for what feels like an eternity to turn around and yank the blanket off your body in one frantic motion. The springs creak as your back hits the bed, but the sound is drowned by your pulse pounding in your ears.

And you need several, several seconds to believe your own eyes.

The darkness is thick and almost tangible in the bedroom. A strange, eerie fog rolls across the floor, curling around the furniture and casting shapes and shadows on the walls. They stretch and twist in ways they shouldn't do, and at the end of the bed, a creature kneels, barely distinguishable from the surrounding darkness. The monster is lean with a hunched posture. You can see the long, slender fingers tipped with sharp nails, the same ones that grazed your thigh moments ago. Multiple eyes glimmer faintly at you, reflecting what little light there is coming from the window. The monster's skin is so dark that it nearly blends into the blackness, a seamless extension of the night itself.

As your heart races and your breath comes in shallow gasps, you struggle to make sense of the sight. The monster's eyes, too many, seem to pierce through you, seeing into the deepest corners of your soul. You feel paralyzed, unable to move or look away. The weight of its gaze is heavy and oppressive on you.

For a moment, the world narrows to just you and the monster. The bedroom, the house, your sleeping wife next to you, and everything else fades into insignificance. It's as if time itself has stopped, trapping you in this moment. With him.

He is the one who breaks the stillness of the room, placing his large hands on your thighs just above your knees. His grip is strong, and his touch is cold yet surprisingly soothing. Your muscles twitch at the sudden feeling, and you brace yourself on your elbows, wanting to sit up but halting your attempt as you speak hurriedly. "Hey! Hey! Hey!" Your voice is still hoarse from sleep but filled with alertness and panic as you stare at the monster with wide eyes. He looks back at you with a calmness you certainly don't have. The creature’s multiple eyes glint in the dim light, each one reflecting an eerie curiosity. "Who… What are you?" you manage to stammer out. The monster tilts his head when he hears your question, the movement is seemingly innocent and almost graceful as his fingers flex around your legs, sending shivers up your spine.

The silence stretches, heavy and tense, until finally, you hear a sound that seems to resonate in the air and within your very bones.

It's… purring.

It's deep and reverberating. You can’t tear your gaze away from him, a strange mix of fear and fascination holding you captive. The purring grows louder, filling the room with a sound that is both comforting and lulling. The rhythmic vibration somehow keeps you grounded, preventing you from losing your mind entirely.

The fog that had enveloped the room now swirls lazily around the bed, as if it too is under the monster's spell.

But you don't get an answer.

Instead, his grip on you slips up and up and up, and before you can say anything, his hands are under the thin fabric of your loose underwear. Your lips fall open as your breath catches in your throat with a strange, strangled sound that bounces out of your heaving chest. Your first instinct says to grab him, but your body freezes before you can do something stupid. His long, sharp nails graze over your inner thighs, too close to your balls, and there is no way you are ready to risk it with a reckless move. Now, you have to be smart, but damn, your brain stopped functioning several seconds ago.

"Wait! Wait!" You gasp. "You shouldn't… It's not…" No matter how you try, the words don't want to roll off your tongue as you hobble for some coherent thoughts. The tips of his nails wake goosebumps on their way, making your tense muscles tremble at the feeling. While one part of your mind is frozen by panic, the other is intrigued. Despite his looks, the monster doesn't seem dangerous with his big eyes that stare at you with as much curiosity as you watch him.

When you don't say anything else, he moves again, punching a startled groan out of your chest. His long, slender fingers curl around your dick, holding it steadily and firmly. "No!" You wheeze, trying to pull away, but the movement makes him tug on your shaft, and you swear you can see stars for a moment. Your cock twitches, and you can feel your arousal building up in the base of your spine despite the absurdity of the situation.

The creature purrs again. The sound is short and excited as he lets you go only to tug on your underwear before you can catch your breath. Your cock juts out, half hard, while the waistband of your boxer stretches around your thighs and slips down off your legs as you struggle to reach it. The monster does nothing to help you, mostly because his attention is entirely elsewhere. "Look," you inhale. "We shouldn't…" Now that your cock is bobbing under his heavy, intense gaze, there is no way a flimsy fabric you use for sleep can be more interesting for him.

He shuffles forward a little, the bed dips under his weight as he finds his new place between your legs, forcing you to spread them open for him. Your lips open again to say something, but he takes hold of your cock, and again, your mind goes blank. The black monster with several eyes and no words tugs on your cock experimentally, stroking you into full erection as he explores your shaft from base to tip. Your hips buck upward automatically, and you groan at yourself. You shouldn't do this. You shouldn't enjoy this. And yet, when his thumb finds a vein at the underside of your cock, you can't stop the tingling feeling running through your body. His large palm feels warm and velvety as it rubs up and down on your erection. His fingertip ghosts over the edge of the crown of your cock, teasing the sensitive skin under it to the point you can't even breathe to say something. Your lungs burn for air, and your voice is barely audible when a wheeze escapes your lips. One glance at the monster hovering over your cock is enough to know his next step. And while your body aches for it, your mind still trying to hold onto the reality. "Don't!" Without even acting like he hears you, he leans in and licks a tentative path along your shaft, lingering at the tip and teasing the small hole there. His tongue is thick and long, you can feel every movement of the wet muscle on your throbbing cock. Your chest expands with a ragged inhale as you stare at him taking you into his mouth. He is warm and wet, and his long, long tongue wraps around you easily. "Fuck!" Your voice is loud and hoarse in the silence, mixing with the wet, suckling sound of the dark creature around your cock. Adjusting his grip at the base, he takes you deeper until you can feel his throat tightening and working around you.

The sight of the monster's fingers and long, sharp nails so close to your most sensitive area surges adrenaline through your veins while his lips rubbing up and down on your hard shaft softens the sharpness of your survival instincts.

The monster backs away, jerking you off with his hand much more easily now that your cock is soaked by the mix of your pre-cum and his saliva. His fist rubs up and down on you for long seconds while your hips rise and fall as you fuck into his hold, chasing your pleasure. Every rational thought is out of your mind, and you don't even fight for it anymore. Not when he dips his head back, letting his tongue circle on the tip of your cock, sliding lower and lower until you are in his mouth again.

The slurping sounds of his lips are loud as he drools down to your balls, using his free hand to play with them softly, carefully. Your groan is almost painful as your back arches away from the bed from the electric jolt that shoots through your body, making your muscles flex and spasm.

Your oxygen-deprived brain can't even fathom anything outside the thick, curling fog around you and the monster between your legs. Your toes and fingers go numb as they curl, and you grab onto the sheets under you. You tug on the fabric with every wave of pleasure washing over you, making your muscles twitch and turning your bones into liquid. Your shirt sticks to your body like a second skin from the thin layer of sweat covering you. You are all lost and ruined under the sensations. His drool dripping down to your balls is tickling and messy and so fucking good. And his tongue is long and wet, wrapping and massaging your erection all the way from the tip to the base.

It goes like this for a while, you wheeze and writhe while he sucks you deep down to his throat, and when you think you can't go higher, the creature starts to purr. The vibration tightening and fluttering around your cock makes you shout with a release. Before you know it, you spurt your cum into his mouth. He swallows down your load easily, and every gulp sends sparkles over your spine until it almost cracks under the pressure of your orgasm.

By the time your body goes limp, you are dead to the world. Your eyes fall shut when the darkness takes you so you don't see the monster retreating to his hiding place while the thick, rolling mist slowly disappears, leaving you and your wife on the bed as if nothing happened.

The next day, when your wife joins you in the kitchen while the scent of coffee lingers in the early morning air and you are more relaxed than ever before, you say nothing about your midnight visitor. When she asks how did you sleep, you reply with a smile behind the brim of your cup.

#monster romance #monster x human #monster x reader #monster boyfriend #monster smut #terat0philliac #teratophillia #shadow monster #shadow monster x reader #shadow monster x human #grimbrook #exophelia

381 notes · View notes

have-you-seen-my-sanity · 2 months ago

Note

hear me out. yandere moon boys with their darling always acting up and trying to escape but Marc and Steven had enough so they let Jake out to deal with her sassy ass 😈😈😈

I gotcha anon!

Moon Knight masterlist

Punished

Yandere!moon knight system x afab!reader

Cw/triggers: Intimidation, possessive behavior, dead dove do not eat, not beta read non-consensual touching, dacryphilia(sort of)

The amount of anxiety and trust issues you gave Steven, the heavy heart you gave Marc and the anger you gave Jake each time trying to get away from them did not go unnoticed.

In fact, every time you've been a brat, Marc, Jake and even Steven seemed to get more fed up. There were some times where they just refused giving you food, locked you up and tied you up, and seeing even the kind hearted Steven act like that either gave you the impression they're about to lose it and let you go or they would find more ways to keep you in place.

And last night you nearly managed to escape, but it didn't took the boys long enough to catch up on you and bring you back. Again.

"How many times do we have to tell you until you finally listen to us?"

Marc fumbled with one of Steven's ankle restraints before firmly closing it around your ankle, not tight enough to cause pain, but definitely strong enough to make his point.

"I'm here against my will, and I will make sure to get out and have you imprisoned."

Marc stopped for a moment, looking straight ahead for a second when a soft breath came out.

"Imprisoned?" He repeated, looking like he's holding in a laugh with the corner of his mouth tugging upwards a little bit. "You think a prison is enough?"

His answer left you quite stunned.

Then Marc stood up, looking down at you with a slight scowl.

"You've even managed to get Steven furious, poor fella wants Jake to deal with you," he paused, sucking in a breath "and I couldn't agree more." he finished darkly.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Jake?"

Noticing the hint of fear in your voice Marc nodded.

"Yeah, Jake. Steven had enough of your stunts and I brought you back. Jake will put you back in your place."

Without another word he left, leaving you to ponder what Jake will do.

When he came back, Jake made it crystal clear he was in control. "What am I going to do with you, hm?" He stalked closer, one hand casually tucked into his pocket.

Jake sat down on the edge of the bed, placing his hand on your thigh. He leaned closer, supporting himself with his other hand, the hand on your thigh tightening its grip noticable.

"I will go easy on you only this time."

He took in your frightened expression with a small smirk, his hand inching around to your hip, stopping just short before your ass.

You spoke weakly. "What are you doing?"

Jake's hand smoothed over your butt, squeezing firmly enough to make you squirm.

"Whatever the fuck I need to do in order to keep your bratty ass here where you belong."

Jake said the last part with a hint of a growl.

You tried struggling against his hand but the restraints on you didn't budge one inch.

"Jake," you breathed pleadingly "I'm sorry."

His hand moved back over your thigh, squeezing your soft flesh, seemingly enjoying the state you're in. At their mercy.

"What's that? You're sorry?" He replied with a soft snort. "Too bad Steven and Marc are telling me to continue."

You mewled. "No please.."

Jake tsked. "Can't do that, mi amor. You need to be taught a lesson."

Your eyes started tearing up, Jake was being serious but so were Marc and Steven.

You whimpered as the first tears ran down your cheeks. "I apologize."

Jake took a moment to look at the small mirror on the wall seeing the displeased expressions of Steven and Marc.

When he turned to face you again, his hand left you thigh, coming up to grab your chin firmly. "Look into the mirror and tell me what you see." came his cold order, he tilted your head to face it.

Of course all you could see was just Jake's hardened expression looking back at you but knowing Marc and Steven did perhaps have the same expression didn't make it any better for you.

And finally, you answer. "You're angry."

Jake hummed in satisfaction. "You think aplogizing to me is enough?" He glanced back down at you, squeezing your chin just a bit.

"Hm?" He urged.

You squeezed your eyes shut, another set of fresh tears came running down.

As if Jake only noticed them now or didn't bother the first time they spilled from your eyes, his hand moved to brush some away.

"See? Now you're a crying mess," Jake's tone became softer, and you genuinely couldn't tell if he was for real or just put on a show to make you feel like he's showing pity.

He continued, "and why are you a crying mess? Because you decided to be a brat and run from what's keeping you safe. Us."

You sniffled, taking another look into the mirror. "Steven, Marc." you hesistated, "I'm so sorry, I swear I'll behave from now on, just please forgive me."

Jake's corner of the mouth tugged upwards a little bit, his hand releasing your chin slowly and gave your cheek a gente pat.

"There's our good girl," he coos, "I think I'm done here."

Without another word Jake got up and left, leaving you on the bed with your tear stained cheeks and still tied up.

A short while later he came back, but it wasn't Jake nor Marc, it was Steven now. But he didn't have the sweet and gentle tone he always had in the past.

"Love," he started, still softly but with an eerie edge to it. "I really hope for you that you've learned your lesson."

Steven approached you, crouching down at your side. "Have you?"

"Yes..." Your voice cracked at the end.

He hummed softly. "That's good. Really good."

Steven gently but possessively cupped your cheek, leaning in towards you.

"We're proud of you for accepting your place."

The last thing Steven did was giving you a lingering kiss on your forehead.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tags:

@nekoyin @steven-grants-world @iolaussharpe-24 @buckyssugarchick @krakenkitty

@klillaah @ingoldthewizard @stevendameron @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @alexxavicry

@silvernight-m @xxjust-a-kidxx

Taglist

#moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockley x reader #yandere marc spector #yandere steven grant #yandere jake lockley #oscar isaac #oscar isaac characters

83 notes · View notes

gladiatorcunt · 8 months ago

Text

- BEDROCK | XII.

you’re a bottled star, the planets align, you’re just like mars. you shine in the sky

cw: kinktober prompt (sex toys), reader has a pussy, age gap (ur bsf ahsoka’s former master!anakin (40’s) obi wan (50’s)’s padawan!reader in her early 20’s), dub con, implied obikin x reader codependency, dismemberment fantasies, reader is lowkey a stalker freak, no direct touching between anakin and reader ofher than chest fondling, strongly implied voyeurism that’s non consensual but unavoidable and unwanted by both of you, eventual sith!anakin, obi wan haunts the narrative, frequent use of ‘little one’, dead dove do not eat, reader became a padawan in their late teens

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“You know they’re going to expect their toys to be put to good use.” Master Skywalker shrugs and tiredly grumbles down at you.

You’re sprawled out on the bed, recuperating from the first day of your undercover mission. Your own Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was on one of his infamous negotiation tours, so to speak, you had never cared for them, you couldn't spin pleasantries like yarn any better than a Rakghoul could dance.

Obi-Wan could only stomach taking you on because you parallel Anakin in so many ways, Anakin could only accept his former master taking another padawan because maybe your added seriousness will ease the aggravation caused by the one before you.

You were just happy to be chosen, as any child-waited-too-long-unwanted-teenager plucked from the tense comfort of their home would be, even if that home is only a basic imitation of a shelter.

“I know, Master.” These blasted things, growing up the other padawans would giggle with you over these provocative missions, usually a padawan donning the skin of a schutta on the end of a leash held by their Masters. “Do they have to be so… unique?”

It was as nice as Obi-Wan would’ve wanted you to be, even in these circumstances.

Would he take on Master Skywalker’s role with as much confidence and clarity as the true born son of the Force? Rumors of both the men’s appeal and promiscuity do not guarantee a willingness to rut into a padawan, a dance of demons spoken of in the archives, a beast in the vein of and important to some future single world than your own.

“Unique? How so? I know you’re not like some padawans and keep to yourself, little one, but Jedi your age talk. I’m not naive, neither is Obi-Wan.”

Master Skywalker might as well have carved the kyber crystal of his saber into your face, the flame that crackles under the surface of your skin bears his scent, stormy as his heavy gaze often is.

“Apologies, Master, i never meant to-”

“Shush.” He chuckles, “You can call me Anakin, I hope you’re aware of that. Mace Windu is not going to barge in here and strike you down for being informal. It’s just us, little one. I’m not even your real master, just doing pet sitting for an old friend.”

You blink, lava swirling in your gut at the implication of being a pet before a person. “Anakin.” Your mouth twists around the unused syllables, never having referred to a master by their first name in your entire life. “But the mission, we’re supposed to um…… you said they’d notice if we didn’t do……. anything.”

Another chuckle, another curl tucked behind his ear. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that we came to this planet as a wealthy ship salesman and his controversially younger companion. This place is too seedy to not have eyes and ears everywhere, they’d take it as an insult if we declined to use their… gifts. The success of this mission would mean another smuggler and secret trader being taken down, Obi-Wan and I both think you’re ready for riskier missions like this one. You’ll do fine, little one.”

“I’m trying to release my fear and anger into the force, Master- Anakin. I thank you and Master for seeing this in me but I've never done anything like this before. Are people really going to hear us… have sex?”

“That’s why we’re speaking so softly, padawan, it’s not the noises they’re looking to witness, but you can never be too careful.” Anakin smiles, patting your cheek firmly. “And we don’t necessarily have to do anything like that, just use the toys and leave them on the bed for servants to find, messy and thoroughly used. The nobleman will be pleased, if the information painting him as a pervert is accurate.”

Obi-Wan wouldn’t have spoken to you quite so crassly, but he does like to tease you that the sand scratching Anakin’s tongue never goes away, there’s always another grain when you think it’s spotless and clean. Like the temple or one of the many mighty metal spires, the sterile trees of Coruscant.

You nod, nevertheless. “There’s no use putting it off. The schedule we studied says the workers will stop by first thing in the morning.” Your nerves are obvious, picking your nails, biting your lip, adjusting the folds of your skimpy outfit to conceal skin it will never stretch far enough to cover.

Anakin’s eyes soften, the wrinkles in his outer eye corners deepen. “I’m only sorry I won’t be the only one to hear you cum for the first time, but they’ll never touch you, and they won’t get to know what you sound like doing everything. Trust me, little one, you’re in the safest place you could be right now, my general vicinity.”

It’s not as funny, or as hot, as you’d expect it to be. As shy as you are, you’re constantly surprised by how quick you are to embrace arousal in the urge to renounce shame. If your blood temperature rises to a boiling point, the big ball of anxious knots in your knot could be singed through until it falls apart.

You do not feel any great embarrassment of the simple truth that you have a crush on Anakin Skywalker, many do, you’d be at the tail end of a long line of various species of various ages and with various expectations of what they want their bodies to go through.

It’s silly to be possessive of a man you only share a master with, who stops by to chat when he’s not tinkering away at something or doing some death defying stunt on a mission that’s going to drive the council to insanity one of these days.

You are jealous of Ahsoka Tano however, your closest friend, even after she’s transferred to another Master, the result of some great big falling out.

It is far better that you were not assigned to be his padawan, the Force would have bled with your desire and dissipated entirely to get away from it.

Master Skywalker picks up one of the toys lying there on the bed in between you, a realistic tongue that disturbs you just a bit more than it arouses you. He chuckles at the apprehension on your face and motions for you to get comfortable. He reaches around you with one arm and bundles you up in his lap, your back to his firm chest.

He shushes your nervousness sounds and attempts to ramble, not fully apologetic as he peels back the layers of your tunic top. Your chest bounces into view, free from the confines of the tight fabric. Anakin gives you absolutely no time to be shy about them, groping one in his free hand. The force beams with his amusement when you gasp, the calluses on his fingers feel like they’re marking the skin of your mound, he kneads and kneads for a moment, perfectly content to let you squirm until you can get used to what else he’ll have to subject you to.

Maybe that’s where the hotness in these missions lies, you both want this on a baseline level but there are things you have to bend your own line in the sand to allow. Pushing your limits under the shyness-inducing gaze of Master Skywalker in these uncomfortably close walls and on a mission where you’re free to be other people might very well be your only chance. You’ve never broken a single rule at the temple, you’re a shining example of what a padawan learner should be. Master Obi-Wan often jokes that he wishes you were around to be his padawan the first time around, but there’s always a note of sadness hanging onto his stilted laughter.

You arch your back against Anakin, bracing your hands behind you and burying them in his hair. He groans as you gently tug the curls, and gives it right back to you by lowering the realistic tongue to your left nipple. You flinch, the surprisingly cold silicone model of a muscle flicks against your perky nub on Anakin’s command, and he’s commanding it to torture you to death. Relentless flicks of the toy against your nipple make you squirm again, wanting so badly to be good but you’d much rather ensure the toy was in constant contact with your chest.

It’s the perfect temperature, you run hot most days, and the brief sensation sends shivers from your head to your toes, just a hint of pleasure since Anakin stopped his own touching, sitting as still as a statue as he works the toy on you. He hooks his chin in your shoulder to gawk, transferring the device from one slick nipple to the other until both are so thoroughly coated that it drips onto your soft tummy.

“See, that feels good right, little one? There’s nothing to worry about, this is all we’ll do until it’s time for bed and then we’ll put these things away.”

You nod, whining like a spoiled noble family member now, pouting when he takes the tongue away from your nipple and throws it haphazardly over his shoulder. You cringe, wondering if the loud clang it yells into the concrete floor’s ears reached those in the shadows, you were trying to ignore them but now that there was a single moment of quiet there lecherous eavesdropping was all you could imagine.

A thick hand clamps around your chin and jerks you in the bearer’s direction, Master Skywalker clicks his tongue against his teeth, “They’re nothing to you, especially not right now. If you’d only let yourself go, they’d fade away entirely in your mind, I was trying to be easy on you but clearly you’re in need of something stronger if your head is still on the surface of this planet.”

Something stronger, being a large vibrator, 15 inches and a swirl of mint green and lavender, in the shape of a tentacle, every suction cup has the ability to well… suck. These are all things Anakin relays to you while rearranging your form to his liking, legs spread wide over his thighs, arms behind your back but not restrained, and after some lifting, your robes in a beige pile by the gaudy bed.

Master Skywalker can be merciful occasionally, he doesn’t force you to make eye contact as he lowers the vibrating toy to the altar between your legs. He also doesn’t comment on the pitiful whimper you let out, the vibrations haven’t even started, but you feel the force explode in pleasant-happy-power-trip blood orange. You drink up the calming waves he sends to you, wrapping them around your naked form like the comfiest and plushest blanket, the waves you offer to him in return are clingy little ripples in a pond. Needy repetition of hints to feelings that cannot leave this room alive.

He gets a glimpse of a fantasy, for a mere second before it vanishes out of view, a tantalizing and fascinating shooting star.

“No we can’t stop, you have to let it out.” You raise your hips up higher, face down ass up, your holes wink at him in intervals, angel wings flapping in the corner of his mind, like all the love he has for you will leak out into his cum and if he can just go that, then everything will be fine.

The vibrator doesn’t start at an easy to handle low frequency, your howling is drowned out by the intense humming of its second highest setting.

Your hips jolt, Anakin works the toy in slow circles over your clit, cooing when you jerk and squirm around. Your already throbbing clit is pulsing so hard it almost feels like a constant pain, but you’re so karkking wet that you push your hips up into his ministrations. You chase after the persistent buzzing with more determination than any of your meditation sessions, suddenly cumming on Master Skywalker’s lap is far more important to you than all the missions in the world. Blurry blobs with their ears to the structure around you shift to crumble beneath your increasingly loud cries.

Your pleasure snowballs, Anakin’s earlier attention to your nipples the mountain out of a molehill and his current fascination with your cunt the crashing wave threatening to envelop you in its fold. Like the ones Master Obi-Wan used to tell you about on Kamino, angry and dark cobalt blue, lapping at the ankles of the once elusive white buildings. It’s easy to split yourself into different pieces, assign each one to a part of nature because the force is telling you that your pleasure is as natural as grief and plant life and twin cotton candy pink to red suns and love and mistakes and giant bone dragons with pearls for landmark hearts.

The steady pulsing on your clit punches the gasps out of you, a steady stream of short-for-breath aimless chatter. You’re soaking Master Skywalker’s lap all the way down to the bed, if you mentioned them he’d probably tell you to leave how you ruined them. The smell and stain would only bring you greater protection from being found out, yet your stomach twists at the thought.

The force blooms violet with your fear, as if you’re deathly afraid of your own orgasm, lazy unenthusiastic rutting into your semi-firm mattress back in the dorm is nothing compared to actually touching yourself with the intent to cum. You just got too scared the first time you tried to slip your fingers in your tight snatch and frustratingly resigned yourself to never understanding what your peers go on and on about. Giggling into their portions of bland oatmeal and exchanging charged glances, hormones are far more powerful when they’re being repressed.

Master Obi-Wan had no trouble modestly applauding your emotional regulation skills, unlike his former padawan you had less trouble settling the wriggling bundle of your feelings in a see through boat and pushing it along the stream of starlight until it gave way and became one with the connecting tissue underneath.

“You’ll lose your voice at this rate, little one.” Anakin huns into your ear, his mech arm holding you so tight to his chest his ribs might crack open and swallow you whole. “You’re a better actress than I thought you’d be, unless all this whining and carrying on is genuine?”

You can’t even get a word out before he presses the vibe closer to your pussy, the swarm of tiny little mouths the orchestra and the largest one at the tip of the tentacle hugging your clit the conductor. Your breath hitches as you tremble and whine, a high pitched thing that pierces the air. Anakin grins, lips split wider than the length of the cruiser the council provided to get her, he moves the toy up and down between your folds. A fake cock warming itself in the snug hold of your pussy, sending little jolts of phantom electricity to fizz and sparkle on your tastebuds through your core up out your mouth.

“I’m- I’m not acting, Master. Kark! You’re- ngh- going to, um, y-you’re going too fast, Master, please.” You beg, throwing your head back on his shoulder and counting the dots that make up the constellations in your visions.

It’s too much pressure, Anakin plays with the silk fabric of your outfit like it’s something for his hands to do, like he’s not keeping a vibrator right on your clit and holding you down so you have no choice but to take it. You can’t help but think of the ways your real master would be different, he’d try his hardest and wait out the time the longest but would that stuffy old man end up performing this same brand of torture?

Not that Master Skywalker is much younger, from your position on his lap the signs are aging are right above your face. The cheek scar you learned months ago he’s had for decades The wrinkles, eyes, mouth, forehead, the permanent halfway tense halfway slack skin from all the stress he endured in the war, the ghosts living in his irises, his weathered hands splayed out burning hot steam to the touch on your belly. Right above your womb, he could just dig in and sink his fingers metal and skin knuckle deep.

“Aren’t you adorable? You’ve been taking it so far, you haven’t fallen yet, little star, I bet you can keep going. Stop rushing this, just relax and feel these hungry mouths coaxing you to splash against them, settle into their demanding chants.” Anakin soothes, unhurriedly dragging his blunt nails over your love handles, “I would say this body is wasted on those arid robes, on the Jedi Order, you’d be such a beautiful dancer like you were after dinner, but Obi-Wan would kill me if he found out.”

The dinner with the nobles, the party afterwards, the target had his lizard tongue hanging from his mouth when he asked you and the other “accessories” to put on a show. The force twirled in displeased crimson skies then.

You don’t insult Master Skywalker’s intelligence out loud, but you both plainly speak frequently to the same word of the day calendar.

You want to give him one of your arms, unholster your lightsaber and sever the flesh from your spirit. He wouldn’t be able to use it and you wouldn’t ask him too, he can just have it, so he can understand how alike you are, to know that you too will always wander around with a missing part of you. But how can it be truly missing if you gave it willingly? Master Obi-Wan can have your lonely other, in a fiery pyrrhic instant you are pure force and limbless.

You’d roll the turquoise pendant of the necklace he’d bring you, a souvenir from a stubborn vendor on an outer rim planet, in the lines on your palm like it’s one of his eyes.

Anakin suffocates the vibe in your pussy and doesn’t let the suction cups breathe until you’ve spontaneously combusted, before you can say knife

“It’s not funny, I really didn’t like it, Master.” You liked it too much, the flickers of yellow embers in his eyes, his grip so tight on your chub that you pictured him with sharp black claws, shacking up with a man you barely know but at the same time are too close to.

You used to fall asleep recounting the details of Anakin’s life and accomplishments, each tidbit represented a sheep for you, the biggest punishment to you back then meant being banned from the archives or blocked from news sites on the holonet.

You studied the man whose shadow you would wear over your robes like a shawl, until you were convinced you could jet set off to Tatooine and be able to point out which patches of sand his feet had tread upon. You just never once stopped to consider that he was doing the same with you, what kind of sun bothers himself with the comings and goings of a dead star so far away from their incinerating orbit.

“I don’t like that you like when i’m scared, it makes me feel… sick.” You could cum so hard you’d fall off the temple roof into Coruscant’s lower levels, be one of the ghosts wandering throughout the dreary gray tunnels but instead be moaning for cock that’d still be alive.

“I’ll hold your hair back and nurse you back to health, I’m in for it if I give old man Obi another padawan death scare.” He wiggles the digits of his mechanical arm sardonically, he knows what you mean but he also knows that you don’t mean it so he gives you the same amount of humor he sensed in your mutterings.

Master Skywalker is appreciated for his ability to be both tremendously serious on the battlefield and lighthearted with his colleagues, Anakin loves to tease shy early 20 somethings who volunteer him to be the replacement caretaker for their own master. He tosses and turns that night, not because of the impending result of the mission, all he’ll say in his husky morning voice is that he had a bad dream. You should make a break for the cruiser after embarrassingly exchanging pleasantries, Master Obi-Wan and the rest of the temple are expecting you home before your scheduled progress testing sparring session.

For now, the vibrator’s highest setting will be the instrument, the conduit to the music your moans create, interwoven with Anakin’s hot musk. Oil and dirty water.

265 notes · View notes