#who is already a magnet for the macabre | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeyinde · 5 months ago

Note

touch starved reader with an oral fixation x kidnapper!Simon who’s all punishment and no physical affection? Please Simon just a little kiss? with tongues? :( (i just wanna make out with this man while my heart aches for him)

by Allah, you people are dogs. i will write the filth as usual.

DEAD DOVE, 18+ | dubcon. kidnapping. mean!Simon. dom!Simon. masking corporal punishment as affection. kissing. size kink, size difference. some thigh riding. degradation + humiliation (verbal). non-con pet play. marking (heavyyyyyy mentions of Simon biting you like a chew toy). choking. daddy kink (but in the awful, demeaning way). manipulation. forced affection. coersion. forced/manufactured dependency. brief mention of Simon stepping on your back to hold you down so he can whip you w a cat o nine tails. yanno. the usual Friday night.

idk. there's something so hot about you, completely naked, riding Simon's clothed thigh as he holds you up by your neck. tongue out, desperate for a kiss while he just mocks you the whole time.

It's survival.

At first.

A means of masking the innate horror of being stripped of your agency, your autonomy, by a man you barely even know. One you met once before (fate sealed), and now—outside of your apartment complex where he was idling by the foothold, smoking a cigarette as he leaned against the brick wall, head turned. Gaze narrowed as you approached.

Waiting for someone, you assumed, thinking nothing else about the matter.

Nothing else, except—

He looked familiar. You think you saw him before. He was staring at you. Hadn't stopped. Hasn't said a word, either. The silence was oppressive. Heavy. Your hands fumbled with the keys. Shaking. Trembling.

He's pretty, you thought, suddenly. In the way car wrecks can sometimes be. Jarring and awful and hideous, but—

Mesmerising.

Macabre. And that's what he is. Everything from the mask on his face (skulls, go figure), to the absurdity in his size, his width. The way space itself seemed to move around him, bending and distorting just to let him pass. His own gravitational pull. Magnetic. You feel it tugging on you as he pulls another lungful of smoke. Another. Another.

(like an hourglass, a timebomb, almost. you wonder what will happen when it runs out—)

He gives you the creeps. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. A visceral sense of unease curdling in the pit of your belly as he keeps staring, staring. Eyes—crystalline under the broken headlamp, washout into crushed topaz—drilling into your back, sharp enough to flay skin. Everything inside of you says to run, but your key won't fit inside the lock. Won't—

Ever.

And hindsight has always been a bitter thing, hasn't it? Cruel in her mockery. Had you known, then, that he wasn't a workman loitering by the complex, waiting for a friend; or a low-level drug dealer casting webs into the plum hewn aether, it might have saved you. Might have.

Maybe. Because he was there, waiting for you, all along.

Life has a funny way of paying back good deeds. All it took for your life to crumble down around you, rubble falling off of a shaking mountain, was kindness. Was seeing a large man in the pouring rain, already drenched. Black clothing sticking to the granite contours of his body, and offering sanctum in the shape of a rusting umbrella you found at a thrift store for three dollars.

(“here,” you said, chipper. All smiles. “i live just down the street, and you look like you need it more than i do. do you want it?”

and he—

he simply stared. stared. his eyes liquid, molten, as they carelessly dropped, roaming down the length of your body at his own leisure. leering. assessing. it was odd. weird, but—

he huffed, then. seemingly satisfied by whatever you measured up to in his head. his neck lulled back, and he gazed at you from down the crooked length of his nose, tucked neatly away under the thick band of a facial mask. skulls. how could you be so stupid?

slowly, like he was trying not to startle a mare, his gloved hand reached out, curling thick fingers around the hilt of it. he tugged once. in your stupor, you forgot to let go. embarrassment flooded in. he huffed again, quietly amused, as you untangled your numbed fingers from the umbrella.

in your distraction, he moved closer. smelled of ash, of mildew. sweat and stale cigarettes. there was something predatory in the way he slipped through space. a preternatural quiet. an eerie stillness.

you hadn't realised he was there, looming, until he rasped out, “more ‘n you could ever realise, pet.”

and you're sure why you do it. did it. but your hand slips into your shopping bag, eyes widen. heart thundering in your chest.

“are you hungry? i, uh, i just bought some apples, um—”

his eyes are lavascapes. shackles. chains. “i could eat.”)

And now—

Forced to play this strange cat and mouse of his where he treats you like soot on the bottom of his shoe, and you pretend that it's affection. Love. How godless.

Protection, he calls it.

("mine," he whispers, orison soft, into your ear. "ain't go' nowhere else to go, do you, pet? world's big. would eat a small thing like you up. safer here. wit' me. only me.")

You wonder what he'd do if you told him the biggest danger here was the madness nestled inside your head, the one that sometimes made you look at him like he was your salvation instead of the warden holding the end of your leash in a firm hand. Unyielding—like everything he does. Is.

Withholding, too. Everything must be earned. Nothing given. Nothing handed out. And you know that this is a ploy, a tactic. Subterfuge meant to chisel into your sense of self, dehumanise you. Turn you into a simpering, obedient little doll for him to play with as he wishes. You know this, and yet—

It's survival, you promise yourself as he tugs on the hook latched to your collar, testing it for weakness. Survival, when his hands—bare, bare; warmed skin against skin, you could just weep—brush over your throat, nails skimming goosebumped flesh as he wedges one, then two inside, hirsute knuckles tickling your pulse. It tightens the collar to near choking. Intentional, you know. He likes it when you beg—for air, for food, water, him.

Vile man. Awful.

(You want to roll on your belly at his feet.)

This cold, cruel touch lights a fire under your skin. It's been months since he's last done so. Always wearing gloves when he has to. Using paddles, belts, when you misbehave. Never his bare hand. Not anymore.

(“m’hand is for good girls,” he slurred, words merging, meshing together, painted with exertion. He wedged his boot against the small of your back, holding you down, and cracked the end of a cat over your bare ass, thighs. Unbothered by your howls, your screams, as the whip bit into your skin. You've never so much as been hit as a child for misbehaving, and now, as an adult, you have a madman standing over you, introducing you to something called a cat o’nine tails—a favourite in the army, lovie. “bad girls,” his boot pressed down harder, heel digging into your spine. “Bad girls get the whip—”)

Bad. Bad. Because you tried to run, to leave him. He dressed you up, called you Mrs Riley, and you—

Ducked out the back door when he turned away for a second.

Stupid. It was poor timing. A test. He set you up, measuring your loyalty to him, your commitment, and you failed. Failed.

(“this is what ‘appens when spoiled little cunts get their way too much. they act out, don't they? bitin’ the ‘and that feeds. you'll learn soon enough, though—”)

Ghost—sir, sir (master, maker, god; you'll call him anything he wants if he touches you again)—pulls his fingers away, depriving you of his touch once more. And it's all so stupid. So fundamentally wrong, deplorable, but you follow. Needy. Whining for it in the back of your throat.

It's been months. Months without touch. Without sensation outside of leather lashing across your thighs, your ass; harsh, gloved fingers digging into your jaw, braced against the back of your head, as you swallow down his cock in an effort to prove to him you've been good. So good. Can be good. His good girl.

You need to touch him. Need his touch. Ache for it, for something outside of this nook he placed you inside of, denied the privilege of living upstairs with him after you tried to escape.

You want to. Badly. Your fingers twitch. Ghost sees it. Hums.

“Need somethin', pet?”

Your mouth is dry. You swallow. It burns. It hurts. “Yes—”

“Yes, what?”

“Sir—”

Behind the mask he's yet to take off for you fully, only ever hitching it under his chin to devour your cunt whenever you've been good, his jaw tightens, the fabric bunching up.

You reel back from the look of sheer displeasure etching harsh lines into the hollow gaps of his eyes. Heart thundering. Stomach churning.

“Mas—” he cuts you off with a soft sigh. Marked with his irritation. “D—dad—”

Dad. A new one. Daddy. He didn't seem like the sort to be into this type of play, not with his sardonic, deadpan eyes. His mockery. His dessicated humour, awful and biting. You'd have sooner expected him to laugh at you—in that slow, deep hum he gives; a little chuff, full of condescension and jeer—than to get off on it. On you, kneeling between his legs with your chin braced against his palm, mouth open, tongue out, as he fucks into the tight clench of his fist, groaning as you beg daddy to give you a taste.

It's gross. Disgusting.

It's not done for anything else other than to humiliate you. To crush you under the heel of his boot—little bug—so that you will always know where your place is in this scenario. His little wife. Mother, mum—

He pulls on the leash, jerking you forward. Purrs, “good girl,” and then steps back, moving away from you. Cruel. Dismissive. You hate him, hate him—

(Need him so deeply. With every fibre of your being—)

You watch him as he goes, mourning the loss of his presence already, as he paces around your space, your cage. Broad shoulders barely fitting inside. Head ducking to avoid hitting his crown on the popcorn ceiling. It's strange seeing him here like this. Prowling. He usually comes when he wants you, when he needs to enact more merciless punishment on you for whatever perceived evils you committed (not greeting him with a kiss when he walked in, not letting him suffocate himself in your cunt when he had you sit on his face, not making him cum all over your face quick enough when you knew he had other engagements to get to—), or when he ruts, heavily, between your thighs, cold and detached. Seeking pleasure from your icy flesh, and giving nothing in return but white hot agony.

Him here, idling in your presence, is revolutionary.

“S–sir—?”

He hums, quiet. Sits in the chair as you gather the fragments of yourself littered on the ground. His mood is malleable, it seems.

You push, fingertips sinking into the putty of his agreeable temperament. “Can I—”

You waver when his sharp eyes raze over your bare body—clothes are for good girls, after all—pupils sloshing over the edges, bleeding into midnight blue.

Your body is a battlefield. Every inch of skin branded with his mark—pretty, thrawn rings of teeth tattooed in silver, haloed in black and red, desecrate your flesh: neck, collarbones, breasts, belly, thighs (a particular favourite of his), ass, mons; all bitten through, chewed up. It weeps when you move, has blood trickling down your skin. The cracking scabs make him coo, poor thing, all bloody fer me? and he licks at them, sucks, until only a pinkish wound in the mimesis of canines remains.

Uprooted, turned into something new—

His chest expands when he settles his gaze on the sliver of space between your spread thighs. Concealed in tenebrous, hidden from his leering, lecherous view. He cocks his head, considers something unknown to you. His thoughts, his mind, worlds away. Untouchable.

(only to bad girls, he’d snarled out when you asked why—)

“Testin’ my patience still?” He doesn't rip his gaze away from your cunt, speaks to it sometimes more than he speaks to you. “Thought this alone time might’a cleared your ‘ead.”

You flush. Embarrassment roiling through you. His displeasure is a palpable thing. Heavy. You hate the weight of it.

“I need—I need you.”

Another toneless hum. “‘Course you do. Ain't got anyone else.”

He's awful. Hideous. You want to rip his tongue out of his mouth. “I—I want you. Please.”

Ghost doesn't answer. You stopped expecting him to a long time ago, his moods odd measures of ebbs and flows; passive and mild, cracking terrible, awful jokes as he strokes your back, hands riveted to your skin, and then biting and caustic the next. Pushing and pushing until you lash out, snap, so he has a reason to push you down, punished and smothered under his bulk, as he ruts into you like a beast, a man starved. Tells you it's for your own good. That you need him. Would be lost without him.

Bludgeoning a hole into you wide enough for him to crawl inside of. Poisoning you from the inside out with the same nocuous rot that flows in his veins.

Maybe that's been his agenda all along. Maybe. To make you want him as badly as he wanted you. Desperate, obsessive. Going so far as to follow you home, lost little mutt waiting in the shadows outside of your door until you threw him another bone. And when that didn't work, when the food stopped being enough—

He took you. Held you captive in his house deep in the wilderness. A place so endlessly green that you sometimes stare out at it—unfathomable sea of phalthos and jasper—and feel dizzy. You'll get lost out there—

just like he says.

As he turns your obsecration over in his head, you wait, supplicant to this man as you rest on your knees. Pretty pet with a golden collar adorned in gems.

Fitting, you find. With his head cradled against his thick knuckles, you can't help but shiver at the way he looks shrouded in the gloaming embers of a fading twilight. Leonine. A king perfectly at ease in this thick, caliginous atmosphere.

His eyes burn, magmatic, in the low light. Vats of endless ink. Black holes that will swallow you whole if you get too close. But he's poised. Contemplative. Assessing.

And then grips the end of the leash tight in his other hand. Tugs.

You obey the wordless command, crawling on your hands and knees to where he's spread out on the recliner. Laxed, dripping with a careless indifference as you wander to him, resting your chin on the spread of his knee.

Looking up, up, at him, waiting. Wanting.

There's so much of him—a fact that has been the catalyst to your downfall the moment you saw him standing under the awning; this massive creature. Thighs wider than the width of your body. Burly forearms. Broad shoulders. He's big. Indomitable. Thick, endlessly so. But there's a give to his body. Valleys of softness hiding corded muscle. Firm, but—

Your fingers sink into the soft give of his belly when you reach out, bracing against stomach. Pulling yourself further into the bracket of his spread thighs, inching closer to him.

He meets your reverent stare, eyes liquid along his lower lash line.

“Thought you were gonna keep me waitin’ all night,” he muses, giving another pull on the leash. It destabilises you. Your nose bumps into his sternum, and you moan at the sting.

There's a dissonance in the back of your head. A hairline fracture in the line that keeps a degree of separation between pleasure and pain. They meet against the crack in the divide, merging into a abysmal polyphony conducted by his hand.

He watches, amused, as you whimper, sniffing harshly against the burn. It's not bleeding, and not broken—small mercies, you suppose—and you let it simmer into a dull ache as you slowly clamber into his lap.

Ghost leans back as you settle, greedily taking in the sight of your thighs stretched wide over his leg, cunt pressed, tight, against the rough scrape of his jeans. The touch burns. He hasn't touched your pussy in weeks—

“C’mon,” he urges, hand spanning the width of your lower back. Coaxing. “Show me ‘ow good you can be.”

It's all the permission you need. Slowly, slowly, your hips start to gyrate, dragging your slit over the coarse material. The friction is agony. You need more—

He draws his other hand up, curls it around your neck, forcing your head back, back. You gasp, staring at him, dizzy, from down the slope of your nose. The clasp of the collar digs into your skin. It hurts. It's too much.

you don't want him to stop.

His hand is huge. It spans the entire length of your neck, thumb to your pulse, pinky grazing the hollow of your throat. It forces you to lift your chin higher just to let him fit.

He likes it, too, you know. His eyes darken as he takes in the sight of his bare hand, scarred and thick; dusted with a cropping of fine hairs along his scabbed knuckles, sitting against the whole of your throat. Swallowing you up. Can feel how much he enjoys the sheer depth between your sizes when his cock twitches, stiffening more

The look on his face is appraising, anatomising. There's a cold measure of distance in his gaze. A barren polynya. You want to cross it. Chart these untamed lands until they're deeply ingrained within your being. Cimmerian effigy burning to keep you warm.

It's survival, you think, and arch into the palm of his hand.

He holds you like a doll. One hand on your lower back, pressing your cunt to thigh. The other tightening around your throat. Bare skin against bare skin, and oh, you could just cry—

But this is not what you need. What you want. And he knows. He always does. Knows the inside of you like it's written down—inked on paper. Thumbs through the makeup of you, chapter by chapter, until no mystery remains.

“Tell me what you need, pet. Beg for it.”

“Let me—” his hands tighten, choking the air from your throat. Crushing your collar against your neck. “Lemme—kiss you, please, please—”

Tighter. Tighter. The world around you swims under a thin ocean. Phosphenes swim, untethered, in your periphery, ghosting along the curve of his shoulders. He might kill you yet. Keeping going, going, until those brittle, bird-like bones in your neck snap—

You'd let him, you think, muscles falling lax. Submissive. Just the way he says he likes even though you know he fucks you harder, touches you more, more, when you act out. Misbehave.

“Kiss me?” He taunts, words abrasive. Strident. Scrubbing hard against your skin. “Ain't that jus’ the sweetest thing I ever ‘eard.”

You burn, blister. “Please—”

“Reckon I ought to. Kissed your pretty cunt ‘fore I even kissed your lips, huh, pet?”

Your chest folds over itself. Stomach knotting. Balling tight. Unease is a razor blade scraping your nerves.

“Simon—”

“Ah, ah—” his hand tightens. Vicious. Chiding. “You ‘aven’t earned the privilege of sayin’ my name, ‘ave you? Cheeky thing. Might ‘ave to take a cane to you next.”

“No, no, no—! I'm—”

“Sorry?” He mocks, cocking his head. Condescension drips from the corners of his eyes.

“Please, sir—”

“Dad is gettin’ tired of this attitude of yours, pet—” his fingers dig into your skin, hard. Biting. A warning, you know. The blunt press of a blade to your jugular. But it thrums along the suture line to your desire, a wellspool of murk coiling low in your guts. You throb, cunt clenching down around nothing. Achingly empty. “Thought we got rid of it this time ‘round. Learned our lesson.”

The words are frank, prosaic. Had you any sense of self still malingering in the back of your head, you might have struck him for the blatant disrespect. But as you struggle to reach for it, pawing around in the vacuous abyss for any fragment of who you were before this, before him, you know—without any doubt—that none exists. Nothing. He’s too ingrained in your marrow, hewn into your skin. Copper sutures holding his filament within you. Cradled between your thighs, nestled in the rotting vacancy of your heart.

He knows you. Every part—

“We did—we did, da—daddy, please—”

It’s shallow. Muffled, like he’s trying to swallow it down, but you feel it rumble through his broad chest. A guttural sound. A groan. Drenched in pleasure, in want. So thick, you could almost taste it.

He hides his need under a layer of derision.

“Such a needy thing, ain't you? Desperate little slag like you wouldn't last out there, would you?”

His hand digs into your hip, pushing you off of his thigh. Eyes skewering into the wet stain on his trousers. A huff spills out—the sound a near perfect mimicry of crushing charcoal in your hand.

“No. You'd be eaten alive. Torn to pieces. World's too big for somethin' like you.”

Mindless, dazed, you nod. Arching into him. The leather leash snaps against your chest. “Yes, yes—”

His cock presses into your thigh, hard, fat. Your mouth waters. Drool dribbles down your chin.

He smells of tinder when he leans in close, blood drenched words biting into your skin. “messy today, aren't you? Be lost without me. Tha’s why you wear a collar, isn't it?”

Pitifully, you nod. Eyes full of tears. Each word is a bludgeon into your resolve. Into your sense of self.

But it earns you his affection, and his thumb presses into the corner of your mouth, unhinging your jaw until it falls open, lax. He holds you like that, mouth lax with his hand still around your neck. The other lifts away from your lips, goes to the thick band around the bridge of his nose, slips inside.

There's no buildup to it. No lingering sense of anticipation. Practical, detached, he merely tugs it down, and lets it snap under his chin.

Your breath is punched out of your lungs at the sight of him. Barefaced. Scarred. His nose is crooked; a jagged hook with scar tissue delineating the spots where it's been broken too many times. His lips are—

Full.

Mangled.

Scars run in thick slashes over them, denting the flesh in places. Burn marks line his pale flesh. Charcoal rubs into his eyes, highlighting the whites of his lashes against smeared soot.

He's—

Pretty.

Like a car crash. Calamity. The broken remains of a town after a hurricane, a tornado, ripped it apart. Ugly, brutal. His face looks like it's been mauled by a bear, a tiger. Scarred and hideous, and—

You shiver. His eyes drop, landing on your own lips. The soot on his brow flutters down, lands on his eyelashes when he lifts his brow up mockingly. Derision curdling an awful smirk on the corner of his mouth. Crooked. Like him. Like his teeth. His nose. His boxy jaw. His lips—

You kiss him.

Can't help yourself, really. There's a pull. Gravitational. Magnetic. You need, need, to taste him. To quench this ache in your jaw that makes you want to wrap your tongue around something, play with it between your teeth. Soft and sweet—

Ghost's lips are plump beneath yours. The thick scar tissue is almost velveteen when it glides over your bottom lip. You moan into it, into the feeling; victory—however pyrrhic—swims like mercury in your veins. Finally.

And he doesn't kiss you back. Doesn't make any effort to reciprocate at all, but he's not tense beneath you. Not stunned. Or reluctant. He’s pliant. Malleable. Agreeable, willing to let you devour his mouth, his taste, as much as you want. Doting. Letting you spoil yourself on him. With him.

Because you need him, don't you?

Like the air you breathe. The food he gives you—apples, always, on rainy days; salmon and rice in a pretty bowl with your name etched into the porcelain—and the attention, the affection—

(suck my cock, pretty girl. don't make me put a gag on you—deeper, you can take it, can't you? take my fat cock all the way up inside your sweet little cunt—my pretty girl—)

—it’s all so divine.

His hands on your body, your throat, spasm. Once. Just once. Against your leg, his cock twitches. Leaks prespend into the demin. You rut against his thigh, aching for it. Whimpering—

And then he's groaning into the kiss, snarling out your name until it wedges between your lungs, syphoned in from his scorching breath. Another brand in the shape of him.

Ghost kisses the same way he eats—messy, sloppy; all teeth and tongue, and full pretty lips. Clumsy, like no one taught him how to properly hold his silverware and he's trying to mock what he saw on television. Brumish. A broken, contemptuous pastiche of sumptuosity. A starving dog, snarling around its plundered morsel. Protective. Possessive.

It coils around you. Thick, smothering.

He sucks your tongue into his mouth, catching it between his teeth. The sting brings tears to the corner of your eyes, and when you pry them open, you find him already staring at you (always, always, always—), lidded. Heavy pools of desire shaded in the brume of a winter dawn. A bonfire flickering in the distance of a whiteout. Sanctuary from the cold—

He seems to catch himself. Expression flickering. Warbling around the edges. It closes off in a blink. He pulls back. Locks into the ashlar veneer of this indifference he wears like a suit of armour.

But you saw it. It was there. Within reach—

“Need me, don't you?” He drawls, timber a needlepoint between cruelty and desire. Sultry, low. Husky. He knows what it does to you. How he can unravel you at the seams with just his voice alone. “Need me so fuckin’ much, pet. Would be lost without me—”

“Please, Simon,” you whisper, feather-soft. Cunt throbbing, pulsing. Needy. “Please—”

The strident reprimand for using his name doesn't come. His hand tightens around your throat, unconscious. A paroxysm that has pleasure carving itself down your spine, electric.

“Come get it, then,” he rasps, voice wrecked. Raw. Curling at the edges, thickening his accent until the words elide.

Hand to your throat, he drags you close. Closer still. Keeps you sat pretty on his lap as he pulls you in for a bruising, hungry kiss. Tongue shoving between your teeth when you gasp.

His kisses are always hungry, but this is different. Greedy. He devours you whole. Eats you alive. His hand falls to your lower back, holding you tight to his chest.

You moan into it, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. Squeezing until your knuckles blanche, joints twinging in discomfort.

After months of nothing, this alone is bliss. His taste soaking onto your tongue, drenching it in the bitter tang of sage, wheatgrass, and stale cigarettes. Intoxicating. It leaks into you, nocuous. Infects from the inside out.

His plan coming to fruition, you think. What he sought out to do all along, ever since you wandered close to this untameable Tartarean guard, and offered yourself up to the jowls of a starving beast.

He pulls away with a heavy breath, eyes charing around the edges; brittle briquette.

“Gonna be a good girl from now on? Come upstairs, be a good mum for dad? Or am I gonna ‘ave to cane this—” his hand drops, grabbing a fistful of your ass in his hand, fingers digging into the skin between your cheeks. Possessive. It cracks like a whip down your nerves. “—tight lit’le arse?”

You shake your head instantly. Quickly. “I'll be good,” you whisper into his chin, tongue flicking out to lick across his scars. The dried sweat on his skin tastes briny. Reminds you of the ocean on a brumous November evening. The incipient yawn of a ravenous hurricane gathering its lot on the shore.

Sirens blare in the distance. Fear curdles in your guts, sits heavy like a stone. An anchor.

“So sweet f’me,” he mutters, words deepening as his head falls back, letting you pepper kisses across the underside of his jaw. Mouthing along the constellation of scars. His voice is rumble. It shivers across your lips, tongue. Shakes the marrow in your bones. “Better stay this way, pet.”

Into his pulse, you murmur, “I think you like it better when I’m bad.”

You can feel the snarl brimming in the back of his throat. Your ass stings with the phantom burn of when he lashed out with the whip. It drags a whimper out from deep within your chest.

His hand tightens around your neck. A warning. “Got some guests over f’dinner tonight. Would love to finally introduce them to my sweet little wife—” deft fingers slip across the dewy skin of your folds, knuckles grazing over your drenched hole. The touch makes you squirm. “But if you’re gonna be bad, then I’ll leave you locked up down ‘ere.”

“I’ll be good,” you swear, words a hushed breath over his jugular. His finger flattens, drawls soft, slow circles around your clit. “Ah, I’ll—I’ll be so, so good, Simon—”

“Good girls deserve rewards, don’t they?” His palm flexes possessively around your throat when you nip at old scar tissue. “Maybe I’ll let you sleep in our bed tonight instead of in your dog house. We can ‘ouse together. I’ll fuck you proper—” he roughly shoves two fingers into your hole, leering when you gasp, back arching in a bow. “Know this pretty pussy has been achin’ for me, ‘asn’t it? Gonna breed it full—”

There’s static in your head, ringing in your ear. The noise distorted, pulled underwater. You think you say something, plead—no, no, no, anything but that—but his hand tightens around your throat, fingers pushing up, up into you, notching against that spot inside that makes your head swim, your vision flicker. The abyssal chasm inside of you aches, rages; its waters swell, currents frothing, slamming against the ceiling of its iron prison, and—

Simon pulls away. Fingers stilling inside of you. No friction, no relief. Hypoxia renders the world silent. Muted. Held in stasis, stagnating at the edge of a gaping precipice he holds you over, secured by the fragile curve of your neck, fine bone china.

Phosphenes swim by. The chossy wobbles.

This distance is agony. You need to be closer, closer, to crawl inside of him, to live in the brackets of his ribs, safe and protected from the world he warns you about. Stone cold. You mewl, whine—

“Gonna be my good little wife?”

Gasping with broken lungs, you nod. Nod, nod until you’re nauseous. Dizzy. Sick—

His spit cools on your lip. Your hackles raise, body shuddering in revulsion—some primal part rears, hisses it’s infectious. Wrong. Get rid of it—

“Not gonna run?”

Slowly, you lick your lips, catching his sickness on your tongue. Swallowing it down until it sinks like a stone to the bottom of your belly. Heavy, for such a small, damning thing.

How absurd, you think. How absolutely mad.

Then you whisper, paperthin, “kiss me again, please, Simon—”

And he moves. Liquid in the gloam. Made more for shadows, midnight, than for golden apricity, where the light is harsh on his face, unveiling ruins and ravines; monoliths meant to be paid tribute to in the dark. Your hands lift to his jaw when he moves in, catching your lips in a bruising, biting kiss.

His touch is searing. Owning. He isn't laying claim: no, you're already his.

It's possessive and angry. No finesse. All slate teeth and tender tongue. They slide together in a strange game; little fawn stupidly nipping at the tiger's heel. He lets you, groaning into your mouth when you arch back, hips pushing into his fingers, taking him deeper. A pale pantomime of what's to come when he lays you on his soft bed, sweet and divine, and buries himself deep.

It should scare you. Ought to. And maybe it does. Survival, you think, but you still pull him closer. Deeper. Because it’s bliss, you find. The world around you falling dead. Silent. Pulled into a vacuum. Teetering on the edge of a black hole, event horizon. He drags you in.

Simon hums, pulling you closer. Touching you—soft, sweet. Palms a gyve. Shackles, chains. His fingers lift from your neck, trailing down the slope of your throat until he reaches the golden loop of your collar's hook. His gaze glides, magmatic, down to where your leash dangles between your heaving breasts.

It's almost tender when he grabs it into his fist. When he pulls, pulls—

Your back arching. His fingers slipping deeper inside your cunt. Obedient little doll.

When he lifts his eyes, the look you find is hot enough to char bone. You taste blood in the back of your throat—

Into the seam of your mouth, he purrs, “good girl.”

—and you swallow it down with a moan.

(after all, you know better than to run from starving dogs—)

#when your kidnapper is mean and rude as hell but you've been dtf since day one: the manifesto #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #i forget where i put peoples hands sometimes and then have to go back and remind myself where everyone's at lmao #hope you enjoyedddddddddddd #i'm gonna go pour myself a glass of bleach bye #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x you

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seriiousgiirl · 2 months ago

Text

𝒴𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒫𝓈𝓎𝒸𝒽𝑜

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ݁𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃!𝒿𝒽𝒾𝓃 𝓍 𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝒻𝒻!𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇.⊹ ₊ ݁.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. cowboy!au, enemies to lovers, tension, mutual pining, partners in crime, nsfw!!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ 𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 . ⊹ ₊ ݁. In the dusty frontier town of Frontier Dusk, Sheriff Y/n and her partner Caitlyn face a series of escalating crimes that lead them to a desperate decision: to seek the help of Jhin, a notorious assassin known for his chilling artistry in murder. Despite their mutual disdain and complicated past, Y/n reluctantly hires Jhin, who proves to be both a formidable ally and an enigmatic presence in her life.

➜ ┊ a/n: Jhin might be a lil OOC, I’m sorry in advance!!!! But he is still his flamboyant self.♡ But I actually don't expect a lot of people to read this.

➜ ┊: oneshot ⋅ 14K words.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the dusty streets of Frontier Dusk.

Shadows lengthened, creeping over the wooden buildings and silent alleyways. The town was eerily quiet, save for the occasional rustle of tumbleweeds tumbling lazily down the main thoroughfare and the distant, mournful call of a coyote.

You leaned against the worn wooden railing of the sheriff's office, eyes narrowed as you scanned the street for any signs of trouble. The rough-hewn boards creaked under your weight, a familiar and oddly comforting sound. Beside you, Caitlyn, your trusted partner, adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and sighed, her breath visible in the cooling evening air.

"It's too quiet," Caitlyn muttered, her sharp blue eyes mirroring the concern etched in your own. Her hand hovered near the rifle slung over her shoulder, always ready for action.

You nodded in agreement, your senses on high alert. "Something's brewing. I can feel it."

For weeks, you had been embroiled in a particularly thorny case. What started as simple cattle rustling had escalated into outright violence. Ranchers were finding their livestock slaughtered, and in some cases, their homes burned to the ground. It was clear that someone powerful and ruthless was pulling the strings from the shadows. The townsfolk were terrified, their eyes filled with a mixture of fear and desperation whenever they looked to you for answers. You knew you had to bring the culprits to justice, but every lead you had chased down had turned cold, leaving you at a frustrating standstill.

You sighed, running a hand through your hair, the gesture weary and frustrated. "We might need some outside help on this one."

Caitlyn raised an eyebrow, her expression sceptical. "You don't mean...?"

You looked away, unwilling to meet her piercing, judging gaze. "Yeah. Him."

Jhin.

The name alone made your skin crawl, conjuring images of shadowy alleyways and whispered rumours of his macabre exploits. He was an assassin, renowned for his deadly precision and his penchant for turning death into an art form. You have worked with Jhin a few times already. Working with him was never a pleasant experience, to say the least. But despite your mutual disdain for each other, there was an odd sort of respect that lingered beneath the surface, buried beneath layers of bickering and taunts.

From the moment you laid eyes on him, you knew that Jhin was trouble. His cold, calculating gaze behind his goggles seemed to pierce right through you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable. And yet, there was something undeniably magnetic about him, a dangerous allure that drew you in despite your better judgement.

It wasn't just his chilling demeanour or the unsettling aura of danger that surrounded him. It was something deeper, something more primal that stirred within you whenever he was near. Perhaps it was the enigmatic mask that obscured his features, hiding whatever emotions lurked behind its cold, expressionless facade. Or perhaps it was the fact that you knew next to nothing about him, while he seemed to know everything about you.

It was an unsettling thought, to say the least.

Jhin had a way of making you feel like a pawn in his twisted game, manipulating events from the shadows while you stumbled blindly through the darkness. He always seemed one step ahead, his movements calculated and precise, as if he knew exactly how the pieces would fall long before they ever hit the board.

And yet, for all his mystery and intrigue, there was a part of you that couldn't help but be drawn to him. It was a dangerous attraction, one that you knew could lead to nothing but trouble. And yet, you found yourself unable to resist, unable to turn away from the allure of him.

The two of you clashed like oil and water, constantly at odds over even the smallest of details. Every decision was met with resistance, every suggestion met with scepticism.

But for all your differences, there was one thing you could agree on: getting the job done. And so, begrudgingly, you set aside your differences and worked towards a common goal, each of you pushing the other to be better, to do better, even if it meant enduring endless rounds of bickering and taunts along the way.

And so, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the shadows grew long, you found yourself once again contemplating the unthinkable: reaching out to Jhin for help. It was a decision that filled you with a sense of dread, a realisation that you were willing to make a deal with the devil himself if it meant protecting your town and its people. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and right now…

There was no one more desperate than you.

"I don't like it, Y/n," Caitlyn said, her voice tinged with concern and a hint of reproach. "But if you think it's necessary..."

"I do," you replied, your voice firm and resolute. "We need someone who can get into places we can't, someone who can think like a killer. Jhin is our best shot, as much as I hate to admit it."

Caitlyn nodded slowly, her face set in a grimace of reluctant acceptance. "Alright. But as long as you’re keeping a close eye on him."

"Of course," you agreed, the thought of turning your back on Jhin for even a moment is unthinkable. "I wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."

With a heavy heart, you turned and made your way to the back of the office, where an old, dusty telegraph machine sat on a rickety table. The device had seen better days, its keys worn smooth from years of use. The thought of contacting Jhin made your stomach churn, but there was no other choice. You sat down, the chair creaking under you, and began typing out the message. The clacking of the keys echoed in the silence, each tap a reminder of the gravity of your decision.

‘Jhin. Need your expertise. Meet at dusk, the usual spot. -Y/n’

You sent the message and sat back, feeling a weight settle on your shoulders. The waiting began, each minute stretching into an eternity as the town slipped further into darkness.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The night was biting cold as you waited under the old oak tree, your usual meeting spot with Jhin. The wind whispered through the branches, rustling the leaves and carrying with it the scent of impending rain. You pulled your coat tighter around you, trying to fend off the chill that seemed to seep into your very bones.

You glanced at the moon, hanging low in the sky, and frowned. Jhin was late. He was never late. Punctuality was one of the few things you could count on with him. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, the damp earth cold beneath your boots, and wondered if he had even received your message.

Doubt began to creep in. What if something had gone wrong? What if he had decided to ignore your call for help? Despite your mutual disdain and constant bickering, Jhin had always come through before. The idea of him not showing up now, when you needed him most, filled you with a sense of unease—or… was it truly it?

If you were honest with yourself, you felt a tinge of disappointment, but you decided to ignore that part.

Finally, you saw a figure emerging from the shadows, moving with an eerie, fluid grace. As he stepped into the pale moonlight, you sucked in a breath. Jhin was covered in blood, his usual orange coat gone, revealing the lean, muscular form encased in a leather outfit. The blood wasn't his; you knew that instinctively. But seeing him like this, you couldn't suppress a wince.

"You're late," you managed to say, trying to keep the shock and irritation out of your voice.

Jhin tilted his head slightly, his mask catching the faint moonlight. "I had something to finish, darling," he said calmly, his voice smooth as ever. "It took more time than I would have wished."

Your eyes flicked to the dark stains on his clothes, your mind trying to piece together what he could have possibly been involved in. "Were you working for someone else?" you asked, concern and a sharp edge to your tone. "I thought I was the only one hiring you."

Jhin chuckled again, the sound sending a chill down your back. "Sheriff, are you... jealous?" he teased, his voice warm and playful. You scoffed, trying to dismiss the thought, but you felt a twinge of truth in his words.

"Don't flatter yourself," you snapped, though you felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. "I just don't want more trouble in my town."

Jhin's lips curled into a sly grin as he watched your face flush with embarrassment. "Oh, Y/n, I see your jealousy is beginning to show—finally, after all this time," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement. He took another step closer, revelling in the discomfort it caused you.

"Now, now, don't worry your pretty little head," he reassured you, lifting a hand to brush your cheek lightly. "I'm a man of my word, as you well know. And I wouldn't have come all this way to disappoint you, would I?" There was a challenge in his tone, daring you to contradict him.

"As for working for others," he continued, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "what do you expect from an artist? We must draw inspiration from various sources, hone our techniques, and improve our craft. It is the nature of the beast, darling." Jhin stepped closer, the scent of iron and something darker wafting off him. "Every artist needs to take on different projects to refine their skills," he said, his voice silky smooth.

You shook your head, unsure of how to respond. Jhin had always been a thorn to your side, and you couldn't help but question if you had made a mistake by calling for his help. He was dangerous, unpredictable, and he brought with him a tension that made your chest tighten and your knees weak.

"Please, Jhin," you muttered, shaking your head. "You better not be bringing more trouble to my town."

"Oh, dear Y/n, I would never bring trouble to your little town," Jhin purred, his voice dripping with false sincerity. He moved closer still, looming over you, the heat and power of his body a stark contrast to the chilly night air. "After all, I wouldn't want to give you a reason to put me in cuffs, would I?"

You could almost imagine the smirk on his lips as he said this.

His hand rose, brushing against your cheek, the feeling of his cold, blood-slick gloves sending a jolt through you. A shiver ran down your spine, and Jhin's eyes gleamed with malicious glee. "I came for you, Sheriff, for this very moment," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the howl of the wind. "Now, unless you want to turn your back on my... skills," he glanced down at his bloodied attire, "you'll let me help you."

He grasped your wrist, his touch both cold and firm, sending electric shocks through your body. "Do not fret, darling. I have come to you, to help you put an end to this trouble, and that is all. There will be no more trouble in your town, I promise you." His gaze trailed up my body, making you feel exposed, vulnerable, and yet, strangely alive. "Though I must say," he purred, "I find it most… entertaining when you need my services."

You yanked your wrist away from his grasp, trying to ignore the lingering sensation of his touch on your skin. "Don't get any ideas, Jhin," you said, your voice firmer than you felt. "This is strictly professional."

He tilted his head, the corners of his mouth curling into a smirk behind his mask. "Oh, but of course. Professional." The word dripped with sarcasm, and he stepped back, giving you a mocking bow.

You turned sharply, your boots crunching against the frost-covered ground as you began to walk back towards the town. You could feel Jhin's eyes on you, a heavy gaze that made your skin prickle.

As you briefed him on the case, his responses were measured, precise, and chillingly detached. Yet, despite the bickering and the taunts, you couldn’t help but acknowledge his efficiency. Jhin was a master of his craft, and if anyone could bring down the elusive figures behind the recent wave of violence, it was him.

"So," Jhin said after a moment of silence, his voice cutting through the night air. "Do tell me, darling, what makes this case so... special that you had to seek me out? I imagine it must be quite the conundrum to require my particular set of skills."

You hesitated for a moment before speaking, "The cattle rustling has turned into something much worse. Homes burned, animals slaughtered, families threatened. It's escalating, and we don't have the resources to handle it alone with Cait. We need someone who can think like a killer."

Jhin laughed softly, a sound that sent chills down your spine. "Ah, flattery, Y/n? You do know how to make a man feel appreciated." He looked ahead, his expression hidden but his tone amused. .

“Being compared to a killer isn’t a compliment, Jhin,” you said, pouting.

He glanced at you, the moonlight casting eerie shadows across his mask. "Oh, but it is, my dear Y/n. To think like a killer is to understand the art of finality, the delicate balance between life and death. It's a skill, a gift, one that I possess in abundance."

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders not entirely dissipating. "Well, let's hope your 'gift' helps us find whoever's behind this. The town's on edge, and we need results fast."

As you continued through the darkened streets, Jhin broke the silence with a casual, almost offhand remark. "I heard an interesting rumour, Y/n. A group of bandits plans to blow up the train bridge tomorrow. They're after the resources arriving on the next train."

You stopped in your tracks, turning to face him, eyes wide with alarm. "What? How do you know this?"

Jhin shrugged, a languid, almost theatrical gesture. "I have my ways, Sheriff. Information is a valuable commodity, after all."

You felt a knot form in your stomach. The train bridge was a vital lifeline for Frontier Dusk, bringing in essential supplies and goods—especially after such accidents. If it were destroyed, the town would be plunged into chaos. "Why didn't you mention this sooner?" you demanded, frustration and fear mingling in your voice.

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting with that familiar, unsettling amusement beneath his glasses. "You didn't ask. Besides, I wanted to see your reaction. Quite satisfying, I must say."

"Jhin, this isn't a game!" You took a step closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. "People's lives are at stake!"

He grasped your wrist, his touch both cold and firm, sending that familiar jolt through your body. "Calm yourself, Y/n… I have no intention of letting these bandits succeed. But we must be strategic."

You pulled your wrist free, glaring at him. "Fine. What's your plan?"

You knew he was smiling, a chilling expression hidden behind his mask. "First, we need to gather more information—to know if it’s just rumours, or an actual plan. We'll visit the local saloons, the places where such rabble might gather. Eavesdrop, listen for any hints or whispers. Then, we strike."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the responsibility pressing down on you. "Alright. Let's start at the Broken Spoke. It's a known hangout for drifters and outlaws."

Jhin inclined his head, his movements graceful and deliberate. "Lead the way, Y/n. The night is young, and we have much to do."

As you headed towards the saloon, your mind raced with possibilities. If Jhin's information was accurate, you had less than a day to prevent a catastrophe. You couldn't afford to waste a single moment. Despite your mistrust of Jhin, you knew you had to rely on his skills and knowledge to stop the bandits.

Entering the Broken Spoke, you felt the eyes of the patrons on you, a mixture of curiosity and wariness. You made your way to the bar, motioning for Jhin to follow. The barkeep looked up as you approached. "What can I get you, Sheriff?" he asked, his voice rough but respectful.

You leaned in, keeping your voice low. "Information. Heard anything about a group planning to blow up the train bridge tomorrow?"

The barkeep's eyes widened slightly, but he kept his composure. "Can't say I have, but you might want to talk to the folks in the back. They tend to know more about... such matters."

You nodded, slipping him a coin. "Thanks."

You and Jhin moved towards the back of the saloon, where a group of rough-looking men were gathered around a table, deep in conversation. As you approached, the chatter died down, and they looked up, suspicion etched on their faces. "Evening, gentlemen," you said, keeping your tone neutral. "Mind if we join you?"

One of the men, a burly figure with a scar running down his cheek, narrowed his eyes. "What do you want, Sheriff?"

You exchanged a glance with Jhin, who gave a barely perceptible nod. "We heard there's a big job going down tomorrow. Something about the train bridge. Thought you might know more."

The men exchanged wary glances, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, the scarred man spoke. "Maybe we do. Maybe we don't. What's it to you?"

"It's my job to keep the town safe," you replied evenly. "And if there's trouble coming, I need to know about it."

Jhin stepped forward, his presence somehow both reassuring and menacing. He reached for his belt and slowly pulled out his ornate, custom-crafted gun, placing it on the table with a deliberate clink. The intricate design glinted menacingly in the dim light of the saloon, drawing the attention of everyone present. The room seemed to hold its breath as the men stared at the weapon, their eyes widening with a mix of fear and fascination.

"Perhaps," Jhin said, his voice a smooth, dangerous purr, "we should ensure this conversation remains... productive, like this charming lady asked." His fingers traced the intricate patterns on the gun, emphasising its deadly beauty. "It would be a shame if things were to turn... unpleasant."

The scarred man swallowed hard, his gaze fixed on the gun. "We ain't looking for trouble," he said, his voice wavering slightly. "We just don't want to get caught in the middle of anything."

"Of course," Jhin replied, his tone deceptively gentle. "And neither do we. But you see, we need information. Accurate information. Otherwise," he tapped the barrel of the gun lightly—four times exactly, "we might have to take drastic measures."

You leaned forward, trying to strike a balance between Jhin's intimidation and your need for cooperation. "Look, we just want to stop whatever's planned for the train bridge. Help us out, and you'll be doing the whole town a favour. No one has to get hurt."

The tension in the air was palpable, the other men at the table shifting uneasily under Jhin's piercing gaze. Finally, the scarred man nodded, breaking the silence. "Alright, Sheriff. We heard there's a group of bandits planning to blow up the bridge around noon tomorrow. They're after the supply train coming through. We don't know all the details, but they're serious about it."

"Names," Jhin said, his voice low and commanding. "We need names."

The scarred man hesitated, glancing at his companions before continuing. "The leader goes by Black Jack. He's got a reputation for being ruthless. His crew, they're all seasoned outlaws. They'll be heavily armed and ready for a fight."

You nodded, absorbing the information. "Where are they hiding out?"

"Last we heard, they were camped out in the old mine, just outside of town. It's a good spot for them to plan and gather their explosives."

Jhin leaned back slightly, his fingers still resting on his gun. "Thank you for your cooperation. You've been most helpful."

The men relaxed visibly, relief washing over their faces. "Just... make sure you stop them," the scarred man said. "We don't want any part of their mess."

You stood up, glancing at Jhin, who gave a slight, supportive nod for you to continue. "We'll handle it. And remember, keep this to yourselves. If word gets out, it could ruin everything."

Jhin picked up his gun with practiced elegance, tucking it back into his holster. The tension in the room lingered as you turned to leave, feeling the eyes of the patrons following your every move. As you both walked away from the table, the noise of the saloon gradually resumed, though it was noticeably quieter than before.

Once outside, the cold night air was a stark contrast to the stuffy atmosphere inside the saloon. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves after the tense encounter. Jhin walked beside you, his steps silent and measured.

"Well, that was enlightening," you said, breaking the silence.

Jhin glanced at you, his eyes glinting in the dim light. "Indeed. It seems we have our work cut out for us." He paused, then continued, a hint of amusement in his voice, "But before we plunge into the chaos of stopping Black Jack, perhaps a drink is in order?"

You raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback. "A drink? Now?"

He smiled, the expression barely visible behind his mask. "Consider it a brief respite, a moment to gather our thoughts and prepare for the task ahead. Besides," he added, his tone light and teasing, "it might be the only opportunity we have to enjoy a quiet moment."

You sighed, the idea of a drink oddly appealing despite the circumstances. "Alright, Jhin. One drink."

He inclined his head, a gracious gesture. "Of course, darling... Just one drink."

The two of you headed to a smaller, quieter tavern on the edge of town, one less likely to draw attention. Inside, the atmosphere was subdued, a stark contrast to the bustling saloon you had just left. You found a table in the corner, away from prying eyes, and settled in.

Jhin ordered a bottle of whiskey, pouring two glasses with a flourish. He slid one across the table to you, his eyes never leaving your face. You hesitated for a moment, but you took a sip, the warmth of the whiskey spread through you, momentarily easing the tension. You studied Jhin over the rim of your glass, his enigmatic presence both unsettling and oddly comforting.

"So," you said, setting your glass down. "How did you come by that information about the train bridge?"

Jhin leaned back in his chair, his eyes glittering with amusement. "A true artist never reveals his secrets, Y/n. Let's just say I have my ways of acquiring valuable information."

You shook your head, a small smile playing at your lips despite yourself. "Always so mysterious."

He chuckled softly. "It adds to my charm, doesn't it?"

You couldn't help but laugh, the sound surprising even you. “I won't say yes, just to annoy you."

Jhin leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with mischief behind his goggles. "Ah, but your laughter betrays you, darling. Deep down, you find my enigmatic nature quite charming."

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your composure. "In your dreams, Jhin."

He tilted his head, studying you with that unsettling, piercing gaze. "Come now, Y/n. You can admit it. We're sharing a drink, after all. A moment of honesty won't hurt."

You took another sip of whiskey, feeling the warmth spread through you. "Alright, fine. Maybe a tiny part of me finds your theatrics... interesting. But don't let it go to your head."

Jhin's smile widened, clearly pleased with your reluctant admission. "Interesting? I'll take that as a victory."

"Small victories," you countered, trying to downplay the significance. "Don't forget, we're still on opposite sides once this is over."

He leaned back, a satisfied look on his face. "Of course. But for now, let's enjoy this rare moment of truce. It's not often we find ourselves on the same side of the law."

You nodded, the brief respite from the looming danger a welcome relief. "Agreed. Just remember, this doesn't change anything. We have a job to do, and once it's done, we go back to being adversaries."

Jhin raised his glass in a mock salute. "Understood, Sheriff. But for now, let's toast to our temporary alliance."

You clink your glass against his, the sound ringing softly in the quiet tavern. "To the hunt," you said, meeting his gaze with a determined look.

"To the hunt," Jhin echoed, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something darker. "And to the unexpected pleasures it brings."

You shook your head, a small laugh escaping your lips. "Always the dramatist."

He smiled, the expression hidden behind his mask but evident in his eyes. "It's part of my charm, remember?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And to think, you've never even seen my face..."

The statement caught you off guard, and you found yourself momentarily speechless. It was true; Jhin's face had always been concealed behind his mask. The enigma he presented was both infuriating and intriguing. "Maybe that's for the best," you replied, trying to keep your tone light. “You must be ugly."

He chuckled at that, sipping his drink before setting the glass down. "Perhaps," he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "But then again, beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

You rolled your eyes, unable to resist the playful banter. "You're incorrigible."

"Isn't that what you love about me?" he teased, his gaze lingering on your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes.

Your cheeks heated at the suggestive statement. You tried to brush it off, but there was no denying the electricity that seemed to crackle between you whenever Jhin was near. "Save the flirting for when we're not trying to take down a bunch of outlaws," you warned, the tension between you somehow making it all the more enjoyable.

Jhin leaned back in his chair, his hand absently toying with the brim of his hat. "A fair warning, Sheriff," he acknowledged, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "That’s a pity we don’t see each other apart from these types of missions… I missed you, while we were apart.” He said with a casual flirtiness.

The confession caught you off guard, the tone in his voice making it clear he meant every word. The admission, combined with the proximity between you, made the air around you thick with unspoken desires. "Perhaps, next time we meet, we can set aside our differences," he suggested, as his finger traced the rim of his glass suggestively. "Away from danger, and perhaps, in a place more…comfortable."

You stared into Jhin's masked face, the intensity of the moment making it difficult to breathe. The thought of being alone with him, with no threats or missions to distract you, was both terrifying and exhilarating. You know his lips were curved into a smile, and for a split second, you imagined them against your own. "You're a dangerous man, Jhin," you managed to say, your voice barely audible over the sudden loudness in your ears.

Jhin leaned in, the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin. "And you, darling, are a temptation I've yet to resist," he whispered back. Your breath hitched as he finished his words, and you found yourself unable to move, paralyzed by the intensity of the moment. Jhin sat back, the glint in his eyes leaving no doubt that he felt the same heat pulsing between you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your breath catching in your throat at his words. You could feel the tension between you reaching its breaking point, the desire to give in to the moment almost overwhelming. But you knew you had to resist, had to maintain some semblance of control.

With a shaky breath, you pushed yourself away from the table, the scrape of the chair against the floor echoing in the quiet tavern. "It's late," you said, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts to sound composed. "I...I think it was a bad idea for me to follow you here."

You reached into your pocket, fishing out some coins and tossing them onto the table. "This is for the drinks," you said, not giving Jhin a chance to protest. "I'll...I'll see you tomorrow."

Without another word, you turned and headed for the door, the cool night air hitting you like a wave as you stepped outside. You could feel Jhin's eyes on you as you walked away, his lingering gaze sending shivers down your spine. But you knew that giving in to the temptation would only lead to trouble

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The next morning dawned cold and clear, the first light of day casting long shadows across the dusty streets of Frontier Dusk. You were already on your horse, the powerful chestnut gelding pawing at the ground in anticipation. Your breath hung in the air, a misty reminder of the early hour. The train you needed to stop was due to arrive soon, and you couldn’t afford to waste any more time.

You adjusted your hat, glancing down the empty street, and then back towards the edge of town. The air was crisp, filled with the scents of leather, horse, and the faint remnants of last night's campfires. In the distance, the faint rumble of the approaching train sent a sense of urgency thrumming through your veins.

Suddenly, the sound of hoofbeats reached your ears, and you turned to see Jhin approaching on his own horse, a sleek black stallion that matched his rider's ominous presence. He rode with an almost unnerving grace and as he drew closer, you could see the hint of a smile beneath his mask, a glint of something almost playful in his eyes.

"Good morning, darling," he called out, his voice carrying effortlessly across the distance. "I hope you’re ready for some excitement."

"Jhin," you greeted, keeping your voice steady despite the irritation bubbling beneath the surface. "You're late again."

He shrugged nonchalantly, reining in his horse beside yours. "Apologies. I had some... private matters to attend to." His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "It appears our little mission has leaked. Word's out, but it won’t stop them—or us."

You clenched your jaw, anger and frustration warring within you. "How did that happen? I thought we were careful."

"Careful isn’t always enough, Sheriff. But don’t worry. A bit of extra attention only makes the game more interesting."

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to stay calm. “Why are you always like this…?”

“Because I’m special.” He inclined his head, a mockery of a bow. “Lead the way, Sheriff. I’m right behind you."

With a sharp nod, you spurred your horse forward, the powerful animal leaping into motion. Jhin followed closely, the two of you riding hard towards the train tracks. The morning air whipped past you, the sound of pounding hooves a steady rhythm beneath the rising tension.

As the train came into view, you could see the steam billowing from the engine. There was no time to lose.

Jhin's eyes sparkled with dark amusement. "Let’s give them a performance they won’t forget."

Splitting off, you guided your horse around the side of the station, heart pounding as you prepared to intercept the train. The stakes were high, but you couldn't afford to think about that now. Focus and determination drove you forward, and with Jhin at your side, for better or worse, you were ready to face whatever came next.

The train thundered down the tracks, its powerful engine roaring as it approached the old wooden bridge that spanned a deep ravine. The wheels clattered over the rails, a rhythmic, almost hypnotic sound that filled the morning air. You and Jhin rode hard alongside it, your horses’ hooves pounding the earth in a desperate race to keep up.

As the bridge loomed closer, you spotted a group of figures moving inside the train cars. Bandits. They were already on board—seems like they changed their plans. You exchanged a quick glance with Jhin, and without a word, you both urged your horses closer to the speeding train.

"Ready?" you shouted over the din, eyes fixed on the open door of a boxcar ahead.

Jhin nodded, his expression hidden behind his mask but his eyes glinting with excitement. "After you, darling."

You leaned forward, your horse galloping at full speed, and then you leapt from the saddle, hands gripping the edge of the open door. With a grunt, you hauled yourself inside, drawing your revolver in one swift motion. Jhin followed with a graceful leap, landing beside you with unnerving ease.

The interior of the car was dimly lit, filled with crates and barrels. The bandits turned in surprise, their weapons drawn. There were five of them, rough-looking men with cold eyes and mean grins. You didn’t hesitate.

"Drop your weapons!" you commanded, your voice firm and steady.

One of the bandits laughed, raising his rifle. "I don’t think so, Sheriff."

The car erupted into chaos. You fired first, your shot striking the man in the shoulder and sending him sprawling. Jhin moved like a shadow, his gun blazing. Two more bandits fell before they even had a chance to react, the precise shots echoing in the confined space. “Two,” he said, his voice bordering on insanity.

A burly bandit lunged at you with a knife, but you sidestepped his attack, delivering a swift kick to his gut. He staggered back, and you followed up with a punch that sent him crashing into a stack of crates.

Jhin was a whirlwind of lethal grace, his movements fluid and deadly. He ducked under a swinging club, placing a lotus trap underneath his feet as it sliced across the attacker’s thigh. The bandit howled in pain, collapsing to the floor. As you turned to face the last of the bandits, he raised his hands, eyes wide with fear.

"Alright, alright! I give up!"

You kept your gun trained on him, breathing hard. "Smart move. Now get on your knees."

The bandit’s eyes were wide with fear as he knelt before you, trembling under the barrel of your revolver. His confession came out in a rush, desperation evident in every word.

"It was me! I’m Black Jack! I’ve been behind all the recent attacks," he blurted, his voice shaking. "Please, don’t kill me! I… I just wanted some attention, to be someone… to cause fear in the West!"

You exchanged a look with Jhin, whose eyes glittered with satisfaction behind his mask. The infamous Black Jack, finally cornered. You had waited a long time for this moment, but as Jhin stepped forward, his intent clear, you felt a strange mixture of anticipation and unease.

Jhin moved with a predator's grace, each step calculated, each motion deliberate. He knelt beside Black Jack, drawing a slender, wickedly sharp knife from his belt. The bandit whimpered, his terror palpable.

"For your crimes, Black Jack," Jhin began, his voice a low, melodic murmur, "justice must be served."

Without hesitation, Jhin's blade flashed, cutting a shallow line across Black Jack's cheek. The bandit cried out, but Jhin seemed serene, his movements an unsettling dance of beauty and violence. You should have intervened, should have stopped him, but instead, you found yourself watching, hypnotised.

There was a cold elegance in the way Jhin worked, his focus absolute. He inflicted pain with an artist's touch, each cut precise, each act of violence measured. Black Jack's screams echoed in the confined space of the train car, but they barely registered in your mind. All you could see was Jhin, his lethal grace mesmerising.

Jhin paused, his knife hovering above Black Jack's trembling form. He glanced up at you, a faint smile playing on his lips as he noticed your rapt attention.

"You know, Sheriff," Jhin said, his voice smooth and almost conversational, "I find myself quite displeased by this man's actions. Not because of his crimes, but because he caused you a great deal of worry."

You blinked, trying to focus on his words. "Jhin, what are you talking about?"

"If I had known from the beginning that it was only a pathetic man in quest of some little attention," he continued, his knife tracing another line across Black Jack's skin, his tone was outy. "I would have severed him from our story much earlier."

Black Jack whimpered again, but Jhin paid him no mind. His eyes were fixed on you, a dark intensity burning in their depths. "Nobody apart from me should get your attention, darling. I don’t like to share…"

The possessiveness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and an unidentified desire pulsing through your veins. You clenched your fists, trying to maintain control. In this moment, you found yourself drawn to Jhin in a way you couldn't explain, the line between respect and submission blurring.

Despite your best efforts to stay composed, your breathing grew heavier, and your body felt flushed. You couldn't deny the allure of Jhin's dominance, his words arousing you further, the power dynamics between you overwhelming your senses.

As Jhin resumed his grisly work, you found yourself unable to look away. The tension between you both was palpable, the electricity in the air now mixed with a heady scent of lust. The line between the mission and your personal turmoil grew increasingly blurred—and shamefully, you could feel your panties dampening.

"Jhin, that's enough," you said, though your voice lacked its usual conviction.

Jhin sighed, almost regretfully, and stood, wiping the blood from his blade with a practised motion before sheathing it. Black Jack lay at your feet, sobbing and broken, but alive. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and looked down at the bandit.

"You're going to tell us everything," you said firmly. "And then you're going to face justice for what you've done."

Black Jack nodded frantically, too terrified to do anything but comply. You glanced at Jhin, who was watching you with an unreadable expression. The tension between you, the strange, twisted bond formed by necessity and mutual disdain, seemed to tighten in that moment.

The train had stopped just before the bridge, the ravine left behind, but the memory of Jhin's graceful violence lingered in your mind. As you led Black Jack out of the train car, the air between you and Jhin seemed to crackle with a strange, intense— sexual energy. The usual tension that defined your uneasy alliance felt different now, charged with something almost palpable.

Jhin fell into step beside you, his presence unsettlingly close. He leaned in, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine. "You seemed quite captivated by my performance, darling," he said, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I was just making sure you didn't go too far."

His eyes, dark and unreadable behind his mask, locked onto yours. "Don't lie to yourself, Y/n. You enjoyed it. The beauty in the chaos, the artistry in the violence."

Your heart pounded in your chest, "You're delusional, Jhin." But as you said, you wondered if you were trying to convince him — or yourself.

He stepped even closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Am I? Or is it that you can't admit how much you need me? How much do you crave the thrill I bring?"

A wave of heat flooded your body, a cocktail of frustrated desire and undeniable attraction. Jhin's words, so laden with passion, wrapped around you like a tantalising embrace. "This isn't the time for your mind games, Jhin," you managed to say, your voice trembling.

Your heart raced as his hand accidentally brushed against yours, the contact sending a jolt of electricity through your veins. "Who said anything about games? This is very real." His words dug into you, igniting a fire within. After a moment of intense silence, he continued, his voice thick with innuendo. "It has always been real—right? That’s why you keep calling for my help, even though you don’t truly need it.”

“You truly did believe I was this oblivious, darling?"

Your breath hitched, the truth in his words leaving you speechless. The reality of your feelings and the intensity of his gaze left you breathless, your body responding in kind. Your nipples hardened, your pussy wetting your panties as an aching need bloomed between your legs.

You tried to suppress the overwhelming sensation, but Jhin's dominance and sexual energy were intoxicating. The room seemed to shrink, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife. You couldn't ignore the longing in your heart, the pull toward him, the desire he'd awakened within you since you first encounter.

Jhin's smouldering gaze never left your face, the mask covering his face doing little to hide the intensity of his desire. He leaned in closer, his lips ghosting past your ear as he inhaled your scent deeply, his breath hot against your skin, "Good girl," he praised, his tone low and laced with admiration. "You fought well."

His hand rose and the mask shifted slightly, revealing a sliver of Jhin's full, inviting, thin lips. You felt the heat emanating from his body, the scent of his cologne, a heady mix of spice and sandalwood, intoxicating your senses. You held your breath, your body trembling with anticipation as the distance between your lips shrank.

In that moment, the line between mission and passion blurred, leaving you both in a whirlwind of forbidden lust and dark, passionate cravings. You struggled to regain control, to maintain your composure, but the heat between you grew, threatening to consume you both. Your breath hitched, the intensity of the moment threatening to consume you. You were painfully aware of his every move and every word.

Just as your lips brushed against the fabric of his mask, in a desperate attempt to seize an opportunity, Black Jack made his move.

With a sudden, desperate lunge, he pulled a hidden pistol from his boot and fired. The shot rang out, echoing in the confined space, and pain exploded in your side. You staggered, clutching at the wound, blood seeping through your fingers.

Jhin's eyes widened behind his mask, a flash of something dangerous and furious crossing his features. "You dare?" he hissed, turning his attention to Black Jack with a lethal grace.

In one swift motion, Jhin disarmed him, the pistol clattering to the floor. Black Jack whimpered, but Jhin's focus was already shifting back to you. He was by your side in an instant, his hands surprisingly gentle as they inspected your wound.

"Stay with me, darling," he murmured, his voice a strange mix of concern and something deeper. "You're not allowed to die on me."

You tried to focus, your vision blurring at the edges. "Jhin... help me..."

He nodded, his movements swift and efficient as he applied pressure to the wound. "I'm here. You're going to be fine," he said, though there was an edge of desperation in his tone that betrayed his usual calm demeanour.

"Focus on my voice," Jhin continued, his hands working with practised precision. "You’re stronger than this. You’re the Sheriff of Frontier Dusk, remember?"

Your breaths came in shallow gasps, the pain radiating through your body. "Jhin... why do you care?"

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the mask seemed to slip, revealing a flicker of vulnerability. "Because, Y/n," he said softly, "you are the only one worthy of my attention."

Despite the pain, a weak smile tugged at your lips. "That's... a strange way to show it."

He chuckled, a dark, melodic sound. "Perhaps. But then, I’ve never been one for convention."

You felt your consciousness wavering, the edges of your vision darkening. "Jhin, I..."

"Shh," he soothed, pressing harder on the wound to staunch the bleeding. "Save your strength. We're almost there."

As the darkness began to close in, you held onto the sound of his voice, the unexpected tenderness in his touch. The last thing you saw before everything faded was Jhin's mask, his tom a mix of anger, fear, and something almost… tender. In that moment, you realised that despite the danger and the madness, there was a strange, undeniable bond between you and the enigmatic assassin— and that's why you really didn't want to die.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

You blinked, consciousness slowly returning as the world around you swam into focus. The familiar sight of your room greeted you, the soft light filtering through the curtains casting a gentle glow over everything. You tried to move, but a dull ache spread through your body, a painful reminder of what had happened.

As you shifted, a figure stirred beside you, and you turned to see Caitlyn sitting by your bedside, her expression a mix of relief and concern. "You're awake," she said, her voice soft with emotion.

You managed a weak smile, your throat dry. "Hey, partner."

Caitlyn reached for a glass of water on the nightstand, holding it out to you. "Here. Take it slow."

You gratefully accepted the glass, taking small sips to ease the dryness in your throat. "What happened?" you asked, your memory still fuzzy around the edges.

Caitlyn sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. "You were shot, Y/n. Black Jack got the drop on you. If it weren't for Jhin..." Her voice trailed off, and you glanced at her, the pieces starting to fall into place.

"Jhin," you murmured, remembering his desperate attempt to save you.

Caitlyn nodded, her eyes meeting yours. "He brought you back here, tended to your wound himself. Said he couldn't let you die."

You felt a surge of gratitude and confusion, the memory of Jhin's unexpected tenderness still fresh in your mind. "Where is he now?"

Caitlyn hesitated, her expression troubled. "Gone. He disappeared right after he brought you back. Said something about his art… his need to resist the urge, or whatever this psycho meant."

You frowned, a mix of emotions swirling inside you. Despite everything, there was a part of you that felt a strange sense of loss at his absence. "He saved my life," you said quietly, the words feeling inadequate.

Caitlyn nodded, understanding flashing in her eyes. "Yeah, he did," she said, her voice soft. "But don't think for a second that makes up for everything else he's done."

You sighed, leaning back against the pillows. "I know," you said, your voice heavy with resignation.

As she helped you settle back into bed, you couldn't shake the memory of Jhin's words, the fleeting moment of connection between you. But for now, as you drifted back into a restless sleep, you pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand and the familiar presence of Caitlyn by your side.

When he said he would be gone, he meant it for real this time.

In the days that followed the tumultuous events on the train, Frontier Dusk seemed to settle into an uneasy calm. Jhin's absence was like a void, a conspicuous emptiness in the fabric of the town's daily life. At first, there was a sense of relief among the townsfolk, a collective exhale at the absence of the enigmatic assassin and the chaos he often brought in his wake. But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, that relief gave way to a growing unease.

For you, Jhin's disappearance weighed heavily on your mind. At first, there was a sense of quiet satisfaction, a respite from the constant tension and danger that seemed to follow in his wake. You found yourself almost grateful for the sense of peace that settled over the town in his absence, the streets no longer tinged with the undercurrent of fear that had become all too familiar.

But as time wore on, that peace began to feel hollow, a facade that masked the growing sense of emptiness in your heart. You made countless attempts to reach out to Jhin, sending telegrams to him — then to every contact you had, but each one went unanswered. Every time you ventured out to the oak tree, you were met only by your own solitude, the wind whispering through the branches a cruel reminder of his absence.

In the beginning, you tried to convince yourself that Jhin's departure was for the best, that it was better for everyone if he stayed away. But as the days stretched on, you couldn't shake the growing sense of desperation that gnawed at you. You found yourself scanning the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of his distinctive figure among the crowd, but he remained elusive, as if he had vanished into thin air.

The uncertainty weighed heavily on your mind, a constant presence that refused to fade. You couldn't help but wonder where Jhin had gone, what he was doing, if he was even still alive. Thoughts of him haunted your every waking moment, his enigmatic presence a constant presence in your mind.

At night, you would lie awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to shake the feeling of emptiness that settled over you. You had grown accustomed to the chaos and danger that came with Jhin's presence, but now that he was gone, you found yourself longing for the excitement and unpredictability he brought into your life.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The night had wrapped Frontier Dusk in a thick, velvety darkness. The town, usually so lively with the sounds of restless horses and late-night chatter, was now still. Only the occasional creak of a wooden beam or the distant howl of a coyote broke the silence. You had finally fallen into a restless sleep, your mind still circling around the thoughts of Jhin, as it had for months. The hollow ache in your chest seemed to grow heavier each night, a silent companion that never left your side.

It was deep into the night when something pulled you from your sleep. At first, you thought it was just another dream—those haunting images of masked eyes and the cold, calculated precision of his movements. But as your senses sharpened, you became aware of a presence in the room, a subtle shift in the air that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your hand instinctively moved toward the pistol on your bedside table, but before you could reach it, a voice, low and melodic, whispered through the darkness.

"Looking for this, Sheriff?"

Your breath caught in your throat. You knew that voice. Even after all these months, it was unmistakable—deep, suave and dangerous. You turned your head, and there he was, standing in the shadowed corner of your room. The moonlight filtering through the window cast a pale glow across his mask, highlighting the eerie beauty of his features. In his hand, he casually twirled your pistol, as if it were a mere toy.

"Jhin," you breathed, a mix of shock and relief flooding your senses.

He stepped closer, moving with that same unsettling grace, his presence commanding the room. As he approached your bed, he placed the pistol back on the nightstand, his gloved fingers brushing against yours as he did so. The touch was fleeting but electric, sending a jolt of something dangerously close to excitement through you.

"I must say," Jhin continued, his tone laced with an almost playful edge, "I've missed our little encounters."

You sat up slowly, your heart pounding in your chest. "Where the hell have you been?" you demanded, the relief quickly giving way to anger. "I thought you were dead, or—"

"Or what?" Jhin interrupted, his voice soft but carrying an edge of menace. "Or that I'd abandoned you? No, darling. I simply had... other matters to attend to."

He tilted his head slightly, studying you with those dark, unreadable eyes behind his mask. You could feel his gaze, heavy and intent, as if he were assessing every detail of your face, every shift in your expression. As if committing it to his memory forever.

"You had no right to leave without a word," you said, your voice tight with frustration. "You can’t just vanish like that."

Jhin's head tilted slightly, a mockery of sympathy in his posture. "I didn't realise you'd grown so attached, Y/n. How... sentimental."

You clenched your fists, the anger bubbling up again. "Don't twist this around, Jhin. You left without a trace, without so much as a sign that you were alive. I tried to reach you—"

"And now, here I am," he cut in smoothly, his tone softening as he moved even closer. He was now standing beside your bed, close enough that you could see the faint rise and fall of his chest, the slight movement of his fingers at his side. "Alive. And in front of you. Isn't that what you wanted?"

You wanted to say something sharp, something that would push him back, but the words caught in your throat. He was right there, and the months of longing, of unanswered questions, of sleepless nights waiting for some sign of him, all came crashing down on you.

Before you could gather your thoughts, Jhin reached out, his gloved hand cupping your chin with a surprising gentleness. The contrast between the softness of his touch and the hard edge of his persona sent a shiver through you. His thumb brushed lightly against your lower lip, a gesture so intimate and yet so dangerous that it made your breath hitch.

"I didn't intend to cause you pain, Sheriff," he murmured, his voice low and almost tender. "But some things... require a certain finesse. A certain patience. Much like you, really."

His words, laced with that signature mix of menace and allure, left you momentarily speechless. The intensity of the moment, of having him so close after so long, was overwhelming. Your body betrayed you, leaning slightly into his touch, craving the connection you'd been denied for so many months.

"Jhin..." you whispered, not even sure what you were asking for. An explanation? An apology? Maybe just a confirmation that this wasn't some cruel dream.

He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "Did you miss me, love?" His tone was teasing, but there was an underlying seriousness and urgency that you couldn't ignore.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your emotions a tumultuous mix of anger, relief, and something dangerously close to desire. "You have no idea," you replied, your voice trembling slightly.

Jhin's fingers tightened slightly against your skin, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your pulse race. "Good," he whispered, his voice dark and filled with a promise. "Because I've missed you too. More than you could possibly know."

In that moment, with his masked face so close to yours, his hand on your chin, you felt like the world outside your room had ceased to exist. There was only Jhin, his presence overwhelming and inescapable, pulling you into the orbit of his madness once more. And despite everything, despite all the chaos and danger he brought with him, you couldn't bring yourself to push him away.

Not now. Not when he was finally here, after all this time.

And in the silence that followed, with your breath mingling with his, you realised just how deeply his absence had affected you. How much you'd come to depend on the danger, the thrill, and the strange connection that existed between you and the man behind the mask.

Jhin's fingers lingered against your chin, his touch featherlight yet firm, keeping you in place. His eyes, though hidden behind the mask, seemed to bore into you, probing, searching. For a long, tense moment, he said nothing, just watched you in that unnervingly intense way of his. It felt like he was trying to read every thought, every emotion, every unspoken word that danced behind your eyes.

Then, slowly, he spoke, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it, almost… uncertain.

“When you were shot…” he began, his tone carefully controlled, as if weighing every word. “I felt something I hadn’t anticipated. A fear that was… unfamiliar.”

You blinked, surprised by the vulnerability threading through his words. Jhin? Admitting fear? Your breath caught, but you stayed silent, sensing he had more to say.

His hand moved from your chin to cup the side of your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with an unexpected tenderness. “It unsettled me, Sheriff,” he continued, his voice almost a murmur now, like he was confessing something forbidden. “To see you bleeding, in pain… because of someone else’s hand.” His thumb stilled, and you could feel his breath, warm against your skin, as he leaned just a fraction closer. “It made me realise how much I’d grown… concerned for your well-being.”

Concerned. The word hung in the air like a fragile thing, barely held together by the tension between you. You swallowed, trying to maintain some composure. “So, you left because… you were worried?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

Jhin’s fingers pressed just a bit harder against your skin, almost as if in frustration, but his tone remained calm, controlled. “Worried?” he echoed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. “No, Sheriff… not merely worried. I was terrified.”

You felt your heart skip a beat. Terrified. That wasn’t a word you ever thought would cross his lips. Not Jhin, who thrived on danger and chaos, who seemed to relish in the violence and unpredictability of life. You stayed silent, letting him continue.

“I have faced death more times than I can count,” he went on, his voice growing quieter, almost confessional. “I have stared into the abyss and found it rather… beautiful. But seeing you like that, bleeding, unconscious… it shook something loose in me. I felt…” He paused, struggling for the right word. “Vulnerable. Helpless, even. It was as if… for the first time, I had something to lose.”

His admission hung between you, the air heavy with its weight. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. "Jhin..." you whispered, unsure of what to say, of how to respond to this raw honesty.

His mask tilted slightly, his eyes still locked onto yours. “So I left,” he confessed, almost too quietly, as if he didn’t want to hear the words himself. “I thought… if I distanced myself, if I severed whatever strange connection had formed between us, I could rid myself of these... weaknesses. These feelings I had no desire to understand."

Your chest tightened. "Feelings?" you repeated, almost in disbelief. “For me?”

He chuckled, a dark, low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. "You must know, darling, that you occupy my thoughts far more than I’d like to admit. Even when I was far away, I found myself wondering what you were doing, if you were safe… if you were thinking of me, too."

You blinked, trying to process his words. “And that scared you?” you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yes,” he admitted, his voice almost trembling. “It terrified me. I have never cared for another’s safety… not like this. Not ever.”

For a moment, you were speechless, the weight of his confession settling over you. You knew Jhin was a man who thrived on control, on the careful choreography of his actions, where every step, every movement, every kill was a deliberate, artistic decision. To admit fear, to admit that he cared, to admit that his feelings for you were strong enough to drive him away… it was an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability from a man who seemed to find beauty in death itself.

You took a breath, steadying yourself. “So you ran because you were afraid… of what, exactly?”

His fingers tightened ever so slightly on your face, his mask mere inches from yours. “I was afraid,” he said softly, “of what I might do to keep you safe. Of how much I’d sacrifice… just to ensure you remain unharmed.”

You felt a shiver run through you, your skin prickling at the intensity of his words, at the way he spoke them with such conviction, such quiet desperation. “And now?” you asked, searching his gaze. “Are you still afraid?”

He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly behind the mask, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away, might retreat back into that impenetrable shell he wore so well. But then he leaned in closer, so close you could feel his breath against your lips, could see the glint of his eyes through the mask.

“I’m afraid of many things, Sheriff,” he murmured, his voice low and intense, “but losing you… that, I’ve come to realise, is the one fear I cannot live with.”

You felt your breath hitch, your heart racing in your chest. He was so close now, his presence overwhelming, intoxicating. "So what now, Jhin?" you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. "What does this mean for us?"

He smiled then, a slow, almost predatory smile that sent a shiver down your spine. “It means, Y/n,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath, “that I am here… and I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

His words hung in the air, a promise and a challenge all at once, and you couldn’t help but feel a strange mixture of dread and exhilaration coursing through your veins. He was back, and this time, he was not going to leave.

Jhin lingered close, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes—a dark, endless mystery behind the mask—seemed to study your every reaction. The room was filled with a thick, electric tension, the kind that made the hair on your arms stand up, made your heart pound so loud you were sure he could hear it. You could still feel his gloved hand against your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin as if memorising the curve of your face, the softness of your touch.

Then, he spoke, his voice a low, hushed murmur in the quiet of the night. “Tell me, Sheriff,” he began, his tone almost teasing but layered with something deeper, something raw. “Would you like to see my face?”

The question caught you off guard, and you blinked, unsure if you had heard him correctly. Your breath hitched, a wave of surprise and curiosity crashing over you. “What?” you whispered, barely finding your voice. “You would…?”

His smile widened ever so slightly, a hint of amusement in the curve of his lips. “After all this time, all these dances we’ve shared… perhaps it’s time to lift the veil, no?” he said, almost coy, yet there was an edge to his words, a challenge.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. The idea of seeing Jhin’s face, the real face behind the mask, behind all the careful control and precision, felt… impossibly intimate. It was a glimpse behind the curtain, a moment of vulnerability that you never thought he would allow.

“Why?” you asked softly, your voice barely more than a breath. “Why now?”

He tilted his head, his eyes glinting in the dim light of the moon filtering through the window. “Because,” he murmured, his voice deep and rich, “you’ve earned it. You’ve seen more of me than anyone else ever has. And perhaps…” He paused, leaning in a fraction closer, his lips almost brushing against your ear. “Perhaps, I want you to know me… truly.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and anticipation flooding your senses. This was Jhin, the man who had danced on the razor’s edge between life and death, who had made an art of violence, who had wrapped himself in mystery and shadows. And here he was, offering you a glimpse of the truth behind the mask.

You nodded, almost without thinking, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and longing. “I want to see you.”

Jhin’s hand left your cheek, his fingers trailing down slowly, tracing the line of your jaw before he reached up to the edge of his mask. His movements were deliberate, almost ritualistic, as he hooked his fingers under the mask, pausing for just a moment as if considering the gravity of this decision.

Then, with a slow, fluid motion, he began to lift it.

The room seemed to hold its breath with you, the silence so thick it was almost suffocating. The moonlight painted everything in shades of silver and shadow, and for a moment, the mask caught the light, glinting as he pulled it away from his face.

You felt your breath catch as the mask and goggles came off, revealing the face beneath. At first, it was only shadows, but as he stepped into the sliver of moonlight streaming through your window, you saw him—truly saw him—for the first time.

His skin was pale, his features sharp and angular, like they had been carved from marble. His jawline was strong, his lips curved in a faint, enigmatic smile. His hair, dark and slightly tousled, framed his face in a way that made him look almost ethereal, like a phantom who had stepped out of the darkness and into the light. But it was his eyes that struck you most—dark and intense, carrying a thousand unspoken stories, a mixture of sorrow, mischief, and something else… something softer, something that made your chest tighten.

He looked at you, letting you see him fully, without any of his usual masks or affectations. His gaze was searching, vulnerable in a way you had never seen before, and it made your heart race even faster.

“What do you see, darling?” he asked softly, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried across the space between you with a gravity that made you shiver.

You swallowed hard, feeling your cheeks flush under his scrutiny. “I see…” you began, your voice faltering as you tried to find the words. “I see you, Jhin. For the first time, I really see you.”

His smile deepened, but there was a softness in his expression that you had never seen before, a hint of something fragile and almost hesitant. “And does it please you?” he asked, his voice laced with a strange mix of vulnerability and curiosity.

You nodded, your breath shaky. “Yes… it does,” you admitted, feeling your pulse quicken at the admission. “More than I thought it would.”

His eyes flickered, something warm and relieved flashing across his face. He moved closer, his face now inches from yours, the moonlight casting a silver glow on his skin, making him look almost otherworldly. “Then,” he whispered, his lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile, “let me be closer still.”

Before you could react, his hand was on the back of your neck, drawing you in. His lips brushed against yours, gentle at first, testing, as if waiting for permission. When you didn’t pull away, his kiss deepened, a mix of hunger and restraint, passion and control, a promise of everything he had held back for so long.

As Jhin's lips met yours, you felt electric shocks travelling through your body. His tongue danced with yours, tasting, exploring, taking the sweet nectar your mouth provided. Each moan you let out, each shudder your body released into the kiss, only emboldened him to become more aggressive, his hand on your neck tightening, guiding you in a slow, slippery dance.

Jhin's breath was uneven, a low, husky sound that filled the room with a sense of raw desire. His eyes, dark and intent, never left you as he slowly pulled back, giving you a moment to catch your breath. His gaze roved over your exposed skin, his admiration almost palpable.

"Your taste," he murmured, his voice thick with admiration and something deeper, "is intoxicating, my dear." his tongue licking his own thin lips to savour the last remnants of your taste.

With a slow, deliberate motion, he trailed his fingers down from your collarbone, where your nightgown had fallen away, to the delicate curve of your ribs. His touch was light, teasing, each stroke making you shiver in response. The sensation of his fingertips against your skin sent electric jolts through your body, heightening every nerve.

His eyes remained locked on yours as he gripped the hem of your nightgown, his fingers gently tugging it upward. The fabric bunched in his hands, exposing more of your body with each deliberate inch. The anticipation in his gaze was almost overwhelming, his eyes dark with a mixture of admiration and lust.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your stomach, the cool air of the night contrasting sharply with the heat of his touch. His touch was both tender and possessive, each movement calculated to draw out every sensation.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, his movements slow and reverent, as if he were undressing a masterpiece. He peeled them down gradually, his eyes lingering on every exposed inch of your skin. As the shorts slipped past your hips, they revealed the black lace panties that clung to your curves, accentuating the soft lines of your body.

His hand, calloused from years of handling weapons, now moved with a careful, almost worshipful reverence. His fingertips slid beneath the lace, brushing against the heat of your core. The sensation was electrifying, and a soft moan escaped your lips, your body instinctively arching into his touch, craving the contact.

Jhin’s breath was warm against your ear as he leaned closer, his voice a velvety whisper. “You are exquisite,” he murmured, his fingers exploring with a mixture of skill and adoration. “Every part of you.”

His touch became more insistent, his fingertips caressing and teasing, drawing out your responses with a practised ease. Each movement was designed to please, to heighten your senses, to make you feel cherished and desired. His touch was both gentle and fervent, a contrast that left you breathless and yearning.

As his fingers continued their delicate exploration, your body responded eagerly, the pleasure building with each stroke. Jhin’s attentiveness was both overwhelming and intoxicating, his every touch a testament to the depth of his desire and the admiration he held for you.

In the dim light of the room, with Jhin’s eyes fixed on you, you felt a profound connection, a merging of desire and emotion that transcended the physical. His worshipful touch was not just about pleasure, but about reverence, about honouring every part of you with a devotion that made the experience all the more intense and unforgettable.

"You're soaked, my sweet," he murmured before lowering his head, capturing a nipple between his teeth, and giving it a gentle tug. Your body convulsed, a moan escaping your lips. The sharp contrast of pain and pleasure left you quivering, tears forming in your eyes, a mix of ecstasy and need.

Suddenly, Jhin released you, his eyes dark with lust, and he stepped back. "Spread your legs, my dear," he commanded, his voice deep and rich.

You obeyed, feeling vulnerable but ready, waiting for him to lead you into the darkest depths of desire.

He knelt before you, looking up at you with a smile as wicked as his deadly aim. His fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, and he slid them down, baring your most intimate secrets. The scent of your arousal filled the air, making him lick his lips in anticipation.

"You smell divine," he whispered, leaning forward to lick your inner thigh. His warm breath made you shiver, and you gripped the sheets, your knuckles turning white from the pressure.

His tongue traced a path to your swollen clit, flicking it teasingly, and you let out a desperate whimper. He dove in, circling and tasting, his fingers buried deep within your folds, stretching you, his thumb pressing against your entrance, begging to be allowed inside.

You cried out, the pleasure building, the intensity mounting with each flick of his tongue and each stroke of his fingers. A shiver ran through your body as you felt his thumb breach you, the initial discomfort quickly fading into a deep, visceral pleasure.

As Jhin continued to tease your clit with his tongue, his fingers still working their magic inside you, your moans grew more frantic. You clutched the bed sheets, struggling to maintain your grip on reality as the pleasure consumed you. "Oh, Jhin," you breathed, your voice thick with lust, "please, don't stop."

His lips finally left your clit, a wet, sucking noise echoing in the room before he spoke against your hot flesh, "Not until I'm ready," he growled, his breath hot and heavy against your most intimate parts.

You arched into his touch as he continued his skilled assault, an avalanche of sensations threatening to bury you alive. Your thighs shook uncontrollably, and you whimpered beneath him, "Please, I can't..."

Jhin's smile was wicked, his fingers moving in a rhythm guaranteed to drive you over the edge. "Can't what, my sweet Y/n?" he taunted, his voice a symphony of lust and control, a lethal combination that left you begging for mercy.

"Don't make me beg," you panted, on the precipice of release, your body trembling.

"You'll beg for everything, my dear," he promised, his words dark yet seductive, "and you'll love it."

Jhin's skill was as precise as his aim, his touch expert, teasing and tormenting you until you could no longer contain yourself. "Jhin," you screamed, your release washing over you, your body convulsing as your orgasm shook you to your core.

He pulled away, a satisfied smirk on his lips, his eyes gleaming with desire. "You're mine," he whispered, his voice a dark, sinister promise. With trembling hands, you cupped his cheeks, hunger burning in your eyes, craving the sensation of him—inside you, completing you.

With those words, the floodgates opened. Your body convulsed, your release crashing through you like a tidal wave, leaving you gasping for breath, your world reduced to nothing but the feeling of his touch as you rode the waves of ecstasy.

Jhin pushed you onto the bed, his gaze still dark and predatory, but there was a tenderness in his eyes, an unspoken concern that you might flee. He pinned you against the mattress, his body a heavy weight, demanding submission. "Do you want me, my dear?" he growled, his voice deep and commanding. "Do you want to feel the full force of my desire?"

Your eyes met his, pleading, your desire as apparent as the flush on your cheeks. "Yes," you breathed, reaching up to claw at the buttons of his leather suit.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Then beg me."

A thrill of arousal coursed through you as you gave yourself to his demand. "Please, Jhin, take me. I'm at your mercy. I need you inside me."

A wicked grin spread across his face, and he pulled away, stripping out of his clothes with a swiftness that left you panting, watching as the fabric pooled around his feet.

He revealed a body cased in sinew and muscle, he was a creature of shadow and death, but in this moment, he was yours. Jhin crawled onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours, each movement deliberate, each breath heavy with lust. "Do you still want me, my sweet?"

When his manhood finally came into focus, you couldn't help but gasp. It was a sight to behold: thick, veiny, and standing proudly at attention. A small drop of pre-cum beaded at the tip, glistening in the moonlight, a testament to his arousal. The sheer size of it left you both impressed and daunted, your wetness increasing at the thought of accommodating his girth.

"Yes," you whispered, your voice little more than a ragged exhale.

Jhin's eyes followed your gaze, taking pride in the effect he had on you. He couldn't help but smirk at the look of awe on your face. The contrast of his violent demeanour and your endearment to him was a fascinating dynamic.

Positioning himself between your thighs, he pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, a look of hunger and determination in his eyes. He began to apply pressure, slowly breaching your wet folds, and you couldn't help but quiver at the sensation. The forceful, yet controlled nature of his advance left no room for doubt; you were at his mercy, and at this moment, it was all you desired.

He positioned his cock at the entrance of your slick heat and began to push in, a slow, deliberate pace. The pain and pleasure melded into an exquisite symphony, driving you wild with need.

"Fuck," you moaned, your eyes rolling back, as he filled you completely.

"You're so tight," he growled, his hips rocking back and forth, his thrusts slow and deep.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting more, needing him to take you to heights you'd never imagined. "Harder," you demanded, your voice thick with arousal, “Please, Jhin…”

Jhin grinned, his eyes still dark, but a hint of mischief now flickered in their depths. He pulled back, only to slam into you with brutal force, your body shaking from the impact. He began to move faster, your moans filling the room, the bed creaking with each thrust. The combination of the tender and violent, the mix of pain and pleasure, left you dizzy, your body on the edge of release, your back arching, your nails digging into his flesh.

Jhin's grin grew wider, revealing his sharp teeth, as he pulled out of you just enough to tease the edge of your pussy again. His voice was deep and commanding, tinted with a lustful growl as he taunted, "You like that, don't you? Being taken by me so hard, your body begging for more?"

He slammed back into you with reckless abandon, the force of his thrusts rocking the bed, the springs groaning in protest. You couldn't help but let out a loud, guttural moan, your hands instinctively clenching around the sheets. Jhin seized the opportunity to grab your hair, yanking it back roughly, with enough force to make your head snap back, your neck stretching like a ragdoll's.

"Ah, what a good girl," he mocked, feeling your pussy convulse and tighten around his cock, delighting in your discomfort. "That's it, take it all. I'll push you to the brink and beyond."

Jhin's gaze was dark and intense, yet there was a hint of mischief that flickered in his eyes, a dangerous playfulness that made your heart race. The moonlight painted him in silver shadows, accentuating every sharp angle of his face. With a slow, deliberate motion, he closed the distance between you, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw. His touch was both tender and possessive, sending a shiver through you. “You wanted to see me,” he murmured, his voice a low, vibrating purr. “Now you have me—completely.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken at his words. “Jhin…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Is this… what you really want?”

He studied you with an intensity that made your breath catch. “What I want,” he said softly, “is to be with you in every possible way. To know that you see me… not just the mask I wear, but everything beneath it.”

As his lips met yours, the kiss was soft at first, exploring, as if he were savouring the moment he had so longed for. His hands roamed over your body with a mixture of reverence and hunger, tracing the curves of your form with an almost artistic precision. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, more fervent, as he pulled you closer, his body pressing against yours with a burning intensity.

Your hands moved to his hair, gripping it tightly, pulling him closer, as if you could fuse your bodies together, erase the separation that had been so painfully present for months. Jhin responded with a low growl, his hands tightening around your waist, guiding you with a force that was both demanding and exhilarating.

The room was filled with the sounds of your mingled breaths, the shifting of the bed beneath you, and the low, primal sounds of pleasure that escaped both of you. Jhin’s movements were deliberate, each thrust a calculated push toward something beyond the physical, something deeply emotional and profound. His lips trailed along your neck, his breath hot against your skin, and his voice, a low, growling whisper in your ear.

“You feel incredible,” he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of awe and possessiveness. “I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want you right now.”

You arched your back, your body moving in rhythm with his, every touch, every kiss, every caress pushing you closer to the edge. The combination of tenderness and intensity was almost overwhelming, leaving you breathless and dizzy, your mind swirling with sensations and emotions.

Jhin’s hands gripped your hips with a fierce possessiveness, his eyes dark with desire and something deeper, something almost vulnerable. “Tell me,” he urged, his voice a low, throaty command. “Tell me what you want.”

“Jhin…” you gasped, your voice a mixture of longing and desperation. “I want you��just you. I want everything you’re willing to give.”

His response was a fierce, primal sound, and he moved with a renewed intensity, his body pushing into yours with a relentless rhythm. Each thrust was a promise, a declaration of the depth of his feelings, the depth of the connection that had been building between you for so long.

The room was filled with the slapping sounds of flesh meeting flesh, the air ripe with the scent of sweat, sex, and lust. The painful tug on your hair, the unrelenting force of his thrusts, it all compounded, driving you to the edge of ecstasy. Your body trembled, a needy whimper escaping your lips, pleading for release.

"Don't think you can find solace there yet, my pet," Jhin warned, releasing your hair, only to grasp your hips, his fingertips digging into your tender skin. He leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear, whispering, "I decide when you cum." Your back arched, your nails digging into his chest, scratching furiously, leaving red lines in their wake. The pleasure-pain raging within you was maddening. Jhin leaned back, admiring his creation, the sight of you, writhing and desperate.

"Now, for your reward," he threatened, a wicked gleam in his eye. He increased the pace, every stroke filling you, pushing you higher, closer to the edge. "Come for me, my darling," he snarled, his voice hoarse with need. "Let me feel you around my cock as you shatter into a million pieces for me."

He began to thrust with every ounce of his strength, your moans echoing through the room, mingling with the creaks of the bed. It was only a matter of time before you succumbed to the overwhelming sensations, your pussy pulsating around him, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave. Your nails bit into his flesh, pulling marks of ownership, as you cried out his name, your release clutching at his cock like a vice. Jhin let out a roar, feeling your pussy spasm and milk his cock, his own climax imminent. With one final, powerful thrust, he filled you with his seed, flooding your insides with his hot, sticky release.

He collapsed on top of you, both of you panting heavily, your bodies still joined, the strings of your passion entwined. Jhin's grip loosened, allowing you to slip away from his hold, leaving him buried inside you, basking in the afterglow of your union.

As the final waves of pleasure subsided, you lay there, breathless and sated, your body feeling both exhausted and profoundly connected. The room was cloaked in a serene quiet, save for the soft, laboured breaths that filled the space. Jhin's touch, once feverish and insistent, softened now into a gentle caress.

He moved with a deliberate grace, his fingers brushing against your skin with a careful reverence as if he were afraid to cause you any further discomfort. His eyes, dark and intense, were filled with an emotion you had rarely seen before—an almost tender concern.

“Are you alright?” Jhin asked, his voice softer than you had ever heard it, a trace of genuine worry underlying the smooth tones. His hands, so skilled in violence, now moved with a delicate precision, easing the aching muscles of your body with gentle touches.

You winced slightly as he adjusted your position, the soreness evident in your expression. “I’m… I’m okay,” you replied, your voice a mere whisper, feeling the lingering traces of both pleasure and pain. “Just a bit sore.”

Jhin’s fingers hovered over a particularly bruised spot on your side, his touch surprisingly gentle. “I’m sorry if I caused you discomfort,” he murmured, his voice filled with an unexpected sincerity. “It was never my intention to hurt you.”

You looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of gratitude and lingering desire. “It’s alright,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek, your fingers lingering against the warmth of his skin. “It was… intense. But I liked it.”

A faint, almost regretful smile touched Jhin’s lips as he continued to soothe your bruised body. “I should have been more careful,” he admitted, his voice tinged with self-reproach. “I was… consumed by my own desires and forgot to consider your well-being.” He leaned closer, his fingers gently brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You are remarkable,” he murmured, his voice filled with an almost reverent admiration. “Even in pain, you are beautiful.”

He reached for a soft cloth and dampened it with cool water, then gently began to dab at the areas where your skin was reddened or bruised. The coolness of the cloth against your body felt soothing, and you sighed softly, leaning into his touch. His movements were careful and deliberate, each stroke of the cloth a gentle act of care.

“You’ve given me more than I ever expected,” Jhin continued, his voice steady and filled with emotion. “In your vulnerability, you’ve shown me a depth of connection I didn’t know I could experience.”

You looked up at him, seeing the genuine care in his eyes, a tenderness that contrasted sharply with his usually aloof demeanour. “I’m glad,” you said softly, your voice filled with sincerity. “I’ve felt more connected to you tonight than ever before. It’s… it’s something I didn’t think I needed, but now I can’t imagine being without it.”

Jhin’s fingers paused as he looked at you, his expression softening further. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said quietly. “I’ve come to realise that what I feel for you goes beyond mere desire. It’s something profound, something I never thought I would allow myself to feel.”

He finished with the cloth and set it aside, his eyes never leaving yours. “I will be here for you,” he promised, his voice filled with resolve. “In every way that you need, I will be here.”

You reached out, your fingers brushing his cheek tenderly. “Thank you, Jhin,” you said softly. “For everything.”

He took your hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingertips. “No, my dear,” he said, his voice a low murmur filled with emotion. “Thank you for allowing me to be a part of your life. For letting me see you, truly see you.”

The room was filled with a peaceful silence as Jhin continued to care for you, his touch gentle and attentive. As you lay there, wrapped in the warmth of his affection, you felt a deep sense of contentment and connection, knowing that despite the intensity and the pain, you had found something truly meaningful in each other.

✦·┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈·✦

The sun dipped lower in the sky, painting Frontier Dusk with hues of gold and crimson. The town was winding down, its usual noise giving way to the quiet hum of evening preparations. You’d hoped for a peaceful end to your day, but the radio crackled with an urgent call—a disturbance at the old warehouse on the edge of town.

Arriving at the scene, you were greeted by a disheartening sight. The warehouse, usually an abandoned relic of better times, was now the stage for Jhin’s latest performance. Blood stained the concrete floor, a stark contrast to the grimy surroundings, and at the center of the chaos stood Jhin, looking every bit the enigmatic artist he fancied himself to be. His coat was missing, replaced by a fitted leather outfit that clung to his lean, muscular frame. The sight of him in his element was simultaneously captivating and deeply unsettling.

You took a steadying breath, pushing past your emotions. “Jhin,” you called out, your voice sharp and commanding as you approached him. “You know why I’m here. Hands behind your back.”

Jhin turned his head slowly, his dark eyes meeting yours with a mixture of amusement and something darker, more dangerous. A slow smile spread across his lips, a glimmer of mischief dancing in his gaze. “Ah, darling. Always a pleasure to see you,” he purred, his voice smooth like velvet. “Though, I must admit, this isn’t exactly the ideal setting for our meetings.”

You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, focusing on the task at hand. “This isn’t a social call. You’re under arrest.”

His smile widened, an almost playful gleam in his eye. “Under arrest?” He said, his tone teasing, as if your stern demeanour were a mere game to him. “Well, well,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing. “I see you’re finally ready to make things official.”

You straightened, trying to regain your composure. “Jhin,” you said, your tone firm, “you’ve made quite a mess today. I’m here to arrest you. This time, you’re coming with me.”

He tilted his head, his lips curling into a mischievous smile. “Ah, but Sheriff,” he purred, “you’re looking particularly… prepared. I must say, it’s quite a sight. I didn’t realise you were so eager to see me in cuffs.”

His eyes gleamed with a playful light, and he took a step closer, his gaze raking over you with an appreciation that made your cheeks flush. “Though,” he continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “I must admit, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d be so… intent on restraining me. Are you sure it’s the cuffs you’re after? Or is it something else entirely?”

You shot him a look, trying to maintain your stern demeanour despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “Jhin, this isn’t a game. I’m here to do my job.”

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and melodious. “Of course, of course,” he said, his tone mocking a serious note. “But you must admit, there’s a certain thrill in the chase. And now that you’re finally ready to catch me, I can’t help but wonder if the excitement is more about the arrest or about the... close proximity.”

You took a deep breath, trying to ignore the fluttering sensation in your stomach. “You’re incorrigible,” you said, your voice tinged with both frustration and a reluctant amusement. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Before you could react, he moved with a fluid grace, closing the distance between you in an instant. He cupped your face in his blood-stained hands, his touch surprisingly warm and intimate. His lips met yours in a kiss that was both unexpected and electric, leaving you momentarily breathless and disoriented.

The kiss was over almost as soon as it began. Jhin pulled back, his expression a mix of satisfaction and mischief. “I do believe,” he said, his voice low and laced with amusement, “that I’ve made my escape.”

You blinked, still trying to process the intensity of the moment. “Jhin—” you started, but he was already gliding toward the exit, his movements as fluid and controlled as ever.

“Don’t worry, love,” he called back over his shoulder, his voice echoing with a playful taunt. “I’ll see you tonight. And I assure you, it will be a rendezvous you won’t soon forget.”

You watched, both exasperated and oddly charmed, as Jhin disappeared into the shadows. Shaking your head with a mix of frustration and amusement, you muttered to yourself, “Only Jhin would manage to turn an arrest into a date.”,Shaking your head, you turned your attention to the aftermath of his latest escapade. The warehouse was a mess, and you had work to do. As you began to clean up and sort through the evidence, a wry smile tugged at the corners of your mouth.

#khada jhin #jhin #jhin league of legends #jhin x reader #high noon jhin #jhin x you #league of legends

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rinwellisathing · 9 months ago

Text

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 15

Enver Gortash/Trans male Tiefling Durge

Content warnings: attempted rape, dead naming, misgendering

The following morning, Sentry and Enver stood redressing in the sculpture garden. Their eyes occasionally met with an almost magnetic feeling. Neither spoke a word until they were both fully clothed and standing before The Slayer and The Tyrant sculptures.

“It is a stunning piece, my love.” Gortash remarked.

“Your...” Sentry felt his face flush brightly at the words. He could almost smile at them until he felt a wrenching pain in his head and a twist in his stomach, vision blurring red for a moment. Father's disapproval.

“In fact, it gives me an idea. Give me about a day to do some digging and I'll send word.” The Tyrant continued, his expression deeply thoughtful, brimming with the tell tale signs of inspiration.

Sentry shook off the whispers with some effort and nodded. “With that being said, sending it with a messenger might be dangerous, I think we need some extra security when it comes to planning things together.”

“Yes, you're right. After all, not just our own subordinates but prying eyes within the city.” Enver agreed, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “I'd imagine a man of your creative interests dabbles beyond the visual arts. How are you with language?”

“I mean, I've read a lot. Copper Dreadfuls mostly.” Sentry replied, turning and running a hand over the bowed head of his Slayer sculpture, lovingly examining the horns for any touch ups that might be needs. “I don't know how that might help...only.....” He paused a moment and wrinkled his nose in thought. “Only in one of them, the detective at quite a devil of a time solving notes he found at the crime scene....you see, the killer communicated in code with his network of underlings.”

“You know, I think I've also read that one in passing. It's not a bad idea.” Enver nodded. “Alright then. We'll come up with one. Just between you and I.”

“Then I'll see you again soon. I look forward to discussing it.” Sentry grinned broadly. The two made their way to the entrance of the macabre gallery and stood a moment, the uncertainty of whether to kiss or simply part ways heavy in the air.

Sentry turned and made his way back towards the temple while Enver went the opposite direction back to the ladder that would lead to the surface.

The entire way home, flashes of pain lashed Sentry's mind and body. Father's red rage making itself known even as he forced himself to stand tall, proud, and imposing as his family would expect. As he walked through the door, he noticed no one was in the common area where they usually were.

“Such a shame.” He sighed. “I was really hoping for another entertaining confrontation, maybe one that might come to blows this time. Ah well.”

He made his way to his bedroom, once the door was open, he began shrugging off his clothing. He was vaguely aware he'd never returned to Sharess' Caress that night, but ah well, he would make it up to his friends tonight. After all, if he knew Ffion, she would simply assume his night had been a great success if he'd been out so long and he was certain Wysp wouldn't mind half as much as everyone thought he would. After all, Sentry held no illusions. Wysp was a friend, Sentry was a client. Anyone who thought someone they were paying was in love with them was an egotistical fool.

As Sentry sat down at his desk to sketch, he was distracted by thoughts of the previous night. He could still feel the sweet, sticky warmth inside him, sending a wave of pleasure through his body. He didn't hear a thing, didn't notice until a dark grey hand was already over his mouth, with the other forcing one of his arms behind his back.

“Father's upset with you, little cub.” The rough, growling voice sneered. Sentry felt the hot breath reeking of cheap booze on his ear. “Told me himself, he did.”

Sentry squirmed and struggled, flipping the charcoal in free hand. It wasn't as sharp as he'd like, but it would make a wound with enough force. He jammed it backwards into Jackal's side, but the angle was wrong, it didn't pierce flesh. Sentry thrashed his body, trying to slam his head into Jackal's face, only managing to knock against his shoulder.

“Struggle and squirm, struggle and squirm. Flail about like the helpless girlie you are.” The drow chuckled. “Father says he's warned you about breeding outside the family line, you little whore.”

“I'm not breeding. I can fuck who I please and that will never be you!” Sentry gave a hard shove backwards, tipping his chair, finally connecting it with Jackal's chest and knocking him backwards. The two rolled to the floor, both scrambling for control as Sentry pulled free and struggled to his feet. Jackal stood up panting just across from him and they circled eachother.

“You're weak, Vereena. You can't do shit without your axes and blades.” Jackal smirked, violet eyes never leaving Sentry. Animal hunger evident in them as the ranger eyed up his prey.

“And you're a fucking fool if you think that's true.” Sentry bristled at the name. “I'll kill you here and now with my bare hands and father will thank me.”

The two sized eachother up, neither making a sudden move. Sentry was tense, wary. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew father was angry. He would have been lying if he'd claimed not to know the reason. But he was chosen, he was the one who was worthy, father could be placated, he knew. The way was always the same. His eyes fell on Jackal's throat, flaring with breath, pulsing with blood.

“The fuck are you staring at, cub?” The drow barked. That was it. His guard was down a second too long and Sentry pounced.

His teeth were in Jackal's throat, ripping and tearing like a wild animal. Useless without his blades, was he? Sentry knew otherwise and his unworthy brother would only be the most recent to learn that. He tasted foul. The odious flavor of the Underdark permeating his blood and meat as Sentry's vision went blood red, mouth filled with elf flesh.

The sickening gurgling and gasping noises were just a vague buzzing in his ears, the knife in his back was barely an insect's sting as he felt the body going limp and lifeless beneath him. He was only half aware of someone helping him to a sitting position and lovingly dabbing at his mouth with a handkerchief.

“Oh, my malevolent monarch can be quite the messy eater, can't he? But I know you do so enjoy it when your breakfast fights back, young master.” Sceleritas cooed softly, fussing over Sentry, expertly removing the hunting knife embedded in this shoulder blade. “Mister Silk was warned so many times to show the proper respect you are due. Such a shame.” The fiend clicked his tongue and shook his head at the corpse. “Shall I take the leftovers to the kitchens, Master?”

“No, he tastes disgusting. Dump him somewhere...Or hang him up as a warning. I really don't care.” Sentry sniffed, disgusted. “I'd say lay him on an altar, but it'd be an insult to father.”

“Ah yes...and on that note, my boy....I did come bearing another message.” Sceleritas began, his tone a bit more tactful now. “While Mister Silk deserved his fate, his words were...not entirely incorrect. Your father of course knows you are not the person your failed set of parents claimed you to be. You rose far above that when you expertly eviscerated them and turned their home into such a delightful gallery of horrors. However, he is aware of your...extracurricular activities....with Bane's Chosen. Please, young Master, be more judicious in how you take your pleasure. Breeding is to be kept within the family.”

“Why does it always come down to breeding? I wasn't -BREEDING- I was fucking.” Sentry snapped. “I'll die before I 'breed' ever again.”

“Of course, of course, my rotted Master. I know, but you must be more careful! I shall fetch Tomi to bring you the proper potions immediately in that case.” Sceleritas bowed and scurried off.

“The next person to say the word 'breeding' is getting a pallet knife through the skull.” Sentry muttered to himself, righting his chair and cursing as he furiously crumpled the ruined page Jackal had disrupted.

#baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #tiefling #oc #durge #dark urge #gortash x durge #durgetash #fanfic #writing #lord enver gortash #enver gortash

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valentine-escape · 9 months ago

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Room 66 II

Room 66 II was an emotional roller coaster like no other, seamlessly forging an undying mark on our memories. If you're seeking a spooky adventure that will push your boundaries and evoke feelings you've never experienced before, look no further.

Way back in 2014 when I had no idea what escape rooms are, my besties texted me about an experience that they claimed was seemingly custom-made for me (to clarify, it's the opposite of what I'd enjoy, absolutely out of my comfort zone and they'd pay good money just to see me react to whatever evil was in there). I was still in London so all I had to do was visit them in Sofia and find someone crazy enough to walk in voluntarily with me so I could check if they were exaggerating.

Room 66 I had prepared us for the game beginning with the very arrival, so when we heard the familiar creepy voice of the game master, we were ready. Or so we thought. I bravely entered the room but was ready to leave in the first minute and leave my girlfriend to survive on her own. I have watched a demonic plethora of horror movies to know how it goes in rooms shrouded in pitch cold darkness (COLD DARKNESS BY VALENTINE RAIN IS NOW ON SPOTIFY AND YOUTUBE LOL). I just glued myself to the wall and waited for Ilianka to find a source of light while covering my ears.

The level of fear induced was so intense that I found myself screaming like a little girl – a testament to the room's spine-chilling atmosphere. I was constantly on edge, anticipating a jump scare lurking around every corner. There were moments when I even let out a shriek at the sight of my own shadow, only to burst into laughter at my own jumpy reaction; this blend of fear and amusement added an extra layer of excitement to the already immersive experience.

The attention to detail in the decor also deserves high praise. Every inch of the setting was meticulously crafted to transport us into a world of grimness and suspense. From the eerie lighting that cast haunting shadows to the unsettling props strategically placed throughout the room, the decor was a masterclass in creating an atmosphere of dread.

It wasn't just about visual elements either – the incorporation of harrowing sounds and textures added to the overall sensory experience, leaving no doubt that we were immersed in a realm of terror - it was truly as if we had stepped right into the heart of a horror movie. The decor unequivocally played a pivotal role in shaping the macabre ambiance that kept us on our toes and heightened the overall intensity of the escape room. The flawless blending of reality and fiction was uncanny.

Furthermore, the riddles weren't mere brain teasers; they were integral to the storyline, effortlessly pushing us forward while enriching the narrative. The way they were intricately integrated with the horror-themed setting heightened the sense of urgency and also made us feel like active characters in a movie about... I guess if Samara and Regan MacNeil had a possessed child in dire need of an exorcist? 😂 You know, the standard.

I’ll try not to give away anything from the plot, but the actress who embodied the main character deserves special commendation. Her portrayal was immensely compelling, creating a level of fear that felt almost tangible. Adroit at conjuring up a sensation of petrifying shivers, she fully submerged us in a demonic domain. Her performance was a standout, encapsulating the heart of the experience and enhancing the overall intensity.

Even if horror is not your cup of tea, it's almost paradoxical how the very elements that evoke fear and trepidation also possess a magnetic pull, enticing those who have experienced the chilling thrill to willingly subject themselves to it repeatedly.

After we escaped (just a minute earlier than the devoted time for the game), I was shocked to see the actors reveal themselves as actual human beings. My mind couldn’t comprehend how quickly I was plucked from a horror movie setting and dropped back into reality.

When it was time to take photos, I wanted to get the cross and flip it; nevertheless, it turned out that just before we played, representatives of the Bulgarian Orthodox Church had contacted the owners regarding photos involving it, so we didn't use it as a prop (nor did we display the bible, haha).

Honestly, this room beckons me to bring new souls to it again and again, just so I can experience everything anew. There was a game that was dedicated only to larger teams that I didn't get to try, so there's the incentive (as if I needed one).

#room66 #escaperoom #actors #thering #3

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wingspiked · 6 months ago

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ㅤㅤㅤ𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧... alarming, the macabre farce of excitement which had lanced through him like lightning, but sunday could only feel comfort. it was the strangest thing - like coming home - and he has to wonder if nearly ascending to aeonhood had mucked up his powers so badly that he could no longer tune his own emotions. yet the halovian knew - deep in the most aware parts of his core, that what he felt was no fluke - that the resonance between them was born of cosmic proportion, brought to life through thinly woven threads of destiny and sunday's own dramatic folly upon that stage.

ㅤㅤㅤthe question was, if aventurine understood the magnitude of it's meaning.

ㅤㅤㅤaureate searches the avgin's painfully beautiful face, �� and he too is thrown back into memory. he'd longed to domineer the man a bit - to hold the reins and ensure that the ipc ambassador had known who was really in charge. unfortunately - their chemistry had been a tangible, magnetic thing, and sunday found himself falling into aventurine with the same ease as breathing, found himself lost in heady touches and flushed skin - the whisper of his name in that delicious voice and even letting aventurine share his bed, stay the night, witness the burden of one damaged, ebony wing...

ㅤㅤㅤhe too, trembles, especially as the stoneheart drops to a knee before his seated frame, especially as he makes to glance away - unable to meet those beautiful, beautiful eyes. ena's eyes. the knowledge nearly drags a whimper from him - but sunday forces it down. it wasn't fear - for the order's embrace was a comforting one - but it was confusion. how long had it been since sunday had wanted to... rely on another, had leaned into a cosmic connection? and with aventurine no less.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ the dream is not safe right now. ❞ he finds himself saying, before anything else - as if crazed at the notion of an injured aventurine, of all things, ❝ without order to influence it - you truly can die, you shouldn't, you can't - ❞ the dream is over, brother.

ㅤㅤㅤhe sighs, and when he looks back to aventurine, his gaze is ripped raw, all four wings angled downwards, and the clipped one twitching with vague pain. ❝ child blessed by gaiathra, ❞ he murmurs, without the same strength his voice usually carries, ❝ one of THEIR many identities. it would make sense for you to feel some sort of connection to me - what with, what i nearly became, what i am... ❞ the word nearly was agonized, but he doesn't dwell on it. what sunday fails to mention, of course, is that he is equally as compelled to be at aventurine's side - that if he were not the man he was, he'd already be begging for contact.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ why not bring me in? ❞ he mutters then, attempting to muster some sort of strength, ❝ surely you are in trouble for your little stunt - would a prize such as me not mollify that emanator boss of yours? would i not warrant a promotion? ❞ sunday lets his eyes drift shut, his head hanging forward enough that silky blue-grey hair obscures the better part of his vision, ❝ go on, aventurine. no tricks. claim your prize. ❞ go away, go away, go away, lest i give in to this aeonic weakness that strikes my raw heart hot and true.

Never before has his alias as a Stoneheart sounded like such sweet music to the gambler's ears, and yet now it does. The sight of those wings flared in his presence temporarily steals the breath from his lungs, a deep sense of awe washing over him. They're beautiful, even in their ruined and battered state, and his fingers twitch at his sides with the urge to preen them and clean them up; to wash away any blood and dirt so that they might regain some semblance of their former glory.

In the dim light of the storage room, his multicolored eyes flash brightly, feet carrying him closer across the dusty floor before he can consciously register the movement. The force that guided him here—compulsion, some unknown connection, his unnatural luck, or perhaps all three—is stronger than ever, something almost painful to deny at this point. It's urging him, pushing and pulling at his limbs as if he is but a puppet guided by a handful of strings.

Go to him. You know you want to.

That voice again—echoing only in his thoughts this time, a tone slightly off-kilter from his own; a difference in cadence that only he would notice. It's the Harmony again, except it can't be...and it's so familiar, as if it's been with him all his life.

Regardless of that voice's source, it's right. Since his arrival on Penacony, he's had an interest in the Halovian before him from the moment they laid eyes on each other. Gorgeous, a natural leader, highly intelligent and charismatic—oh, how could he not take notice, especially when it quickly became apparent that Sunday felt similarly towards him? It didn't matter that they were enemies; at least not where more carnal urges were concerned. Memories begin to surface; ones that he had frantically tried to block out after first hearing that Sunday was to take the fall for everything. Fierce, domineering kisses, fingers curling around his wrists like talons to hold him down, words whispered for only him to hear as his body surrendered willingly under the Halovian's guidance and touch...

Faintly trembling, he shakes his head, his shoes leaving more faint tracks in the dust on the floor as he draws closer. Now isn't the time to think about those things, and yet it feels almost impossible for him to reassume his usual poker face. Gone is the facade of the reckless and cavalier gambler, leaving in its place the face of a man gazing with longing and sorrow upon the likes of a downtrodden, fallen angel.

Only when he's right beside to the cot do his steps come to a halt, and he lowers himself down onto one knee, concerned eyes faintly aglow and searching Sunday's face and body for any signs of serious injury. "I—," he begins, and his voice cracks and falters, for the sharp tugging at his heart still has him nearly breathless.

"...I don't know. Before you ask, I'm not here to take you into custody. My job on Penacony is already complete. I was thinking of going back into the dreamscape one more time for a brief real vacation, and then I thought of you. When I did...something led me here, right to you. You can feel it too...can't you? I know you can."

#defiedlife #𝐕𝐈𝐈. [ . . . ] thread /#𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈. [ . . . ] verse / i. main #go away but please don't actually is what he means

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onthesandsofdreams · 3 years ago

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Death’s Dance

Pairing: SanSan Rating: T Summary: And she feels so safe in his arms. She should not be. Words: 546 Notes: Written for @sansanwritersguild‘s prompt: “Dance Macabre”. Warnings: Major Character Death (Temporary)

Read @ AO3

Sansa knows that she should run.

That she should make her escape, she can.

Sandor is looking at her, giving her the chance to leave. Because even against his nature, he is a good man. No matter how much he tries to hide it, she has found that it is simply a façade, something he uses to fool the world into leaving him alone.

And she feels so safe in his arms. She should not be.

Because beyond that gentleness, there is a darker nature. He is a vampire after all.

This gala, this dance they have now attended together is loud and cramped. It seemed that everyone who is everyone has come. She has dressed to the nines and Sandor looks the part of a fine gentleman. They draw eyes, how could they not? There is something magnetic about Sandor, his vampiric nature draws people in.

She has not been the exception.

They dance most of the night, rarely parting. And it is then, in this night that she makes her mind. She wants Sandor and wants him forever.

“Let us dance alone,” She says. “Because I need some privacy.”

Sandor arches his brow, “And by privacy you mean…?”

She looks straight into his eyes, and her lips form a smile. “I want to dance under the moon, while you bite me. Turn me, Sandor.”

“Little bird…”

“I have made up my mind. I want this life, forever.”

“It will not be life, Sansa. It will be death, nothing but.”

“I am aware,” She says as they walk to a dark part of the garden. Above them, the moon shines and the air is thick with the scent of roses. “And I still want that.”

Sandor does not speak for a long time, “There is no going back from this.”

She smiles. “I am fine with that. I have already made arrangements.”

“You have?”

“Yes.” She leans forward, stands on her tip toes and kisses Sandor’s lips. “Turn me, I want to be at your side, forever. Let us unlive this life forever.”

“Let us dance,” Sandor says. And begins to sway with Sansa in the garden, they can still hear the sound of the music coming from inside. It is a waltz. His mind is made up, he will not put a fight. He wants her and he will be selfish now. “Let us dance, until your eyes close and open again.”

She smiles and closes her eyes when Sandor’s head comes close, they are dancing, slow and gentle. A small gasp escapes her, when she feels the sharp pain of a bite. This is it, there is no going back. “Yes. Turn me.”

And Sandor drinks her blood beneath the moonlight as they dance.

They are swaying together and little by little, her mind begins to slow down. She feels dizzy and lightheaded. And she knows this is it. “Yes,” she whispers. “Turn me.”

Those are the last words she speaks while living.

Soon enough, Sandor is making her drink his blood. And she suddenly feels very wide awake. Everything seems different, the colors are sharper, the scents deeper. She smiles. “Am I…?”

“You are.”

“Dance with me.”

Sandor grins, and he begins to sway again. This is it, she is his. Forever.

#sansan #sansa x sandor #Sansa Stark #Sandor Clegane #ASoIaF #asoiaf fic #AU: Vampires #established relationship #cw: death #tw: death

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pappydaddy · 4 years ago

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Opposites (s.h.)

A/N: This is for the request asking for a Steve x Reader where the reader was like Jade West from Victorious (also known as one of my bi awakenings). I am sorry for the delay, this Thanksgiving was crazy (I’m Canadian) and there was so much to do! I tried my best to write the reader like Jade without having her not vibe with the kids bc we all know that the kids come first with Steve. Now, without farther ado, here is the request! Hope you like it lovely Anon!!

Edit: I changed the name bc there are so many fics under the name Opposites Attract😅.

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

show/movie: stranger things

requested

warnings: fluff??

masterlist | taglist | wips | navigation

- not my gif -

Opposites attract. Something everyone has heard before. It can be applied to magnets or to relationships. While there was no denying that when it came to magnetic pulls, opposites did indeed attract, but Steve was never too sure about it in a relationship sense. He had always gone after girls who fit his lifestyle. Parties, the popular crowd, the girls who fit in to societies expectations. It wasn’t until he had met Y/N that he had realized that maybe everyone was right. Just like magnets, opposites attract did apply to relationships as well. He could not think Robin enough for introducing the hard headed, sometimes (all the time) scary girl who Steve would have never approached. A goofy guy such as Steve paired with the rocker chick who intimidated nearly everyone? Steve had never thought that would be possible outside of the movies.

Now, here Steve sat on Dustin’s couch as he bounced his knee, the party bickering all around him as they tried to figure out what they were going to do today. “Why would we watch movie’s all day, we always watch movies, Dustin!” Lucas exclaimed from where he sat on the floor next to Max. Dustin looked up from the pile of VHS tapes he had already selected before hand.

“Because movies are awesome and clearly the best option right now,” Dustin answered as if it was obvious. “Nobody can agree on one place, so the logical solution is to stay here and watch a movie.” He shrugged, shuffling through the tapes once again, ignoring Lucas’ groans of protest. Steve tuned them out the best he could as he watched the front door, willing for it to open revealing the two missing members of the party.

“Dustin has a point, Lucas.” Max piped up, not even looking up from watching the titles of the movies Dustin was debating on.

“Why,” Lucas asked simply, turning his head to face her in an exaggerated fashion. “Just why,” He repeated. “Why do you think it’s better to sit here and watch movies all day as opposed to going to a bowling alley?”

“I’d rather watch movies than go to a bowling alley, but we are clearly forgetting the best option brought up,” Mike inserted himself into the conversation again, banging his pointer finger against the coffee table before continuing. “The Arcade. There is a huge re-opening deal and a ton of new games!”

“We’re not going to the Arcade, it’ll be too crowded to have fun as a group!” Dustin turned Mike’s idea down once again.

“And sitting in a dark living room all day watching movies will be a fun group bonding experience?” Mike snapped back, sending the three boys into a tailspin of bickering. Steve and Max both heaved out sighs at the same time just as the front door opened, Robin walking in first followed by Y/N. The two girls ceased their previous conversation, blinking at the chaos ensuing.

“Finally, what took you two so long?” Steve leapt from his spot on the couch, rushing over to the pair, his eyes wide with relief. Instantly, he wrapped Y/N in a tight hug. The girl tensed for a second before melting into his hug, patting his back with one had. She wasn’t much for hugs, not being an overly affectionate person in general, but she couldn’t help but to lean a bit closer to Steve whenever he was affectionate towards her.

“Sorry, Stevie-boy,” Robin apologized half-heartedly, plopping herself down in the spot he once occupied. “Y/N got caught up trying to decide which Stephen King book to buy and then she saw the Stephen King display they had put up.”

“Ended up getting Cycle of the Werewolf, it came out a few years ago, but I was too wrapped up in the release of Cujo to focus on his book releases,” She told him, not even waiting for him to ask. She pulled out of his grasp, reaching into the bag she carried to hand him the book. Steve shivered slightly, not understanding how she could read or watch Stephen King’s books without getting the slightest bit scared. “But I couldn’t pass on the great deal they had on, they had Danse Macabre for half off so they could get make room for another shipment.” She pulled the second book out of the bag, walking passed Steve who read over the back of the book he held, eyeing the words as if they would jump off the page at him.

“That’s great, Y/N, but we need you and Robin to help us decide what to do for the rest of the day,” Dustin interrupted the girl, earning a glare from her (which he ignored). Y/N sat on the middle cushion beside Robin who dug through her own bag to retrieve her own book: Dark Companions. “Lucas wants to go to a bowling alley-”

“I would rather stab my eyes with rusty scissors then go to a bowling alley.” Y/N cut him off, flicking through the pages of her new book. Dustin laughed in victory as Lucas gave Dustin a warning look in return.

“We didn’t get to hear what Robin thought.” Lucas pointed out, hoping that Robin would be his saving grace, but his hope was quickly shot down.

“I’m with Y/N,” She stated, looking up from her book. “I hate those places, they are a cesspool of germs. Kids pick their noses then use their booger covered fingers to pick up a ball.” She turned her nose up at the idea. Lucas slumped back in defeat, Max sending him a sympathetic smile despite her internal happiness that she didn’t have to go to the bowling alley. Steve hid his own excitement as he sat down on the other side of Y/N, slinging his arm over her shoulders as she began to read her book.

“How about the Arcade, huh? You guys can watch us play awesome games and not touch anything!” Mike brought up his idea, trying to sell the girls on it. Robin shook her head instantly.

“Arcades are my personal hell,” Y/N grumbled, flipping the page. “Kids running around screaming and the noises from the games. It’s nauseating.” She cringed at the thought of it.

“So that leaves watching movies here then.” Dustin smiled brightly, showing his still missing teeth. Mike and Lucas groaned, flopping back on the floor dramatically, missing the way Y/N’s face twisted into a scowl and Robin’s nose turned up once again.

“Sitting here all day watching movies?” Robin asked.

“I would rather stuff myself into a wood-chipper.” Y/N commented once again, her eyes never lifting off her page. This prompted Lucas and Mike to shoot back up, smiling widely at Dustin’s defeat.

“Hey, isn’t there that band stopping by to preform a little outdoor concert, super low-key and free?” Max finally brought up the idea she had been sitting on the whole time. She knew that Robin and Y/N would have backed her up, but the boys would have shot the idea down immediately. Y/N and Robin slowly lifted their heads, intrigued by Max’s idea.

“So? What band would be coming to Hawkins to play a free show? Are they even worth seeing?” Mike lifted his upper lip in a grimace as he got ready to shoot the idea down.

“Yes, they are,” Max narrowed her eyes at the boy. “It’s a relatively new rock band, kinda like Def Leppard meets Guns N’ Roses meets AC/DC. They are playing free shows in smaller towns to build a name for themselves, all their earnings come from their merch sales.”

“Now that,” Y/N finally closed her book, setting it on the coffee table as she uncrossed her legs. Leaning her elbows on her knees, she clasped her hands together and pointed her pointer fingers at Max, a smirk playing on her dark painted lips. “That sounds awesome.” She unclasped her hands to high-five Max, the red-head beyond happy that her idea was chosen.

“It does sound really cool,” Robin nodded, sharing a look with Y/N and Max. “I’m down.”

“You know what,” Steve finally spoke up, bobbing his head, a goofy smile on his face as his eyes gazed at Y/N as she leaned back under his arm, looking up at him. “I’m in too. I could use a good concert.”

“You’re just agreeing because your girlfriend wants to go!” Mike accused, earning two glares from Y/N and Steve. He shrunk back under Y/N’s hard glare.

“Come on, guys,” Steve encouraged. “You guys could actually like their music, you might even find a new interest or meet some new people,” He tried to sell the reluctant teen boys. They hummed, actually listening to him. “There really isn’t any harm in going.” They nodded, muttering their lack-luster agreements in choosing the concert.

“Forget all that mushy, positive shit,” Y/N waved her hand at Steve’s sappy selling of the concert. “Just go and live outside of your comfort zone, taint your innocent, pure souls. You will thank me later, trust me.”

“Are you corrupting my kids?” Steve asked her as the boys all hollered ‘yeahs’ and hopped around the room as if they were tough. Max and Robin rolled their eyes at them, but Y/N looked back up at Steve, a sparkle in her eyes.

“Yeah, someone had to undo all the goofiness you instilled in them - make ‘em cooler.” He smiled down at her, pressing his lips against hers softly as the boy’s continued on. The roudiness melted away as they shared a loving kiss. As their lips pulled away reluctantly, parting the sweet kiss. Steve was never more sure that they were living proof of opposites attracting.

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land-of-classpects-and-analysis · 3 years ago

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Hiya, might I get a maid of time analysis? Please and thank you! ^v^

As always, I can only give a little sneak peek! ;3c But I always make sure to cover the most important and/or big parts of it!

~~~~~~~

Now, the Maid of Time is a fascinating Classpect; and is one that many are aware of! It is a person who embodies so many things all at the same time, that their presence is one not short of being highly magnetic and electrifying. They are made of Time and all of its forms; literal, metaphorical, and emotional. For the literal Time, they are someone who most likely is highly attuned to the ever forward march and flow of time. Not a moment passes them by where they are not aware of their present moment, but also of their past decisions and the ones to come in the future. They are the most aware of Time when it comes to their friend group, and as such will often make sure that events to come will be seen through. Making sure appointments, dates, destinations, and other important events are met; they help to usher everyone to their places on the universe’s stage before the curtain has a chance to be pulled back. They are not the playwright, but more so the director who holds the script.

They are also someone who is drawn towards the macabre; of death, decay, and all that comes after it. When they see a skeleton on the road, they do not see tragedy, but instead a creature’s cycle come to a close. They find solace in two words; The End. Because although everything around them is always changing, for better or for worse, there is that certainty that it will eventually come to a stop. And with it, a new cycle shall begin. Maids of Time are surprisingly philosophical people, sometimes giving a few Mind-bound a run for their money when it comes to their logic and philosophies. They see the beauty that comes in death, because they know that every end creates room for a new story to start. One could argue that the Maid of Time is one made of death and/or decay; perhaps they themself have experienced a tragic loss of some kind, but did not go through a normal journey of recovery and grieving. Perhaps in that tragedy, they saw a grace that so few people are capable of comprehending. Not that the Maid of Time cares what other people think, of course.

Of course, the Maid of Time is also one who is made of a fiery, fighting spirit. They are one of the first people to spring into action when injustice is brought to their attention, and they are the most likely to see to it that such a thing is fixed. After all, they are trying to make sure that everyone is at their peak performance; if one person is slacking, or making it difficult for others to perform, then they would surely be one crummy director to simply ignore these problems.

However, don’t let this fool you; this attitude is one that the Maid of Time carries, but they also are still one who is greatly at war with their Aspect. They are aware of the passage of time and as such make sure everyone is where they need to be, yes, but they are one who constantly lives in stress because of it. They love the macabre and fawn over death, but only because they are not a stranger to it. The Maid of Time is one covered excessively in scars from wounds long since past, but will surely have many more to come. They seek out ways to fix injustice, yes, but rarely do they ever pay attention to or care to the injustices dealt to them. They are still fighting against their Aspect, and they still hold a sense of wariness towards it.

During the Maid’s journey, they may try to neglect their duty as a director, or leave it up to someone else to fix and create. The reason why this plan cannot be sustained is because no one can do it like the Maid of Time can. Their Classpect is unique, and so nothing could ever completely replace them and their place in the story. Therefore, something drastic needs to happen in the Maid’s life that would bring them closer to their Aspect. Perhaps a loved one is in danger or experiencing an injustice so harsh that only the Maid can fix it, or they themself are in dire need of their Aspect and its functionality to remain intact.

No matter what, as much as some Maids of Time may desire to see their Aspect be torn apart, and the sands be free of their glass prison, they would have to learn that there is a time and a place for allowing such things to happen. By the time they would come to this epiphany, though, Time would already be left in quite the state of disarray. Timelines would be a mess, the order of events would be wrong and all over the place, and the morale of all their friends would be quite low. Because of this, the Maid would have to work towards learning how to create their Aspect.

Creation of Time is a power very many wish to achieve, yet very few are actually granted it or are even able to handle it. This is actually for good reason, as Time is a surprisingly delicate Aspect. Too much of it, and it all is put at risk of collapsing in on itself. Too little, and everything will slow down to a standstill, as well as feeling extremely one-track. The Maid of Time is meant to help keep Time in check, making sure that there is not too much but also not too little.

They are someone who can create timelines on a whim, as much as they so desire. They can also create Time in small pockets of existence - making the flow of time slow down to a complete halt in one place, while speeding things up in another. In order to do this, the Maid of Time would have to be quite the chaotically organized individual, with levels of knowledge and awareness that may rival even the greatest Mind-bounds, Light-bounds, and Void-bounds.

As for more realistic powers of creating Time, the Maid is one who would seemingly always have the chance to sit down and talk with someone or even multiple people! They always have time to spare in their schedule, or at the very least are good at making a bubble of respite amidst the rush of life. A Maid is very capable and excellent at starting something, stopping it, and then starting it back up again. They are near masters of rhythm and beats, one might even say; always remaining on the key they need to reach and the page they need to be on.

There are many other ways for a Maid of Time to create Time, but that will be saved for the much more official analysis!

Now, creating through Time is when one is when the role of Stagehand and Director truly come into play for the Maid. By creating through Time, they are setting up the dominoes needed in order to create a massive, narrative chain reaction so that order is maintained throughout the flow of time. If someone needs to check the mail at a certain time, the Maid will do all they can to ensure that the mailman gets there on time.

More realistically, a Maid of Time who creates through Time is one who creates through perseverance. Which is to say, once a Maid of Time begins a project, they are most certainly going to see it through to the end; even if it’s all on their own. Every moment counts when it comes to a Maid of Time’s creation process, and while they certainly are capable of messing around with their schedule, it’s something they find quite disruptive to their very own wants, needs, and flow. When that inspiration starts to die out, the Maid may feel very guilty for not being creative; but what’s important for them in this moment is to allow their Aspect, and themself, to recuperate. Even though they are made of their Aspect, it is and always will be a finite source - no flame can burn forever.

The Maid of Time is a fiery, passionate, and justice-bringing friend and ally to have. They are full of life, and also a love for death and all things macabre. They can see the beauty in a bakery full of sweets as much as they do the moss and flowers blooming through the skull of an animal. Mystery, yet often alluring, people find the Maid of Time fascinating and off-putting; the two often going hand-in-hand to draw people closer to the Maid. Yet no matter how many people surround them, the Maid ultimately cares more about their own personal projects than anything else. They strive for completion of cycles, for the story to have an ending, for the curtains to be drawn on a story in which they put their hands in.

The Maid of Time is a force to be reckoned with, and an ally - perhaps even friend - to be had.

~~~~~

This has been in my drafts for a WHILE oops jdfnvjdn sorry about the very late response, nonnie!! But I do hope this does help to give a better understanding on the Maid of Time!

#Mage Musings #not a full analysis #Maid of Time preview

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sophieakatz · 4 years ago

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Thursday Thoughts: The Anti-Christmas Movie

Tim Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas is one of my favorite movies. I usually put it as number two on my top Disney movie list (right behind WALL-E, of course). I love the music, I love the puppetry, I have a Jack Skellington “Today I am…” magnet on my fridge, and I am that nerd who waited two and a half hours to meet Jack and Sally at Mickey’s Not-So-Scary Halloween Party – twice – and I would do it again!

Because my love of this movie is so clear, every year, someone asks me the following question: “Is The Nightmare Before Christmas a Christmas movie, or a Halloween movie?”

Personally, I don’t believe you need to wait for a certain time of year in order to watch a movie you love. A good story is a good story no matter when you hear it. However, “Christmas movie” and “Halloween movie” are distinct categories of film.

One of the defining features of these categories is that the movie takes place during the holiday. The Nightmare Before Christmas (hereafter referred to as TNBC for brevity) begins on Halloween and ends on Christmas. So, at its most basic level, it fits those categories. But it isn’t enough for a movie to simply be set during a holiday. There are other thematic elements to consider.

Halloween movies cover a broad range of films, from family-friendly kid-centered adventures (Halloweentown, Frankenweenie, and Hocus Pocus, to name a few) to straight-up horror films. What they have in common is a supernatural element. Halloween movies usually follow ordinary people as they confront a spooky situation, doing their best to survive otherworldly, sinister obstacles and to restore calm and order to their world.

TNBC undeniably has the supernatural element. Our main characters are a living skeleton and a Frankenstein’s Monster-esque rag doll, our villain is an animated bag of bugs, and the world around them is practically made of the monstrous and the macabre.

Interestingly, TNBC is not about an ordinary person falling into this Halloween world and scenario, like so many Halloween movies are. It’s about a Halloween being falling out of that world and making his gradual way back.

If you told the story from the point of view of the normal people affected by Jack’s behavior, it would be a more typical Halloween movie. Instead the focus of the story is placed on the “monster.” Still, in the end, a spooky evil is defeated, and order is restored to the world. TNBC fits into “Halloween movie” tropes well enough, although its twists make it stand out among other spooky-season films.

Christmas movies cover a wide range as well, but they have a unifying theme. A Christmas movie follows a character who doesn’t have enough Christmas spirit in their life. Over the course of the film, they discover the true meaning of Christmas. That’s about all I care to say about them; I’ve made my opinion of the idea that everyone “needs” Christmas in their life perfectly clear in other posts.

What strikes me about TNBC is that while Jack certainly tries to figure out the meaning of Christmas, the whole point of the movie is that he can’t. Christmas is not his culture. His attempts to appropriate Christmas lead to disaster – for himself, for the people of Halloweentown and Christmastown, and for the ordinary people of the world. The happy ending of this movie is that Jack stops trying to insert Christmas into his life and reasserts himself as the King of Halloween in all his trickiness and scariness.

Viewed in this way, TNBC is very much not a Christmas movie. It’s an anti-Christmas movie – a movie that tells you that if you don’t already have Christmas in your life, then you’re better off sticking to your own culture.

I was texting a friend about this the other night, and they pointed out that Jack isn’t enamored with Christmas specifically. He’s enamored with having found something new. If you rewrote the script, replacing Christmas with any other holiday, the plot would remain exactly the same.

Imagine if Jack dressed up in rabbit ears and handed out painted eggs full of spiders, or if he put on a green top hat and filled everyone’s yards with evil imps and unlucky clovers. He would still not be able to understand the new holiday, he would still fail to replicate it, he would still nearly cause the death of a beloved holiday icon, and he would still face the ire of a terrified world as a result. In the end, Jack would still regain his love for his role as the Pumpkin King – regardless of the new holiday he discovered.

A Christmas movie would be completely thematically altered if the Christmas holiday were removed from its plot. If the whole point of the movie is for the protagonist to bring Christmas into their life, then if you remove Christmas from the film, nothing’s left over.

TNBC would not be the same story if it didn’t have Halloween. But if it didn’t have Christmas, nothing important would change. It would still be the same story.

So, is TNBC a Halloween movie or a Christmas movie? It’s a Halloween movie, certainly – but its message about the dangers of cultural appropriation is truly timeless.

#the nightmare before christmas #nightmare before christmas #tim burton #disney #halloween #christmas #halloween movie #christmas movie #film analysis #media analysis #jack skellington #cultural appropriation #thursday thoughts #holidays

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bibliocratic · 5 years ago

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@osirisjones jonmartin prompt: Nothing wrong with some good ol cuddling in bed after a nightmare 👀

tws in tags, warnings for some tma-dark imagery despite being ultimately fluff

On the coast somewhere. A sentinel-stance, his hair knotty, wind-rushed. There's a craggy moss-stubbled headland jutting out like a broken jaw. The edges of his trainers toe the starting line of a curb. Before him, the grey waves of a cold-snap sea, broken by an irregular fortification against immersion, a patch of sand the colour of ashen skin that will soon be submerged.

A figure on the shoreline. Eyes out to the horizon, hair untethered, coat-less and shoe-less and immovable, reckless and wreckless against the sea that promises such storms.

Martin's the only one who can see the strengthening waves in the distance. Disturbed and agitated by some disaster, gathering to a tsunami.

There are stone steps, aged, foot-scored and weight-worn, and they're adorned with black railings kissed by rust. The steps curl around their path like hair around fingers to the beach front below.

Martin takes a step, and feels the glass of his legs crack. A hollow sound, reverberating with warning, the echo spiderwebbing through him. It doesn't hurt, not exactly, not really, and he takes another step, another, his eyes on the tide, the figure on the shore. The faster he goes, the more it splinters through him, feeling himself fragment, fracture, smithereens of glass crunching disconnected in his shoes, his socks, his trouser legs. Still he hobbles down the unforgiving stone, feeling limbs shatter with every shock of pressure, of misuse in a dull diamond cascade of the pieces of him that gather in his clothes where a man once was, and still he runs.

He's crumbling, an eroded cliff edge, a sand-swiped edifice to lost things and missed chances.

The figure on the beach doesn't move back, though surely they must hear how the wind is rising, surely they can't have failed to notice the tooth-filled snarling ferocity of the waves. Martin's throat is a sheen of slippery glass where words have no purchase, can't escape the lock of his throat.

The wind's wiping tears into his eyes that freeze into painful ragged shards almost immediately, and Martin feels the friction of his broken pieces as he tries to keep his shattered body moving, to go a bit faster, to get a bit closer.

The figure doesn't look back as they tread in the low tide and the wave ascends to greet them.

Curling round immediately, mummified in sweaty bed blankets, something lost and feral scrabbling in his throat that soon manifests into sound.

Sleepy, rousing to wakefulness.

'Martin? Oh. Oh, right.'

Arms pulling close. Neck at an uncomfortable twist, ear over collarbone, but he buries himself in the thick embrace of it.

'It was – ' he feels obliged to say. 'It was nothing, just a stupid – I'll, I'm fine, I'll...'

A default slide into poorly build but easily manned habits. A 'hush', fingers wiping sleep from his damp eyes.

'Do you – do you want to talk about it?'

An offer given more easily than he takes it, but he is reclaiming the ground of himself steadily.

'I think you were there.' Whispered to the dark, to the hazy heat of under-covers. 'You wouldn't turn around, and I was so – I thought …'

Fingers setting in the handholds of hips, another 'it's alright, it's alright' as he relates his horrors to the patient dark.

He follows Peter's bloody map to the forbidding centre of the Panopticon. The mouths of empty cells, their bars like bared teeth, all facing dead centre, the stage of this horrible show.

The throne has a newly crowned king.

They've taken Jon's eyes. The blood tracking like warpaint scratched down his cheeks, and what they plucked out, they replaced improperly, with eyes that are not eyes, wide gaping chasm things like the backs of moth's wings.

The magnetic tape of all those statements, those carefully archived reels, they've been unspooled and it gathers like it's clogged in Jon's mouth, down his throat. The black lines of it spilling out like the straw of some macabre scarecrow, and Martin's hands are shaking and he prays, ill-worded little invocations to an almighty scraped together from school assemblies, that Jon wasn't taken like that, choking on fear, overwhelmed and airless, fingers scrabbling at a winched-in throat as he tried to breathe around the morass of other people's terrors.

Martin's prayers are that Jon felt nothing at all.

His ribcage has been splayed open, pivoted neatly with hinges like the top of a musical box. Weirdly bloodless for all it is a gory butchery of a human body, sand-white ribs that Martin finds himself counting. The heart is still there, shrivelling, wrinkled by strain and abuse. The rest of his chest, where other lungs and organs and the mechanisms of life should be harboured, is compacted as though with stuffing, the brutal gavage of some farm-reared delicacy. The eyes that expand and swell in this space roll in their vitreous parcels like twitching frogspawn. And then they all swivel with the fluid grace of owl necks, look at Martin, a thousand bobbing pupils staring out of the meat of Jon's chest, and that's the moment Martin realises Jon isn't dead.

'M-martin! Martin!'

A harsh insistence poorly cloaking distress, hands against his shoulders, moving in aborted rocking shakes.

'I – er, what, fuck – was I...?' Returning does not sweep away the agitation, the shaking like an earth tremor through him, the branding recollection of those fathomless eyes.

'You were shouting.' Hair being wiped from his forehead, two eyes, two normal, worried, crow-footed eyes staring down at him.

'W-what time is it?' he asks, but it's not an answer he wants or needs, he's just making sounds, fronting calm he doesn't feel. Runs clammy fingers over the bony column of a throat, the round of an adam's apple, a shirtless chest unmutilated and breathing shallowly.

He feels the question form there, at the centre, the tentative journey it traverses before he hears 'Can I.... I mean, do you want to...?'

The question isn't fully born before he's heaving great waves of sobs into the chest he's pillowed on.

Like clockwork, the arms come round, always an inch too tight a grip, and somehow that makes this easier to bear.

There are no monsters. In the dream that is not a dream, more a memory played out to its worst extremities, Martin walks, meandering and careless, along a beach. The sand is greyer, colour-sapped, and the waves are choppy, over-touched with foaming white like a poorly rendered oil landscape painting. There are ships out to the distance, but they're too far away, dirt flecks on the windscreen of horizon.

After a while, he sits down on the sand. Soaking the seat of his trousers, the backs of his legs. He watches the immutable horizon, blank like a lost opportunity, like a canvas where something meaningful could have been painted, anything at all really other than nothing. There are no clouds, no birds, and around him the day happens, unfolding in undemanding hours and minutes that leave no footprints, ruffle no waves.

He didn't bring any gloves and his hands cramp, the skin of his cheeks pinched with the tweaking chill. There are the marks of hoar-frost, sparkling and spiking, beginning to carpet the hairs on his arm, the skin of his exposed ankles.

The temperature drops, though the sky doesn't change. His fingers are gripped into numb claws now, and he wonders without much of a sense at all if he'll lose them to the cold. The frost is curdling in his lungs and it's hard to breathe. It has become a sensation like all the rest of them, like hunger and fright and panic, it is something happening to him so far away, to the him before, the one burdening himself with feeling like a pack-mule and wondering why he never moved forward.

The light refracts snow-blind off the white of the waves, and soon it is easier to close his eyes. He is not tired, but maybe he could lie down for a moment. It would be so simple to –

Arms wrapped around chest from behind, a twinge as his ribs protest, his mouth forming a confused, displeased sound.

'Jon. W- are you ok? You having a nightmare?'

A voice night-rough and dry rumbled against the dip between his shoulder blades: 'You were going away again'.

'Oh'.

The taste of chill is still enchanted and twisted up in the marrow of him, but it thaws in the near-ache of such a grip. Threading fingers together, palm union with palm, the soft rucks of scar tissue sliding against dry skin. He is held and beheld so tightly he lies there for a moment, his skin prickling with newly rediscovered heat.

'Do you want to talk about it?'

An offer. Given and given and given, no thought to retraction. It is hard to be Lonely when that holds such a lantern to the dark of the forest beyond.

'I'm, I'm ok, Jon,' he says, meaning it. Pulling arms slot around his stomach tighter. 'Thank you'.

A grunting 'don't mention it', already sweetened by a doziness. The weight against his back closer, the arms flung around him like a mooring line.

Martin drops back off sweltering in the muggy heat and sleeps dreamless till morning.

#tma #the magnus archives #fic #prompt #tw body horror #tw mutilation #cw dread #cw nightmares #fluff #jonmartin

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justfangstvdto · 5 years ago

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Open Coffin 2 | Chapter 02 “Lovely Day For A Riot”

Disclaimer: This is a sequel! Find Part 1 here. For some context, I´d advise you to watch The Originals to understand some occurrences.

Chapter warnings: typical TO violence (and the reader is enjoying it a little too much in this one tbh), blood, murder, and some more subtle foreshadowing

Word count: 4779

Tags & Author Note at the bottom. Feedback is my lifeblood and keeps the writing coming.

Open Coffin 2 Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

The written word was everlasting. King to Beggar, Poets to Wallflowers, Monsters to Saints - they all had the opportunity to be immortalized, to be remembered once they´ve turned to bone or ash.

That, you always thought, was why your brother Stefan resorted to writing in his diary and why you chose to write letters to Kol when you were last here in 1914. To leave something behind in case your almost immortal life ended sooner than you thought. Now those letters served as a reminder of what might never be again. Yet, with uncertainty came the need to check on them in their hiding spot.

So that's what you did.

And it was as if you ́d stepped back in time. The cemetery was untouched in almost every way. Only the weathered stones and visible marked lines of the flooding after Katrina were reminders of how much time had actually passed.

Another change that was eerily unnoticeable once you reached the older part of the cemetery, was the relocation of gravesites the City council had ordered. You thought it macabre to relocate someone's resting place as if they were nothing but a waste of space.

What was once the Voodoo Queen ́s Laveau’s tomb was now only a monument in her honour. But what the tourist who resorted to smearing words with permanent marker on that very stone didn't know was the hidden compartment in the back. It was sealed with numerous spells, followed by a specific order of bricks you had to push in.

Panic filled your senses when you saw the bricks already pushed in and the secret compartment opened wide. There was a dirt film on the stone surface and nothing but empty space in the compartment beneath all the dust.

You reached in, hoping they just shifted back, but all you grasped was a layer of leaves that found their way inside.

The letters were gone.

------------------------------------------

You could not wrap your head around who could have had access to your letters, and who would even care to steal them from you. They were not just letters, they were confessions of loneliness, frustrations, confessions of love. Whoever had them now, they knew your deepest emotions, some buried six feet under others worn on your sleeve - but all secret.

Even now staring at the grimoire in front of you, surrounded by Kol's hideout, you couldn't think of anyone who knew about them. The only one you told was Kol back in Mystic Falls when you thought you were dying. But there was no time to dwell or be embarrassed by your secrets laid bare.

You had work to do, and you had to focus. Unfortunately, focus was hard to come by when you had someone breathing down your neck.

“How frustrating. A novice trying to interpret the work of a master.” Mikael paraded around, sighing dramatically.

“Can you shut for one second?” You glared at him “I´m busy here.”

You had summoned him back in New York with the promise of delivering Klaus on a silver platter. He was another part of your plan, one that was - by a longshot - the most dangerous. But you had to have an insurance and Mikael was the only one who knew Esther better than anyone else. If Esther would trick you into a wrong spelling, Mikael would be able to tell.

“It's a simple de-linking spell,” You explained further “It's not that hard.”

"Simple? You're trying to erase the link between Klaus and every single vampire he's sired.

"No. All I care about is Marcel and my brothers. You kill Klaus? They die, too. I can fix that. I have Esther's grimoire, it's just a matter of time."

“Perhaps I can help you solve the riddle.” He offered.

You flipped the book closed and looked at him “Do you think I´m stupid? You ́ll just trick me into a spell that will free you from my control.”

“You know, for somebody who despises Klaus so much, you certainly share his paranoia.”

You didn't like the comparison, but he was right. And it pissed you off.

“And for somebody who wasted years hunting him, you don't know him at all. He won't just come here if I ask him to. I have to gain his trust, offer my help until he takes the bait. And that takes time.”

He seemed satisfied with the answer. "The sooner you perform the spell, the sooner I'll be free to kill the bastard."

"I'll bring Klaus to you when the time is right. It's not right yet. I have to save a few people first."

"I assume my son included. Let me ask you this, why have you resurrected me instead of him?"

"I tried, but I couldn't find him on the other side before it collapsed. By the time I had enough power and knowledge, it was too late.”

Thinking back to the countless hours spent searching, consulting with witches on the other side and reading page after page of all grimoires - it hurt producing failure upon failure.

Mikael went quiet when you pulled out your phone, sending a text to Klaus number.

Y/N: Still stalling Esther. Let me know if you need help kicking some ass.

Klaus: Meet me at the Compound in 30 minutes.

"I'll be back soon.” You informed him” Don't go anywhere. Oh wait, you can't."

----------------------------

“Okay so let me get this straight;" You said, looking between Elijah and Klaus. "A resurrected witch you knocked around with put some sort of spell on you that sucked up all your hybrid slash original power to juice up moonlight rings? And those moonlight rings were given to the Guirrerra wolf pack?"

"That about sums it up, I'd say." Klaus shrugged, leaning back on his office chair.

"You and your bad taste in women, I swear." You shook your head.

"Well,” Elijah that leaned against the fireplace´s mantel said, “Niklaus is renowned for choosing strange bedfellows." He grinned and dragged a finger along the mantel´s surface, flipping the dust of his fingers in disgust. He probably had to arrange additional meetings with the maid.

"Yeah, you can say that again." You snorted. You could not count on one hand how many times a fling of his screwed him over. And not in the good way.

Klaus rolled his eyes, "Can we please return to the task at hand?"

"Right" You sighed, hating to get back on track so soon "Moonlight rings. How many do you think are left?”

"We successfully retrieved all but a small group which deserted the fight," Elijah informed.

"So we ́re fighting cowards.” You concluded. ” Easy. Do you know where they're hiding?"

Elijah walked up to the map placed on the table, resting his finger on "They remain in public, hoping we won't retaliate out in the open."

"Which we don't give a shit about right?"Elijah glanced at Klaus who returned a look of hesitation."Oh, come on, really? I expect Elijah to go according to the rulebook, but you too? "

"There are certain rules we must abide by in this city." Klaus returned.

You could not believe what you heard. Klaus following rules was something entirely new "You ́ve lost a few steps over the years. But works for me either way. ́ll just do it myself."

"You alone against a pack of wolves?" Klaus dismissed as if he'd forgotten that you were able to handle a much greater threat than a few moon howlers.

“A few wolves are nothing. You forget I have some new tricks up my sleeve. And I really really need to kill something.” You were ready to leave, ready to deal with those wolves out in the open.

But Elijah had other plans.

“Before you go, a word please." Elijah looked at his little brother, asking him without words to leave the room. Klaus seemed surprised, perhaps even insulted that Elijah wanted him to go.

"He can stay." You reassured him, much to their surprise, "Whatever you have to say to me he can hear. We ́re a team, right?"

Elijah hesitated for a moment, but eventually gave in."Given your past grievances, I cannot help but question your Intentions regarding your alliance with us."

And there it was. The usual patronizing tone that made it obvious that he thought himself still superior and you lesser than. You could move mountains and he'd still question your intentions. In this case, it was not far fetched to assume the worst, but you thought at least he ́d give you some leeway.

"If you think I want to kill him again, don't ́t worry.Been there, done that, got the shitty fridge magnet."

“Judging by the company you keep, I cannot help but doubt the truth of your words.”

“Not really my problem is it? I can only say what I want to say, I have no control how you perceive it.” You shrugged “And my company was once a part of your family, but we all know that writing them off is one of your specialities.”

Klaus laughed out loud, amused by the way you dared to talk to his older brother.

“It is your problem if you wish to stay in my good graces” Elijah replied, unfaced by your comment.

“No offence, but I don't give two shakes of a rats ass if I ́m in your or anyone ́s good graces. I ́m here to take Esther down and bring Kol back, that's it. I don't expect you to like or agree with it.”

Elijah raised his eyebrows and cringed at your nonchalance. He wasn´t used to someone speaking to him in that way. He clenched his jaw and reacher for the button on his suit jacket and forced it through the Buttonhole. He would always do that before he got into a fight, a physical or verbal one.

Klaus ́ amused smile fell and he chimed in before the situation escalated “Brother I think that's enough.”

“I agree." You glared at Elijah before looking at Klaus, directing your next words to him “If you want to join me now's the time.”

"I'll meet you there," Klaus replied and you left the room, ready to fulfil the plan.

“She seems well,” Klaus said once you were out of earshot.

“On the contrary, brother. Heed my warning, she does not have our best interest at heart."

“You must not remind me of the danger she now bleeds out into the world. Which is precisely why I intend to give her my trust. For now.” Klaus stepped forward, ready to follow you but Eliah held him back once more.

“She cannot know our secret.”He shakes his head, demanding eye contact “Not while mother and Finn still breath air.”

"She won't. I'll see to that personally.” Klaus reassured before he too disappeared out of the room.

----------------

You parted the crowds unintentionally heading to where the pack frequented.

Looking at the people that passed you by, you wondered what stories they desperately needed to hide, and how they would react when those secrets were now known by someone hidden in shadows. You felt uneasy, knowing that there was someone out there who knew what was only intended to be read by the only person you trust. Now they were out there, ready to be used against you.

Entering Rossiuss, you kept your eyes sharp, searching the crowd for the wolves. But besides a few afternoon drunkards, college kids and a group in the back there was no sign of your target yet.

You settled for your booth in the back with a drink in your hand. As you passed by tables and people recognized you, they retreated to the front. Some chose the bar, others on the other side of the room, only in an attempt to be as far away from you as possible.

Soon, the whispering began, as it always did.. Ah the whispers..how you wanted to silence them all.

You sat there for a good hour pretending to read the book you bought, checking the time every few pages. There was absolutely no sign of the pack, nor of Klaus.

He was late, as always. He said he had to deal with something else first, but promised to be back for the action. But he wasn't. Who arrives to a good ol ́ slaughtering too late? A thousand-year-old vampire, with so much blood spilled he got bored of it, that's who.

It was unbelievable. What were you supposed to do until he decided to arrive? Sulk in the silence you despised until the wolves showed up?

Pfft. Nobody valued punctuality anymore.

The door rattled again and a few more stepped into the establishment. Among them was a tall guy that seemed to steal the attention immediately. He was towering over most with his height and radiated confidence with how tall he stood. Although his appearance seemed somewhat juvenile, his calm and unhurried nature made him look quite composed. In this city, and especially in the tense situation it has been in for months, he seemed out of place. He was too happy to stay alive here.

You watched him observe the cowering crowd on the left side of the room, then your side, then back again before he was headed straight into your direction. You pretended to read the lower lines on the page, hiding your face behind as much book as you could without looking like a complete idiot. What was he trying to prove talking to you?

His heartbeat was erratic when he sat down, so much so, you saw his fingers rising and falling with his pulse. You observed him, glancing over the edges of the book.

He had slightly curled brown hair and what looked like grey to blue eyes. You were unable to tell in the dimmed light. He had something familiar about him, but you could not put your finger on it. Perhaps you've crossed paths somewhere before. Or perhaps he had just a face you easily mistaken for someone else.

After a few moments of silence, you decided to speak “You sure you want to sit here with me?”

“It's the best seat in the house. And I like to piss people off.” He said, his British accent trickling through his speech. He looked over his shoulder, scoffing at the people that stared at him “Look at them, knickers twisted in a nod already.”

"What, are you some against the stream type of guy?"

"You have no idea." He smiled. It wasn't the kind of smile you ́d see every day, it was drunk with stories untold and probably on the defiant side "Or maybe you do."

He watched you intently, as your eyes drifted on the table and the book still open in your hand.

“I know that ghosts have wandered the earth. Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad.”

“What?” You asked, and he lifted his head to nod to the book. “Oh. You ́re a fan of Wuthering Heights?”

“I ́m a witcher with remarkable taste.” He shrugged "In books and company."

Ah, a witch. You knew there was something he was hiding. There was something in the way he held himself that bled familiar secrecy. You were an expert juggling several secrets at once, figuring out if someone else carried them was easy.

“Brave of you to admit that.” You replied, “It's not really save for you here right now.”

Despite your warning, he did not look like he would leave any time soon, “What can I say, I ́m a thrill-seeker.”

The door rattled once again, this time it fell into the lock with a loud banging. You looked over and recognized the Guerrera wolf pack immediately.

“Yeah well, it's about to get really thrilling here.” You said and the stranger next to you roamed your face with an intense stare you shifted uncomfortably on your seat. “You should probably leave if you want to keep your limbs attached to your body. They´re not fucking around.”

“Nonsense.” He shook his head slightly. ”They ́re nothing but rabid dogs that need to be put down.”

You expected him to run, or to look at you as if you lost your mind, but instead, he hopped on board of the murder train. Not that you were complaining.

“I don't ́t know who you are, but you're definitely speaking my language now.” You said “What's it gonna be? You ́re up to cause some trouble?”

“Well, it's a lovely day for a riot, isn't it?” He replied.

“A riot, huh? Not a bad idea.”

He scooted closer and lowered his voice, “Do you see the group in the back? A rival werewolf pack with a score to settle.”

“You gotta love coincidences sometimes.”

All you needed was a little push. A shoulder colliding, a hateful glare or - god forbid - an insult. That would be all it took to start a fight. They were so easily manipulated, it was almost comical.

You looked at the group on the other side of the room. They were heavily engaged in a conversation, and all but one listened eagerly. One girl was off to the side, quietly listening to groups meaningless chatter, while she stared holes into the other pack´s backsides.

The quiet ones were a breed of their own. They were the ones observing when the rest was talking their life away and that made them dangerous when they finally spoke. They saw what others overlooked. And that was always the perfect target to rile up.

You gave her a little magic courage by whispering a spell into your hand before you let your breath carry it over to where she was sitting.

She slammed her glass on the table, the malty liquid spilling over the edges. Her companions looked at her briefly, before they returned to their conversation.

She walked over and knocked the drink out of one guy ́s hand with the force of her shoulder colliding with his much larger frame. He turned to her and recognized her face - his packs rivals - instantly.

There was stillness first before the girl threw the first punch, then there was suddenly movement. Both sides rose from their seats and clashed together. Screams broke out. Furniture ripped. Bones broke. Blood was spilled.

It was magnificent chaos.

One of the participants on the sidelines decided to head for your table, dodging a broken off table leg that flew through the air. You shared an unimpressed look with the stranger next to you before he leaned back and gave you free rein to do what you wished to him.

With a look that bled concentration and the rubbing of your index finger with your thumb, you magically splintered every single bone in his body. The sound was drowned in the backgrounds happenings that included shattering glass, growling and howls of pain. He continued to scream bloody murder, and then, suddenly his face grew stoic as if made of stone, and he fell forwards, his jaw colliding with the edges of the table.

“Wrong table to squabble with, mate.” The stranger snickered. He leaned back, dodging a scrap of wood that came flying in his direction.

His amusement was short-lived, however, when he failed to sense a second, much larger piece of wood - a broken off table leg knocked him square into the back of his head, and he slumped forward, his head colliding with the table surface.

"Shit." You whisper under your breath. You listened for his pulse, hoping he hadn't just broken his neck, but his heart was still drumming along just fine.

Something peaked out of the bag hung over his shoulder, a written letter it seemed. On a second look, you couldn't believe what you saw. They were in your handwriting.

You did not have the time to ponder about how the stranger got them, because someone rapidly approached from behind. You moved just in time, and the makeshift stake pierced through your shoulder instead.

“Ah, the free stake for my drink. How nice.” You forced the guy off of you, and you gripped the stake and pulled out from the front. “Can I keep or do you want it back? You want it back, right?”

It was slick with your blood when you hurled it towards the attacker. It flew through the air and landed in his eye, piercing the iris like a bullseye.

“Damn my aim is good.” You congratulated yourself. The attacker, though now most likely blind on one eye, growled and you knew you´d finally had someone almost equal to fight against. “Come and get me.”

-----------------------------------------------

You held the letters in your bloodstained hands when a set of heavy footsteps echoed through the now lifeless room. You looked over your shoulder to see Klaus standing there, taking in the chaos you created.

One wolf was impaled on the wall, others stained the floor with blood that came out of their eyes and some had gaping holes in their chest where their hearts had been.

“What is this?” He asked, counting the casualties to more than a dozen. Both supernatural and human.

“A party gone wrong. Or right, depends how you look at it.” You laughed and gave him a glance in the hopes he would reciprocate your joke, but he wasn't laughing.

Instead, you saw how dishevelled he looked. His dark jacket had a gaping hole with what looked like dried blood on the edges.

“Looks like I ́m not the only one that got staked.” You said and brushed your fingers over the same spot.

His eyes flickered from your wound to his own, and judging by his face he discovered something close to an epiphany. "It appears so."

You went back to counting the moonlight rings by throwing them in a make-shift bag out of some dead guys shirt. “But look, I made it look like a very deadly bar brawl, it's fine. Nobody saw anything supernatural. ”

“Though you did achieve what we discussed, we also agreed to be discreet. This is far from it. ”

You could not believe what you heard. Klaus and discretion was like war without casualties - simply not possible.

“Seriously, what happened to you? Where's the big bad wolf I know and loathe?"

“At lost has happened.” He replied quietly. You expected him to reply with usual sarcasm, but when you turned an utterly different version of the mighty Klaus laid before you. A broken man, torn apart by the love and loss of his child. Once fueled by rage, he now ran on guilt and grief.

You felt pity for him, you did, but this was still Klaus. But however morbid and unfair it might have sounded, it could have happened to someone less deserving of such grievances.

"Losing the only person who'll never see you as the monster you truly are hurts, doesn't it?" You finally said, “Especially if you're to blame.”

His face was hard, but regret slipped past his stoicism, and you knew he understood that what just slipped past your lips was directed mostly at yourself, rather than him.

“This one is still alive.” Klaus diverted the topic to the stranger that was still passed out on your table.

"Leave him."

“Friend of yours?" He asked with a slight smirk that tugged on the corners of his mouth.

“I don't know yet.” You replied, before tying a knot in the shirt “Catch.”

You threw the bag to him, and the silver rings clacked together when Klaus balled his fist around them.

“Listen, I have to report back to Esther soon, and you ́ll hear things that ́ll probably piss you off. Just remember that I am not working against you. You'd be the first to know if I did."

"Well, you do look quite trustworthy kidnapping that lad. How could I not trust you with the person I loathe most?"

“I guess you have to put your paranoia aside and trust me for once.”

The irony of what you just said, almost made you laugh. If Klaus knew you had the person he feared most trapped only a few miles away. If it ever came to him knowing about your involvement in reviving Mikael, you ́d be on a real warpath with Klaus. Not the cat and mouse game you used to play, a real war where your odds less than optimistic.

---------------

No passport, no driver ́s licence, no name - you found nothing to identify the stranger you dragged through the French Quarter. How did a Noname like him get to your letters? How could he have possibly known? If he knew about that hiding spot, what else

All these questions ran through your head, staring at the French Quarter streets below you. You chose this building because it was small, unconscious and out of the way. It had somehow managed to elbow it ́s way between a block of apartments and was longer than it was wide and the rooms were stacked on top of one another like a house of cards.

Ambulance sirens rang through the narrowed streets, heading to Roussous. Finally, someone found them. You always found it amusing that, after a massacre or any life-ending violence they chose to send ambulances instead of coroners as if someone was still needing it. They lived amongst creatures that were death walking on two feet, and even then they chose to remain hopeful, that somehow they too were able to cheat death.

Unwavering hope ....yeah no, that ship had sailed.

Your ears picked up stirring and a pained groan from inside, and you went inside. He was sitting up on the couch in the middle of the room, looking around to orientate himself. You thought about chaining him to the radiator, but it would have been overkill.

“Kinky.” Noname chuckled, inspecting the witch shackles you put on him when he was unconscious “Under different circumstances, I ́d say this is bound to be fun. This isn't quite it.”

“If you ́re thinking about strangling me with those chains, forget about it. You wouldn't succeed.”

“Oh, I know I wouldn't. You ́re Y/N after all.” He said, and grinned when he saw the surprise flashing over your face “Though I have to say, you ́re way prettier in person.”

Was this guy serious?

“So you know who I am.” You said, glancing over his flirtatious attempt to gain your sympathy.

“Well, you're practically famous around here.”He shrugged “ I ́m a lot like you, you know? Don't really believe in authority. We ́re.. kindred souls.”

You let out a huff. This guy was killing you with his endless chatter.

“Listen, there's only one thing I need to know before I decide what to do with you.” You picked up the letters on the table in front of him “Who the fuck are you, and how did you get these?”

“Well, that's a rather long story. But let's start at the beginning.” He said and stretched out his hand as far as he could, “My name is Kaleb.”

-------

A/N: And we´re back with another one ^^ If you´re still reading this when I post it, you´re probably used to me being slow as hell, so sorry once again. Uni, work and life just get in the way of my writing even more than it has months ago. So feel free to wait until more chapters of this are done, I won´t mind.

Anyway, what did you think of this one? Did you like it? Was there anything that stood out to you? Anything that you liked or disliked? Whatever it is, let me know! I would love to hear your thoughts.

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