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happy74827 · 1 year ago

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A New Moon

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite his gut telling him he shouldn’t, Dexter can’t help but fall deeper into the trap of his own emotions. And the more time he spends with you, the more he starts to realize what exactly those emotions are. {GIF Creds: beautifulguycollector}

WC: 2889

Category: Slight Lime/Spice, Friends to Lovers + Forbidden Love (if you squint) Tropes

Gotta keep this fandom alive somehow 🥲 (also… why are titles so hard to write? That and the synopsis are harder to write than the actual fic)

『••✎••』

You were too good for him. Plain and simple. You were a smart, beautiful, hard-working woman who had goals and dreams. He was a cold-blooded killer. Not to say that he hadn't been there for you, though. The two of you had been friends since… well, a while. A long while.

He couldn't quite pinpoint the moment he started to notice the changes in your relationship. It was a slow, subtle buildup, and the first time you called him your friend, Dexter thought nothing of it. The second time, it made him pause, but not enough for him to consider what the implications of you saying that to him could mean.

But when you said it again and again and again, he realized the meaning behind your words, the affection they held. Dexter couldn't say that he was particularly close to many people. There were a select few he'd consider his friends, but he wasn’t emotionally invested in any of them. And he didn't think he was invested in you, either.

But maybe he was.

Debs was different, and it made him question how much he was supposed to care about someone. But that was his sister, the one person in the world who loved him unconditionally. That reason alone made his relationship with Deb unique. He was sure of that.

The same went with Brian—his brother, as it turned out. And Harrison, his son. Dexter felt things for those people, but they were different. Those were family, the people he was genetically tied to. Of course, he would care about them.

But you weren't family, and yet he still cared about you. It was a different kind of caring. And it was confusing. Dexter had convinced himself for years that he was a high-functioning sociopath, but lately…

Lately, he was beginning to question if that was true. Simple glances from you could bring an unwelcome smile to his lips. And when he heard the sound of your voice, he could feel his chest getting warm. It was a nice feeling, something he'd only experienced briefly with Rita, but then, that relationship was different too.

It was hard to put his finger on it, but being with you was just… easy. And it didn't feel like work. There was no pretending. Dexter didn't have to act when he was around you. He didn't need to try to be someone he wasn't. It was the real him.

It was terrifying.

Because now, as he sat on your couch, watching as you moved gracefully around your small apartment, the feeling was back, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

He should have been home with Harrison, but the little boy was staying over at Debra’s tonight, so he didn't have any responsibilities. The passenger within him didn’t see it as a problem either, considering he’d just recently “disposed" his latest target.

It was nice, Dexter decided, to relax every once in a while. Work and family didn't give him a lot of opportunities to do so, and now that the two were temporarily taken care of, he felt he deserved to be lazy for a bit.

You didn’t have a TV in your living room, so the two of you settled for movies. Dexter didn’t really have a preference for them. He could watch a comedy, action, drama, or horror and not feel strongly for or against any of them.

Apparently, you didn't mind what he watched either because he could see the spark of excitement in your eyes when you pulled out the case for one of the worst comedy films Dexter had ever seen.

He'd seen it before. Not with you, one of the movies Vince shoved down his throat when he planned a night out with him, Angel, and Quinn.

It wasn't his favorite, not by a long shot, but the grin on your face and the way you eagerly skipped to the DVD player, set the disk inside, and closed the hatch made him bite his tongue.

Dexter had learned a long time ago that you were a very expressive person. And even though most of the time your feelings weren't displayed on your face, your eyes told another story. Such opposites to his own, Dexter often found himself fascinated by the light they held.

You had a passion for life that was rare, and it drew him in. It was a quality he lacked, and he could see it in everything you did. Whether it was talking about the newest book you read or making coffee, you put all of yourself into your actions.

It was something that Dexter had never understood. How could you have such a strong sense of self? Didn't it get tiring, having to live up to a standard of being so… so good?

But then again, you'd always been better than him. He might’ve been smarter in some regards, but what was intelligence if it didn't come from a place of morality? You were better, purer than him. He knew it, and everyone else did, too, even if they weren’t aware of how pure he wasn’t

That's why this was so wrong. This thing that had been going on for the past couple of months between the two of you. The subtle touches, the longing stares, the late-night calls. It was all wrong.

You were similar to Rita in some ways. You were kind and compassionate, always looking for the good in others. You had a knack for taking care of people, whether they needed it or not.

Dexter could tell that was your nature, and it was one of the things that initially attracted him to you. All the things he lacked, you had. But that didn't mean that you could replace Rita. He didn’t want you to.

And that was the difference. While he may have found qualities in you that resembled the ones he'd found in Rita, you were not her. Rita was gone, and it was his fault. She didn’t deserve to die, and yet she did. She deserved to grow old, to see Harrison grow up.

She deserved better.

The same went for you. You didn’t deserve a monster like him. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he should stay away. It was for the best of both of you.

And yet he was here. On your couch, watching a shitty movie and drinking the beer you'd offered him. Because, despite his efforts, he couldn't keep his distance from you.

He should've known. When it came to you, Dexter didn't have a choice.

His gaze drifted over to your form as you sat down beside him. You were smiling, your eyes bright and focused on the television. A lock of hair fell across your face, and you pushed it back, the sleeve of your hoodie falling down slightly.

Dexter had never been so tempted to reach out and touch someone in his life.

It was a feeling that had been creeping up on him the last few weeks, and now, sitting with you, watching a bad movie, it was at an all-time high. He'd never craved intimacy. But there was something about you, a pull that he couldn't deny.

It gave him a sick feeling in his stomach. Reminded him of that need with Lila. God, Lila. What a mess that had turned out to be. Another thing to add to his growing list of mistakes.

And yet, the longer he stared, the more he found himself leaning forward. He didn’t register what he was doing until his lips were a hair width away from yours.

You froze but didn't move away. The only indication that you were startled was the widening of your eyes. They bored into his, unflinching. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He was scared. Scared? Yes. That was what he was feeling. Why? He didn't know. Fear was new. It was a feeling reserved for Deb and sometimes his son, but even then, it was different.

But as Dexter gazed at you, so close and so beautiful, the fear melted away. It was replaced by a warmth that he was quickly becoming familiar with. It made his body thrum and his blood rush. It made him feel alive.

You were the first one to make a move. Well, not really a move, just the smallest shift forward, and then you were breathing the same air as him. You weren't kissing. You were just… waiting. Waiting for him to make the final move.

It was like an unspoken rule between the two of you, the power dynamic. He was the dominant one, and you were the submissive. You had never fought against it. You were a people pleaser, and he knew that.

It was one of the reasons he knew this was wrong. Because he couldn't stop, and you would never ask him to. Even now, as he hesitated, you waited patiently. You trusted him.

Why did you have to trust him? Why couldn't you be more selfish, more like him?

But deep down, Dexter knew that it wasn't your nature. You couldn't change, not any more than he could.

So, after another agonizing second, he closed the distance between you.

It was gentle, the way his lips pressed against yours. A stark contrast to the usual forcefulness he applied when taking his victims. No, with you, he was careful. Almost timid.

Your lips were soft and smooth, and the kiss was sweet. Nothing more than a simple caress. Dexter didn’t expect the tingling sensation it would cause, but the slight brush of your mouth sent shivers down his spine.

The kiss was short and chaste, but it was enough to leave him feeling dizzy. The heat spread through him, from the tips of his toes all the way to his cheeks.

Dexter pulled back, and you stared at him. His breath hitched in his throat at the look in your eyes. There was something there, something that mirrored his own emotions.

Was it possible? Was he really capable of such intense emotion?

Maybe he was.

You didn’t move. It was like time had stopped, and the only sound that could be heard was his own uneven breathing. That, and the movie playing in the background, which was forgotten as soon as your lips touched.

The urge to reach out and grab you was there. He could feel the need deep in his bones, in his soul. But instead, Dexter sat, staring. Staring into the eyes of the woman who had somehow managed to break down all the walls he'd spent his life building.

You didn't speak. There was nothing to say. No words could describe the feelings that had surfaced between the two of you. So, instead, you smiled. A simple, beautiful smile that had him feeling weak.

He could have stayed there forever, just looking at you, taking in the beauty that was you. It was a new experience for him, and it was nice.

“Debra is going to be pissed," you finally said, breaking the silence. “I’ll be bullied into telling her every detail."

He blinked. Once. Twice. Then, his lips curled up in amusement. It was true. Eventually, she’ll figure it out. Maybe she already knew but was waiting for confirmation. Debra was good at figuring out things, even if it wasn’t the most obvious answer.

His sister was good at a lot of things, like being a detective. And, apparently, being an interfering matchmaking nuisance.

At least she wouldn’t call you the things she called Lila.

The thought made him chuckle, and you looked at him in confusion, but it would have to stay a mystery to you. For what was life without a few private jokes between siblings, right?

You didn’t press for answers, though. You did what you’ve always done and waited for him—waited for him as if it was his turn in Chess.

And he did the only thing he could think to do. He kissed you again. And again. And again. And again. Until he had you pinned beneath him, your arms around his neck, and your breath coming out in heavy gasps.

The kisses were still innocent, just as you were. But he could feel the passion behind them, the hunger. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt that. It had been a long, long time.

But the longer he kissed you, the more the heat grew, and soon, he was lost in the sensation. Your hands found their way into his hair, and you tugged at the strands. His heart was racing, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.

It was exhilarating.

Your lips parted, allowing his tongue to slip inside, and the innocence was gone. Replaced by a desire that left him trembling. The feeling of your tongue against his, the taste of you on his lips, the smell of your shampoo mixed with your unique scent—it was all intoxicating.

The movie continued to play in the background, forgotten as you pulled him closer. The warmth in his chest intensified, and Dexter didn't fight it. Instead, he embraced it. He gave in to his emotions and let himself feel.

He didn’t go too far; he knew you weren't ready for that yet. The craving was there, and it was strong, but the moment wasn’t right. Instead, he satisfied himself by touching your skin, mapping out every inch of it, memorizing the way it felt under his fingertips.

And, when you finally pulled away, breathless and flushed, he held onto you, refusing to let go. His eyes searched yours, searching for something. Anything. He didn’t know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he didn’t find it.

He mostly saw fear, anger, and some regret when he had them pinned down beneath him. Of course, that was usually the case with his victims. Fear, anger, and regret were normal emotions—a reaction to being trapped by their own demise.

Having someone look up at him with emotions on the other side of the spectrum was different. Not a bad different, just... different.

Rita had been the first to look at him like that. Lumen did, too, once upon a time. And Lila, well, her emotions were never consistent.

But you? You looked up at him with an expression that was all too familiar and yet not quite the same. Your eyes were full of affection and desire, yes. But they were also filled with something else. Something he couldn't place.

Something he couldn’t understand.

"Dex,” your voice was so soft, a whisper. He almost didn’t hear it, and yet, he felt it. He felt the way his name rolled off your tongue, and it was like music to his ears.

"Yeah?" he whispered back. He didn’t know why he did that; it wasn't like the two of you were speaking in a library or something. Maybe it was the way the light danced in your eyes, the way the colors reflected off the white walls, casting an ethereal glow.

"I didn’t expect you to be… like this," you murmured. You ran a finger over his cheek, down to his jawline. He swallowed thickly. He could feel his pulse quicken.

"Like what?" he asked, his voice rough.

"Not bad," you replied. Your lips curved up, and his eyes were drawn to them. They were red and swollen from kissing, and it was such a contrast to the pale skin of your face.

"You think I'm not bad?" he said, raising his brows. "I'm flattered."

You shook your head. "You know what I mean," you said. "I just meant that you're different than how you come off. I didn’t think you'd be so... bold.”

He snorted.

Bold.

If you only knew.

"I guess I'm full of surprises," he said, smirking. You rolled your eyes and punched him lightly in the shoulder, only for him to catch it and press a kiss to the back of your hand. It was something he picked up from a movie once, and it seemed to be a pretty romantic gesture. And by the look on your face, it seemed to be appreciated.

You didn't say anything else. You didn't have to. There was nothing else to say. The two of you simply enjoyed each other's company, content to just be together. The movie might've been a failure, but the night wasn’t.

And when Dexter finally left, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Not the type of relief he felt after a successful kill, but the type of relief one feels after a burden is lifted off their shoulders. The type of relief one gets when they are finally honest with themselves.

Rita was gone. Lumen was gone. And although his guilt and shame were still there, his self-loathing and fear were slowly starting to fade away. It wasn't gone, it was never going to be, but it was a start.

A fresh start.

A new beginning.

A new moon.

Yes, tonight was the night that changed everything. Tonight, Dexter Morgan learned that maybe he was more than the monster he thought he was.

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bluetooththereptile · 2 months ago

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I'm feeling restless

What if, the reader is the mother to children that are all reincarnated villians whom have grown to love their parents because they were never shown love to, but still they are cold hearted sociopaths, so they'll be strangely pleasant to others while doing whatever they can to please their parents.

The idea of the children you so much love, you swear that they angels that do nothing wrong, they are so smart and learn so well at such a young age as well, the little ones you adore, smiling at you while you give them treats, but when you turn your back their smiles slip away as if it's all an act to please you and their father, oh that's so chilling!

They have learned to "work" with each other and accept another villian and psychopath in their vicinity just for your sake, so don't worry, leave the baby to them, they'll make sure to recite the household rules to them. "Rule number one, mom and dad are the only ones that matter" they say with even voices as they point to your pictures as the cooing baby stops kicking their legs and look at the picture with a serious expression. They know that the baby knows, you are cursed with psychopathic children, and they "love" you dearly.

#blue talks #yandere #yandere child #yandere x reader #yandere children #young yandere #oc story #oc stuff #yandere idea #yandere manhwa #yandere scenarios

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dyingswanpavlova · 6 months ago

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"Your girl" - Part 3 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: He tries to be nice for once to win you over, but is he being genuine? Or will it backfire? All the while your mind is playing confusing tricks on you.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of rape, violence, mentions of murder, body issues, trauma talk, hinting at stockholm syndrome, manipulation, mentions of erection/arousal/masturbation, mentions of abuse earlier in life, not beta read, 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

"I do not intend to rape you, if that is what you think."

It was weird. The words were supposed to comfort you, right? Make you breathe easier. Instead you felt your chest tighten. Again.

Because he brought it up out of nowhere? Who could tell?

You sat on the couch, your arms wrapped around your legs like they usually were ever since you started participating in his mind games. It wasn't really like you had any other choice.

Your body, once young and healthy, albeit loaded with trauma to the brim, felt bruised and battered. It was a fight you were forced to fight every day and it felt like war. War against him, against yourself and life itself. Your face hurt horribly and it was all his fault. Or was it your own? God, you were confused.

"Don't get me wrong. I do intend to fuck you." His eyes crinkled in a smile. "Oh, I intend to fuck you again and again and again, until you feel like you're being ripped apart and you'll be begging me to stop."

There was it again, the cold sweat. Almost like an old friend you could count on.

Why didn't you have any real friends? You suddenly asked yourself. If only you had invested one of your Sundays into getting to meet at least one person. Maybe then someone would miss you now.

There was still your work. But you couldn't really tell if they'd get suspicious after you stopped coming or if maybe they simply accepted it. Your boss knew you had some issues. How you hated confrontration. He probably assumed you simply were gone for good.

Poor girl. Well, whatever, time is money. At least I get to keep her last paycheck.

But somehow you were sure that no one really missed you. No one waited for you at home. And no one cared that you still spent your days in the captivity of a psychopath. Or was it a sociopath? What was the damn difference again?

"Why don't you do it then?" You heard yourself ask.

One might think you would have learned your lesson not to talk back the day when he threw everything edible away and turned off the water supply. Or after he just beat the crap out of you.

But no, here you were, being smart with him. At least right now he didn't seem to mind. His fucked up smile was still in place.

"Because, my sweet, darling girl", he said slowly and crouched down before you, "because I want to fuck you when you're mine. I don't want scraps and pitiful silence. I'm not like the filth I threw on the train lines."

A violent shiver ran down your spine. It was the first time he mentioned the incident. For a few days you had almost asked yourself if that had really happened. And you had also asked yourself if your life so far had been a hallucination. Maybe you had always been his prisoner and maybe you had made up the role of your mother to keep yourself entertained and somehow deal with everything. They did have a lot in common.

"I want it willingly."

Odd. He didn't seem like the gentle type. Or the type who cared about consent.

"Don't mistake my words. I'm going to fuck you, no matter how you feel."

Ah.

"I don't give a shit if you feel sore, you have a headache, you've been crying or you're bleeding. I don't care if it is me who made you bleed." He leaned in so close that his warm, minty breath tickled your ear. "All the better."

For a moment, you were sure he was gonna bite your earlobe. A sound rumbled in his throat, almost like a groan and his lips were so close to your skin, you felt the wet warmth of that groan. But eventually, he pulled his head back and instead stared at you intensely.

"God, I want you."

The last two days had been weirder than usual. Instead of playing tricks on your mind and hitting you till blood trickled down your lip, he had been...considerate? It was hard to tell if that was the right word for it.

Many things were hard to tell nowadays.

It started with the dresses. He once came home - home, God help you - carrying countless bags which contained pretty and expensive dresses. All in your size and all to your liking.

Your style so far had been modest and humble, convenient mostly.

You knew that you could be pretty when you tried and wanted. Yet on most days you simply didn't care enough.

But when he came back with the dresses and left them in your room - and after you had spent enough hours sulking in the corner and being devastated about your loss of dignity when he forced you to drink water from a fucking bowl on the ground - Be a good girl and drink. I'd be really annoyed if you died of thirst. Yes, just like that. My good girl. - your curiosity finally got the better of you and you glanced into one of the bags.

Everything from silk to cashmere, with no ridiculous colors in sight. Everything was black, white, beige, cream, light rose or babyblue.

Then the lotus silk one in dark green.

It made you feel like a princess.

It felt like tiny kisses on your skin.

You couldn't help but try each and every one of them on.

And God, they felt good on you.

And eventually, you were forced to wear them. All you had was that one night dress. You had tried washing it in the sink and drying it on the radiator. But additionally to all the other bullshit he put you through, it was just too much. And so you put it on. The green one first.

The look on his face when you timidly left your room and tiptoed over to the living room had made you feel...

It made you feel...

You wanted to slap yourself until you came back to your senses, but no. It was enough when he did.

Desired. It made you feel desired.

It made you feel beautiful in a way you hadn't ever experienced before.

Sure, despite your questionable upbringing and your mother who constantly made sure you felt just below miserable, there had been men ogling you. Like the one who attacked you.

They'd stop what they were doing and glance you up and down, making sure you felt like a well-seasoned piece of meat.

Edible.

Fuckable.

But none of it was any comparison to him. The look in his eyes had been nothing short or fascination. The way his eyes gleamed and his lips parted in that soft exhale. His eyes didn't just linger on your breasts or ass. His sized you up entirely, like you were a porcelain doll to be cherished.

Of course you expected to hate the feeling.

But to your undying horror, you didn't.

You tried to think back to the many hits you'd taken from him, the humiliation and the countless tears.

And still, when he looked at you like that, you felt your cheeks grow warm and your insides tingle.

"Try them on for me." He had breathed.

You opened your mouth to protest, because that was what you usually did by now, you protested, but one look at him and it shut you up. Not because he was angry or because he had threatened you.

Because of that damn look.

You found yourself walking back to your room, your hands shaking and your heart racing. What were you doing here? Was this your life? Was this your punishment? Was he someone your mother had hired to punish you for escaping her?

You pushed all those thoughts aside and changed into the next dress. It was almost regal looking, a long white dress that hugged your body like a gentle embrace.

None of the dresses were cheap looking. They weren't even all too revealing. A little more than what you usually wore, yes, but all in all they were still kind of modest. But they highlighted your beauty in a way that made you feel exactly that.

Beautiful.

You took a shaky breath and made your way back to the living room. He had settled down on the couch, a glass of whiskey in his hand which he swirled around, lost in thought. The moment he heard you, he looked up from his glass and his eyes lit up in the same delight they had before, even more so.

He did something more now. He bit his lip.

He twirled his finger around, silently beckoning you to turn around, which you did. You turned around, almost timidly, feeling somewhat small under his assessing gaze. You still felt beautiful, but a part of you expected...

What?

That he laughed?

That he scoffed and recoiled in disgust?

Yes. Yes, that was exactly what a part of you felt he might do. Instead, he set his glass down and stood up, approaching you slowly and carefully, as though not to startle you.

You held your breath. He would hit you. You had done something wrong. You were wrong. You looked wrong. You didn't look the way he wanted you to.

He'd get rid of you.

By the time he reached you, you nearly suffocated. Your chest heaved rapidly under his scrutinizing gaze. When he lifted his hand and moved to touch your cheek, your eyes fluttered shut and you gasped.

But instead of hitting you, he...caressed you.

His touch was so gentle, more gentle than ever before. Like he was holding a delicate bird.

"Stand up straight." He breathed in your ear.

You swallowed thickly. And slowly obeyed. You fixed your posture slowly, pulling your shoulders back.

"Like that?" You whispered.

He nodded.

"Now your chin." He whispered back and gently placed a finger under your chin to lift it.

You let him guide you, feeling like his fingers left a trail of fire on their wake when he carefully ran them down the side of your neck.

"God, you're exquisite."

When you finally looked up at him, your eyes were wide and your breathing still far too quick. But his expression was calm. So calm. Almost gentle.

If he wasn't such a psychopath, he'd be really handsome, you realized. His eyes shone in a warm brown and his smile, albeit twisted, was beautiful. He was beautiful. Like a man made of marble who didn't mind getting messy.

When you realized what the hell you were thinking, you recoiled as if you’d been burned. His expression didn't waver, but he slowly pulled his hand back.

"Show me the next one." He murmured and sat back down.

You quickly made your way back and slumped down, your back pressed against the door.

What on earth was that? Were you now entirely out of your mind?

You didn't have many rules, but one of them went above all others.

Avoid him. Avoid him at all costs.

No unnecessary contact, because then you'd have less opportunities to make him angry. And maybe, just maybe, then you'd get out of the alive. You still had hope.

After a long moment of gathering your thoughts, you changed into the next dress. A soft beige cashmere dress, which hugged your curves sinfully.

You took a deep breath and made your way back. His gaze was fixed on the door and he looked at you with a subtle smirk.

"Look at that." He murmured.

You didn't know what he was referring to while you walked in there, a slight frown on your face.

"What?"

"Nothing. Turn around."

You turned around. It was easier this time. And it got easier with every dress. You changed, came in an twirled around. Changed, came in and twirled around. And at some point, his eyes started feeling almost natural on you. Like you were meant to wear those dresses for him on that particular day. It wasn't until the last dress, a beautiful, yet simple black dress, that you realized. Your stance had somewhat changed.

You stared at yourself in the mirror with a deep frown.

Was that you?

Who were you?

And how did you pull it off to show off these dresses looking almost...confident?

You made your way back, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

His face lit up at the sight and he took a sip of his drink.

"My favorite by far. That and the green one."

You stared at him speechlessly. What on earth were you supposed to do with that information?

He approached you slowly, with that predatory air on him as he slowly circled you, looking you up and down.

"Do you like the dresses?" He asked slowly.

"Yes." You whispered.

"Good." He smirked. "Then thank me."

You slowly, almost carefully, looked up at him. Did he expect...you to...

"Thank me." He whispered.

"Thank you for the dresses." You whispered back.

And just like that, he smiled in satisfaction.

"You're very welcome. They all look wonderful on you."

He sat back down and beckoned you to sit beside him, which you reluctantly did. You tried to keep your knees from bouncing up and down nervously and folded your hands in your lap.

"Who are you?"

You simply stared at him. Because you knew, every time you answered the question, even if you said the right words...Something bad happened. So, this time you stayed silent.

He took a slow breath and leaned closer.

"Who are you?"

"Please." You whispered. "Please, don't."

His expression immediately darkened and he took a tight hold of your chin.

"Answer the goddamn question."

"Your girl." You said quietly, but you were unable to meet his eyes as you did. "I'm your girl."

He hummed softly.

"Why?"

You blinked. "Why?"

He nodded. "Yes. Why?"

Suddenly your throat felt dry. You liked to think that you were actually pretty clever. But whenever you spoke to him, you felt like a complete idiot.

"Because I...I just am."

He raised a brow. "You just are?"

"I don't know what you want to hear."

His grip on your face loosened slightly and he shook his head.

"Do you despise me?" He suddenly asked. There was no emotion in his tone, just pure calculation.

You blinked again. You were almost sure you were going to die tonight. Too bad. The pretty dress would end up soaked in blood.

"I..."

"Because just a few minutes ago, you looked at me like you want me."

Suddenly you felt your face heat up in embarrassment. Actually, you had hoped he hadn't caught on that moment of weakness.

"That's not true." Somehow you managed to force a certain firmness in your voice.

He just smiled. "It's alright, sweet girl. You can deny it all you want, but we both know the truth. I know you’re ashamed. That’s fine. But a part of you likes me."

"But it isn't true!"

He tsked. "Listen, why don't you calm down and then we'll-"

"I could never like you!" You called out before you could think about. "I could never want a twisted person like you. You know what? There's a reason why no one ever loved you and why no one ever will. You're simply evil and there's nothing good or loveable about you. Nothing at all."

It felt like one of those horrible moment in apocalypse movies, just a moment before a protagonist is going to die. You knew you had fucked up. You just couldn't tell how bad yet.

By the time you managed to carefully lift your gaze to meet his, you got struck by unease. You could practically follow the shift in his eyes. From teasing and playful to something darker, something dead. He didn't even need to drop the smile. His eyes spoke loud enough.

"I'm sorry." You whispered breathlessly.

You couldn't even tell why you had said that, why the statement that you found something likeable about him had triggered you so badly. You weren't normally this reckless. This suicidal.

"I'm sorry." You whispered again, when he didn't move. "I don't know what came over me. Please. Forgive me. Please, I..."

The coldness in his eyes made you shut up. The man who called you exquisite and asked you to twirl around like a ballerina was gone. And you immediately knew he wasn't going to forgive you.

But what was even worse was that for some reason you felt so terrible for what you had said. Usually, you were pretty kind to everyone and didn't just go around saying hurtful things. If your words reached and hurt him didn't matter. What mattered was that you said them.

Immediately tears stung your eyes and you forced your gaze away from his. God, he would kill you.

And this time you were certain.

So, you weren't truly surprised when he roughly forced your back onto the sofa and straddled you. But you were still scared shitless. Your breath hitched and suddenly, just like that, you couldn't breathe again and you were mute. Betrayed again.

He pinned your wrists above your head and pushed you down with a rough movement, grinding down his hips against yours and forcing your legs apart.

First he would take what he wanted and then he would kill you.

Despite you being mute and frozen, you were still crying. Your body was being shaken by sobs and it only ever seemed to make him angrier.

"It appears to me", he growled furiously, "that you forgot your place."

You quickly shook your head, desperate to make him understand just how much you regretted what you had said, but before you could even try to open your mouth, a firm slap made you cry out in pain.

"No, please-"

There was your voice. And there went another slap. The intensity of it made you cry out as your head lolled to the side.

"Where is your place?" He growled. But before you could respond, he hit you again, all the while you felt his hardness pressed against you, ready to ruin you.

He had never done that before.

Sure, he had hit you when you got something wrong in a game, but he had never straight up beaten you for speaking.

Or what was even worse, he hadn't forced himself on you.

You had sensed the hardness between his legs once before, after he had made you drink the water from a bowl on the floor. But he hadn't mentioned it, hadn't made you look there, let alone touch it. He had skillfully ignored it and probably taken care of it himself afterwards.

He hadn't tried to kiss you.

Hadn't tried to reach between your legs.

Hadn't let you feel him.

But now you felt it, hard and urgent, straining against his pants and then your dress.

You had never felt a man like this before.

What a weird thought to have in this kind of situation.

"Please." You finally managed to sob out. "Please, I swear to you, I'll never do it again. I'll make up for it, please let me make up for it."

By the time his hand shot out for the sixth slap, you felt yourself go dizzy. Your face burned like fire under his palm and everything around you slowly went blurry. Your sight as well as the way you tried to hold your eyes open. They slowly blinked shut.

"I'm sorry." You whispered exhaustedly.

"Don't you dare pass out on me right now." He hissed and tightly grasped your chin.

When, instead of answering, you murmured something inaudible, he sighed deeply.

"Fuck." He murmured. His touch on your face grew softer. Then he slowly tilted your chin up, examining your face.

"I marked your pretty face." He said in a bland tone. You didn't say anything back.

"But I had to remind you that you don't just get to say and do anything you want." He gritted out. He was obviously still furious.

You didn't understand why he sounded like he was trying to justify his actions or why he even cared if you passed out. You had actually expected him to go off on that.

As if on cue, he reached down and carefully adjusted his pants, letting out a soft sigh at the touch.

You felt him press against you for a moment longer. He was obviously fighting with himself. Despite everything, the friction caused a nervous twitch in your lower body. He seemed to notice it and checked your expression. Eventually he forced himself away from you. He got up and ran his hands through his hair.

"Take a nap and calm down. I'll be back in a while."

With quick steps he disappeared to his bedroom. For a short, reckless moment you caught yourself thinking; he'll be occupied fucking his hand for at least five minutes. If you go and find the keys he always carries around when he leaves...

But your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of him. It was barely audible. You were sure you weren't even supposed to hear it. But you did. A moan. He moaned.

You closed your eyes. Oh God.

He had managed it. He had messed up your brain even more than it already was. Instead of crying, because your face hurt like hell, you felt a certain warmth spread through you.

Honey, you cannot seriously-

Shut up, mother.

You heard him again and now you were sure. You felt yourself grow wet. Immediately, your face flared up in even more heat and your breath caught in your throat.

What on earth was wrong with you?

He had nearly killed you, nearly taken you, nearly-

"Ah, oh, fuck." He groaned.

Your brows furrowed and you took a shaky breath. You could almost see it in your mind. The way his hand slowly slid down his chest. It made your heart skip a beat.

Enough!

You jumped up and scurried back to the bathroom. You locked the door and paused before the mirror. The sight made you wince. He had indeed marked you up. His hand, angrily imprinted into your cheek. You gingerly reached out to touch it, but stopped short of your skin.

He had done this to you. Just as he had done so many other things to you.

You were trapped in these godforsaken halls.

All you had wanted to do was go home after a long day of work, read a book in silence and eat a warm meal. Instead you got trapped into this hell, where he slowly manipulated his way under the trauma that had been cursing through your body and mind for years.

He destroyed all the walls you had built up, all the aid you had taken to repair the little sanity that was left in you.

The little confidence. The little love. The little you.

Now it was all gone.

You felt a tear run down your cheek and you immediately wiped it away. The touch made you wince in pain, it was rather harsh. You couldn't help it. You were angry.

You were so, so angry.

Why was it that no one could ever be good to you?

Why did you always attract the attention of twisted people?

You didn't deserve that. You didn't want it. And God, you didn't ask for it.

You had been a sweet child. Innocent and curious as every child is. Until your mother, who knew nothing but hate by day and pain at night, turned you into a shell of a person. And when you finally, finally made it out of her chokehold and you thought you could now live your life in peace, happily ignoring everything wrong in your life, he came.

He came and destroyed your fragile peace.

With shaky hands you leaned down and splashed your face with cold water. You carefully dried it up and stood like that for a while, holding onto the sink tightly.

And you made a silent promise to yourself.

You would get out of here and get your peace back.

The night was quiet. He didn't try to approach you, punish you, torture you in any way. He simply let you sleep.

The second your face touched the pillow, you passed out.

The morning went on just as quiet. You took a quick bath, before you put on one of the horrible dresses. You didn't care which one, you just wanted this to get over with.

The rest of your life.

After you spent two hours pacing the room, you decided you needed to speak to him. Ask him nicely maybe. Or steal his gun and murder him. You didn't care anymore. You needed to get out.

With quick, determined steps you stormed out to the kitchen and were surprised to find it empty. The other rooms were empty as well. You even gathered all your courage and knocked on his bedroom door. When no answer came, you sighed and went back to the kitchen.

Maybe he had abandoned you. He had thrown away all the food and he would come back in a few days after you died of starvation. Yes, that sounded reasonable.

But to your great surprise, that wasn't the case. Instead, on the kitchen table stood a gracious amount of food. Everything from rice and beans, to spinach and even…lemon cake.

You frowned as you thought back to the second day with him.

"What does always manage to cheer you up?"

"Mostly books." You had whispered, after he had just finished nearly choking you to oblivion, because you had answered another question to his displeasure. "But when things are remarkably bad, then lemon cake."

You stared at the cake as if it was poisonous. Which it probably was. You took a step closer and then you saw the note.

Sorry.

That was it. Just sorry. Sorry?

Your eyes widened as you stared down at it.

What was this?

Did he actually apologize?

You didn't care that it was written on a post-it. The word on the post-it was Sorry.

You had to sit down, because you felt like your knees were about to give in.

After a long moment of simply staring down at it, you reached out and took a bite of the lemon cake.

It was fruity and sweet and everything good in the world.

You took another bite and choked back your sobs.

After he came home, he didn't say anything for a long while and so didn't you. Just a quick glance of acknowledgement.

He didn't comment on how you sat there, reading. Of course you expected him to beat you down with the book. But he didn't. Instead he averted his gaze and disappeared into his room.

And he didn't say anything for the rest of the day either, until suddenly he declared that he didn't intend to rape you and so the conversation dragged on.

You felt especially snarky today, after yesterday he got so angry and took it out on you. After he awkwardly vanished and you heard him. After you remembered that you didn't deserve to be treated like shit, right after you had felt incredibly aroused, because you heard him touch himself.

"God, I want you." He breathed in your ear. And then you did the unthinkable. You pushed him back. The movement was gentle. But you pushed him back.

He growled deep in his throat and seconds later the vase from the coffee table crushed against the wall in a loud scatter. At least it wasn’t you who flew into the wall.

You would have winced from the sound. But it was so sudden and somehow almost funny. But you knew better than to smirk.

"Who are you?" He hissed.

You stayed silent.

He took a long, slow breath. Then he reached out and touched your cheek, his fingers digging into your bruised skin, making you flinch. He raised his hand like he was going to slap you again. You wanted to cower in fear, but you forced yourself to keep looking at him, your eyes wide.

He kept staring down at you and slowly lowered his hand back down.

"You're still beautiful." He said quietly.

You didn't expect him to say that or the way his fingers gently trailed down your cheek. You inhaled sharply and slowly closed your eyes. It was like trusting a bear to guard your life, when it was covered in honey.

"Are you going to hit me again?" You whispered.

After a beat, he quietly said: "No."

His mood swings were terrifying, but you knew there were far scarier things about him.

Like the way his eyes darkened whenever he got really angry. Which was often the case.

Or the way he hummed whenever you did something wrong.

Or the way he made you weak and scary enough, not entirely in a bad way. You were certain he had manipulated you into thinking this. Into, somehow, caring. This was the worst that could happen to you. The absolute worst.

He sighed. "Sweet girl, are you..."

You needed to get the hell out of here. And quickly. So, maybe, maybe, if you just played along…

Maybe then you would get out alive. All you had to do was play along. All you had to be was…

“I’m your girl.”

916 notes · View notes

leonstoenailunderhisbed · 1 year ago

Text

American Psycho Killer

Summary: Leon S. Kennedy, a man who’s taken his duty of protection very seriously. He’ll do anything to ensure the safety of people, especially the safety of one particular girl.

Warning: stalking, murdering, mentions of planned murder, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, gore (kinda), death, masturbation (m receiving), smut, creampie, yan!leon, not proofread lol, fem reader, psychopathic.

A/N: I did my research for this as I wanted this to sound a little spooky teehee :3

[part two]

“I got you under my skin” - Mirotic, TVXQ!

Psychopath vs. Sociopath. The popular argument in between psychologists.

Leon never really cared enough to get himself checked out but there were signs. He didn’t feel empathy for others, his moves were calculated and he’s highly educated. He has a well paying career, he pretends to be this normal guy when in reality, he’s psychopathic.

What defines a psychopath apart from a sociopath? Psychopaths, at least in Leon’s case, cannot form established bonds with others. He doesn’t feel guilt or sad when he sees a person die by his hands.

His job already requires him to kill so this was an easy feat. He doesn’t care. He can’t feel anything.

He couldn’t feel anything until you came along.

Leon lived in this apartment complex just downtown of a city in the state. The apartment was big and had security cameras all around. It was well guarded and the people were kind.

When he saw the new neighbor move in, he felt weird. He narrowed his eyes as he watched you from the window of his apartment loft. He was growing suspicious at his behavior. Why did his chest feel warm? Why is his heart beating fast? Why are his hands sweating?

He didn’t know. Up to this point he didn’t feel anything but you brought something to him and it made him uneasy. So he decided to keep an eye on you.

Days passed after you moved in and you settled just fine. The old lady at the end of the hall brought you cookies, a sweet old lady. She talked to Leon a few times and he didn’t think much of her other than just as his neighbor. Nothing more.

But if you were to ask him what he thought of you? Oh boy, he thought a lot of things. Both good and bad.

Being a psychopath isn’t praised in society. Only 1% of the population is considered one and no one knew he belonged to that percentage. And he’d like to keep it that way; his excuse for his behavior was his job. He always left early in the morning and came back late at night. A manipulator and a liar is what he was, and a very good one.

He’s seen you leave your apartment from time to time. You’d take out the trash, went out with your friends- he’s seen everything you do.

Leon isn’t stupid, he’s attentive and observant. He leaves no trace behind of the murder he just committed. The male neighbor across from your door saw you one day when you walked out of your door with a short dress.

The man eye-fucked you so much he literally almost started drooling. Leon cringed and found him repulsive. How dare he look at you like you were some meat on the market?

He felt anger and disgust. No one should look at you like that. No one.

So, one summer day, he made up an excuse to visit him. Something about a water pipe connecting to his sink that didn’t make it work. Like I said, Leon is a good manipulator and a good liar. He always gets what he wants.

The male neighbor invited him in and closed the door behind him. He offered Leon a beer, to which he refused. He found liquor and other substances repulsive. He walked over to the man’s kitchen sink and began to inspect it.

He noticed the man’s sink had a garbage disposal unit. That’s pretty dangerous, he thought to himself.

He walked over to where the man was sitting. The male neighbor was sitting on his reclining couch as he watched a game with a cup of beer on the stand next to him. The neighbor was so engrossed on the football game that he didn’t notice Leon slipping something into his drink.

Leon was smart. Dangerously smart. He knew everything when it came to death- he worked in the DSO, of course he knew some things. He knew the effects of alprazolam and what it does to the brain.

So when he lied to a psychiatrist about his insomnia and got prescribed some Xanax, he crushed a high dosage into fine powder and slipped it into the man’s beer.

Stupid bastard, Leon thought to himself.

He watched as the male neighbor took a sip of his drink and Leon waited. Xanax is a powerful drug, can cause hallucinations and make your brain become a little too calm. You’re bound to fall asleep at some point. And with the amount Leon dropped into his drink, he knew he’d knock out sooner than later.

After a few minutes of “tinkering” with the man’s sink. He got up and went to check on the man again.

And sure as hell did the man find himself in a profound slumber. His snores layering with the sound of the TV.

Too easy, Leon smirked to himself. He put on some elastic gloves and made sure he wore shoes that wouldn’t leave footprints. In case things would get messy, of course.

He poured the man’s drink down the sink to get rid of the evidence. He then thought hard about how he should go about this.

There’s many different ways one can commit murder but Leon wanted the cleanest one. So he came up with one.

He brought pans to the stove and made it seem like the man was cooking something for himself. He partially cooked a stupid egg and left it there. Leon went back to where the man was sitting and dragged him out of his couch and towards the kitchen. Since this man’s place was small, the kitchen and dining area were joined together. He sat there man down on the dining table, which happened to be near the stove. He took out the man’s phone and put it in the man’s hand to make it seem like he was using it.

Leon went back to the kitchen and continued to prepare the scene. He took out bottles of alcohol the man had and poured them down the drain to make it look like he’d had a few drinks. He took a single cup from the cup rack and filled it up halfway. With the cup and bottle of whiskey in both hands, he walked back to the table where the man was sitting and laid them on the table. He took the half empty cup and smeared the man’s lip on the rim. You must cover every single detail.

He even poured a little alcohol into the man’s already parted lips. Leon walked back to the stoved and kept the gas on. Now all he needed to do was wait and let nature do its thing.

Leon walked out of his apartment, pretending to still be talking to the man since there was a camera on the corner of the hall. As the door opened, the camera couldn’t record that Leon had been talking to himself. It made the act believable.

With a smile, Leon walked back to his place and stayed there.

A few hours passed and it started to get dark outside, each resident was inside their unit and ready to go to sleep when the fire alarm began to sound. Everyone was forced to evacuate the premises as the firefighters came to the scene.

You saw as the ambulance brought out a stretcher into the building. Someone was still inside, you thought to yourself as your eyes widened and your heart rate increased. You tried to move but felt someone’s hand on your arm, it was Leon.

“Don’t. It’s too dangerous,” he replied in a serious tone as he stared at you with those cold blue eyes. You pinched your brows together. He was right. If you were to try and save the person, you’d die in the process. You nodded defeatedly and he let go of your arm. He stood there watching you- analyzing you.

You had a good heart, he thought. Too good for his liking. That made you an easy target for people and he loathed the idea of people exploiting your kindness. He vowed to protect you, to mark his hands dirty for you.

As the EMT brought back the stretcher, you could see a person lying there lifeless. All the other residents immediately started to mutter amongst themselves, some started to cry and others gasped in shock. You simply stood there, wide eyed and jaw slack. Leon’s expression remained unchanged as he watched you react to the man’s death. The man deserved it, he thought to himself.

Couldn’t you see that he was protecting you? You’ll come around eventually, he thought.

As the ambulance left the area, the firefighters started to clear the smoke as the police arrived. The police began to do their investigation as the firefighters checked the unit and deemed it good after clearing out the fire and the smoke. One police officer began to make her way to the apartment as the other stayed behind with the residents to ask questions.

Leon was a smooth talker. A trait most psychopaths had. He could get himself out of any situation and he could lie. So when the police asked him what had happened, Leon simply replied with, “I’m not sure. I went to his apartment to check his water supply as my sink stopped working and he lived next to me. I noticed he was making himself some food but I was too busy checking our pipes. He reeked of alcohol and barely spoke to me,” Leon’s tone was different. He sounded likey he spoke the truth.

You couldn’t help but listen to his words. To you, they are true. You saw him walk out of the man’s apartment.

The investigation was deemed as self-manslaughter. The police believed that the man suffered from deliberate alcohol poisoning which caused him to pass out in the process of cooking himself some food.

This made news headlines. Everyone believed the story but they thought the man was stupid enough to cook while he was drunk. Many of the residents believed it, he was a known alcoholic. Leon was never caught.

He was watching you from the window, months after the incident occurred. You had just come back from your college lecture. Leon knew. He stalked you, he followed you.

He knew your weekly routine. Monday through Thursday you had lectures. On Friday, you did work study. And the weekends were reserved for your personal time. He felt proud of you for balancing your life. You lived healthily and he couldn’t help but feel proud at your decisions. He knew you were smart enough to take care of yourself.

He knew the campus you went to, he knew the classes you were taking, he knew your major- he knew everything. But he pretended like he didn’t.

So when he saw you in the parking lot, right next to his car and you had trouble with your groceries, he couldn’t help but feel like your knight in shining armor. With his hardened expression, he asked you in his stern and serious voice, “Need some help?”

You smiled sheepishly and nodded, “Yeah… you don’t mind helping me?” You scratched your head awkwardly. On the inside, he found it adorable. But on the outside, he maintained his cool. He nodded and walked over to your car to retrieve the bags of groceries you bought. He was so strong he carried all the bags to your apartment door. You thanked him graciously and invited him inside.

“You can put them on the table, I’ll assort them,” you said as you took of your jacket and hanged it on the rack right next to the door. He nodded and walked over to the dining table, where he put all the bags with food. He took this opportunity to look around your place.

You kept it simple. It was nice, colorful, but nice. You had tons of books on your shelves, he took a mental note that you probably liked to stay indoors. He noticed the way your laptop and a few papers were scattered on the couch and coffee table, you were studious and dedicated to your education. He silently applauded you in his head. He liked that about you. You had goals and ambitions.

“Thank you, again. I owe you one,” you walked up to him and gave him a warm, genuine smile. He looked down at you and nodded again. Pretty smile, he thought to himself.

“It’s no problem, let me know if you need help with anything. I’m a couple doors away,” he replied with his usual serious tone. He remained unchanged, at least to you. To him, he felt like he about to combust into pieces. You were perfect, absolutely perfect.

Days went by and you found yourself talking to Leon more often. Or at least on the days you could. Leon was gone most of the day, he told you about his hectic work schedule and you couldn’t help but feel bad about him. So you decided to make him a small dinner with a note.

You left it on the front door of his apartment and walked back to yours. When Leon came back from work, it was 2:27 a.m. As he climbed up the steps of the stairs, he noticed something on his front door and felt slightly confused. He hasn’t ordered anything. He grew cautious and slowly approached his door. But then he saw your name on a sticky note. He quickly picked up the lunch box and walked inside his apartment.

Walking to his dining table, he read the note you left. Even your handwriting was perfect. The little swirls of the letters, almost writing in cursive made him want to keep you all to himself. He brought the piece of paper to his nose and sniffed it roughly, the paper crumbling in his hands as he could smell your scent on it. He groaned in pleasure as he could imagine your soft and small hands picking up a pen and write something just for him.

Just for him.

That thought alone almost set him off. He couldn’t eat dinner, not with the growing erection in his pants. He put the dinner you made in his freezer and quickly walked to his bedroom. He sat down on his bed and unbuckled his belt, throwing it somewhere on the floor. He pulled down his pants and boxers and watched as his cocked sprung freely, hitting his abdomen with a thwack.

His left hand held the piece of water with your handwriting and your scent while his right hand traveled to his cock. He brought the piece of paper to his nose again and closed his eyes in pure delight. Your scent was intoxicating- sweet vanilla with a hint of coffee. He grunted and moaned at the thought of your hands picking writing this note. He could picture your small hands wrapping his big cock, rubbing his base up and down as your scent infiltrated his airway.

His muscles tensed up as the thought of having you in between his legs made his cock throb. His stomach coiled as he felt himself nearing his orgasm. He could imagine your mouth sucking on his cock as he rammed his hips deeper down your throat, making you gag on him. He’d grab your hair and pull you closer to his pelvic area, having his blonde pubic hair rub against your face as you took his cock like a good girl.

He growled your name as he came in himself. White ropes shooting down at his palm as he tried to collect his cum and prevent it from staining any of his furniture. He sighed softly and laid his back on the mattress as he thought of you.

You drive him wild, he’d do anything for you. If it meant having you as his.

And that’s what drove him to kill more people. One day, he overheard you while both of you “coincidentally” went to get the mail from the lobby. You were speaking on the phone to a friend and he tried to make it seem like he wasn’t listening. But he was.

He heard you talk about how your ex is pestering you and giving you a hard time. That you cried last night because you two had an argument while he tried to get back together. His blood ran through his veins as you mentioned you cried.

He’d kill anyone who made this sweet and perfect angel cry. And that’s what his next murder was going to be. He went back to his apartment and began to stalk you again. As a government agent, he had privileges the common folk didn’t have. He was able to run a background check on you and found out your ex. To his surprise, he was your first and only relationship so far. He knew this guy probably broke your heart as your first relationship will always be your worst one.

He narrowed his eyes in anger as he found the man who broke your heart. And jotted down the information he had on him- his address, his workplace, his contact information, etc. Leon found everything thanks to his job.

When you heard news about your ex dying, you were shocked to see that he died from overdose. You’ve never known he was a drug addict, or at least that’s what Leon made it seem to be.

Leon drove all the way this man’s house and observed his routine. Your ex went to work, came back home, and went to the bar. An alcoholic, this made it easier for him.

Leon walked into the bar with his casual clothes, he spotted the man sitting on the bar counter with a drink already in his hand. He walked over and sat next to him as he ordered himself whiskey.

Your ex was already stupidly drunk, flirting up some poor girl who was just trying to talk to her friend. So he’s a creep too, he thought to himself as he took a sip his drink.

Why do you always find yourself around creepy and perverted men?

Leon looked around and made sure no one was watching him as slipped some stuff into his drink. Leon then continued to sip his drink and even chatted up the bartender.

The more your ex drank, the closer he got to an overdose. Turns out if you mix alcohol with prednisone, the effects could be fatal. Your ex would develop a liver damage that could potentially end his life if he kept drinking like he was right now.

It was getting late and Leon paid his tab. It was 11 PM and he decided he should go home. He wasn’t drunk, not yet at least. So he was perfectly capable of driving back to his apartment. But not your ex.

It was nearing closing time for the bar and the poor bartender saw your ex passed out on the counter. She didn’t know what to do but she tried waking him up.

Unresponsive. Her eyes widened slightly as she over to his side and checked for a pulse.

Flat line. She called the police and reported the death.

The police declared it suicide. They believed he voluntarily took drugs and alcohol at the same time.

In your mind, you were in denial but then you slowly began to think to yourself. He’s been acting weird and out of the ordinary when he’d talk about getting back together. It all made sense now. His aggressive behavior, his short temper… he was a drug addict and an alcoholic.

You attended the funeral, of course. And when you came back, Leon had been unlocking his door. He saw your puffy eyes as you had your heels in your hands. You looked like you’ve been crying- which you probably were. Leon paused as he stared at you, he nodded once at you, acknowledging your presence. He then spoke up in a tired voice, “Rough day?”

You nodded as you blinked slowly, “You could say that.”

He hummed in response and looked back down at his doorknob. Then he looked back to you, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Leon himself was tired as he just came back from a tough mission, but he would never be too tired for you. He pushed his exhaustion to the side and would rather take care of your needs for you.

You sighed and nodded slowly, “I could use a drink.”

He invited you over to his apartment and let you sit down on his couch as he took two glasses and one bottle of Jack. He walked over to the couch and set down the glasses and the bottle on the coffee table as he sat down next to you.

He began to pour for the both of you, not wanting you to work any more than you’ve already had.

“Cheers,” you muttered under your breath as you clanked your glass with his and chugged the liquid down your throat. The burning sensation almost making you forget about the mental strain you had.

He watched you as you set down the glass back down on the coffee table. Even in this state, you looked absolutely beautiful. He couldn’t wait to have you for himself. To prove to you that what you needed was a real man.

One thing let to another and you found yourself pinned under him on his bed. Your legs spread open as your knees rested on his shoulders. The head of his cock abusing your cervix, bruising it with brute force as he pulled out and pushed back in harshly. His balls smacking against your ass as his arms caged you under him. Your hands were on his shoulders, nails clawing deep into his flesh as the bed creaked from him pounding into you. The headboard hitting the wall behind the bed as he pulled out and forced his cock back into your tight walls. Your cunt clenching around his member as his hands gripped on your hair, forcing your head up so he could hear your stupid blabber.

He pulled out and rolled you over to your stomach. His left hand gripped on your waist as his right hand gripped the back of your neck and pushed your face down the sheets of his bed as he rammed his cock from behind you. Your ass jiggling as pounded harsher and harsher. Making sure you knew who you belonged to. He’d fuck you until you couldn’t walk.

You kept moaning his name against his pillow. Drool falling down your lips as tears rolled down your cheeks from the pleasure. You felt him even deeper from this position. His left hand gripped on your waist as it then traveled down to your ass and smacked, almost immediately seeing his hand print show in a pink and red hue on your skin. The burning sensation of the slap only made you more needy for his touch. His left hand found your hip and forced your body to clash against his as he fucked you straight to bliss.

Stars clouded your eyes as you whimpered and moaned. He cock throbbed and twitched inside of you as it stretched you. It hurt but it hurt good. His right hand gently squeezed the back of your throat, causing you to moan.

“Fuck- Leon- ‘mma cum-“ you spoke breathlessly in between moans and whimpers. He leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Cum for me,” he pressed a kiss on your shoulder blade as he felt you squirm under him. Your body convulsing as your orgasm took the best of you.

Your pussy clamped and clenched around him, wedging him with your juices. He didn’t stop, however. He kept pounding into you as the squelching sound echoed through his room.

He grunted and growled as he felt himself about to cum. He began to speed up and he let go of your neck. Now that both of his hands were on your hips, he gripped the fat of them and forced your body in and out of his cock. Bruising your cervix as your ass hit his hips. The sweat making your skin glisten under the shitty light of his room. You looked even more beautiful when he was fucking you like this.

His hot and sticky cum spurted out of his cock, coating your walls with a part of himself. In his sick and twisted mind, he branded you. He branded you with his essence and he didn’t regret it. He pulled out and heard you moan dumbly as he watched his cum slowly drip down the lips of your cunt to his bedsheet. He’d have to clean them but he didn’t care. He gave your ass a gentle squeeze as he patted your back for you to lay down. He knew you enjoyed it so much since you were on the brink of passing out.

You closed your eyes and felt as Leon cleaned you up. He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss on you knuckles. He was grateful to have you.

He wouldn’t mind killing again. Now that you were his in his mind, he’d go as far as killing every man who’s ever laid eyes on you.

For you, he’d become the world’s best serial killer.

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goomyloid · 3 months ago

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Can you tell me about your dt player. Since from the way you portray them they aren’t meant to be you. Kinda your oc in a way huh. It’s a cool depiction so that’s why I’m curious.

well today is your lucky day because i literally just filled out this chart right before answering this:

basically my version of them is thoroughly mentally disconnected from all consequences, because everything is just a game to them.

apathetic with only the desire to see what happens, and what becomes of kris and noelle (in the weird route). They always just barely have the upper hand; if things don't proceed down a certain path (i.e. aborted weird route or something) it's only because they allowed for it to happen. kris is very smart, but 'our' knowledge just objectively surpasses theirs in every way. for the most part.

i guess if i had to describe them as a real-life player, it would be the kind of person that plays all the routes without feeling bad about it, someone that somehow doesnt feel as though they're entirely to blame for the story going this way. (they taunt kris over this, maybe just to pick at their brain to get a look of how they're feeling about all of this.)

after all, deltarune is a game. it's meant to be played, it's only natural that people will want to pick it apart inside and out with its level of popularity. nothing should make a player feel bad about playing the game that they bought and spent time on.

regardless of one's investment in the characters, the world is simply not real to us. but in terms of vessel specifically talking to kris or something, it's not like THEY'RE the one saying "kris you're not real lol" or anything like that, it's more so their existence as a 'watcher' of sorts outside the bounds of comprehensible reality renders them in a similar position as us, someone in control and free from any consequences (presumably), letting kris and co. take the brunt of all your wrongdoings.

there's all of that, but i also like to portray them as being more on the extreme side, going as far as to treat characters fictional even when said character is standing right in front of them.

the 'commodification' of noelle plays into this a lot i think. we haven't seen it much in game so far, but we get the implied player attachment to her via treating kris as a self-insert of sorts just so you can get weirdly, creepily close to and controlling over noelle. it comes off more as vessel only wanting to be close to noelle and kind of discarding kris, just like they once were (lol).

the player's funny little fixation on noelle definitely throws a wrench in things kris-and-noelle-relationship wise, because this Thing is masquerading as kris, and noelle (and maybe toriel to a degree) is the only person able to tell something's wrong. it's almost like Hikaru Ga Shinda Natsu in a way -- your friend has been replaced, and you're the only person to notice just because you know them so well. it comes down to noelle's heart and ability to see through whatever vessel throws at her, if she'll be able to reach her hand out and save kris from sinking away before it's too late.

ummm. im getting off track. got too krisellepilled for a sec. VESSEL. i'm definitely not immune to portraying them more lightheartedly sometimes, but when I do that, it's usually in game, more so showing up as the soul instead lol

they're still sarcastic and blunt and weird, but at least they're not crazy destructive and sociopathic. gotta tone it down for the sillies

anyway i think thats all i can think of to say at the moment, if i think of something else big i might add it in a reblog, idk lol. thank you for asking, sorry about the long post!

#mailbox #long text #text #deltarune #didnt proofread this so ignore any heinous typos i might have missed

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lunarriviera · 3 months ago

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of all the iterations of the Damaged Character, i'm such a total sucker for what i call the longest con. yes! please! god! DO IT, make your ENTIRE LIFE into the world's most elaborate undercover operation, seal up every chink and crack and opening, make them ALL THINK you're evil and dissolute and louche [looks piercingly at Laurent VI of Vere]—make them fully believe you're just a shallow pretty playboy who might also be a sociopath [stares at Fei Du]—let the entire town be convinced you're an unhinged serial killer who's just too smart to get caught [gazes at Lee Dongsik and tries not to sob]. THEY'RE ALL WRONG ABOUT YOU, especially the ninnyhammer who to his complete horror is falling ineluctably in love with you, but DON'T DROP YOUR STORY, whatever you do, however tormented and devastated you are, because you're SO CLOSE to your revenge—

#long con #the longest con #laurent of vere #lee dongsik #fei du #i WILL be obsessed with you because you ARE a genius #but what they don't know is that you're also brokenhearted #because of the horrific Trauma™!#beyond evil #silent reading #captive prince

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miss-tarja · 3 months ago

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El Diablo Wears Prada (Pt. 6)

Mafia boss! Miguel O'Hara x Reader

WARNINGS: Angst, emotional distress, scheming, emotional conflict, mild fluff towards the end, suicidal tendencies, mentions of death, slow burn burning, heartache, gun manipulation, emotional meltdown, reckless behaviors, manipulation, sociopathic tendencies (Massimo)

Summary: Massimo keeps planting seeds of pain as you try to end it all.

A/N: Thanks for your patience towards this lil thing <3 The plot keeps moving! Hope you like. Reblogs and feedback much appreciated <3.

“So…” Xina exhaled as soon as the privacy of another room welcomed her and Miguel with the click of the lock. “Wanna tell me why should I help you this time?”

Miguel’s shoulders tensed, shrinking with a hint of awkwardness in the way. As much as he preferred to do things on his own, he knew help eventually would knock on his door and reproach him for avoiding it too long. And coming to none other than his ex wasn't exactly the way he had envisioned such a thing. But the woman was one of the smartest people he had known in the business so far.

Another mark got added to your black list of annoying traits. You were making him go back to places he once promised himself wouldn't return to. You were pushing him into somehow confronting things he had left almost done. However, he was grateful that Xina was a pithy thinker. She understood with little and asked no questions. It worked better that way for them.

“Cause you'll get a good cut out of it." He gestured while pulling a cigarette from his pocket.

Xina nodded, unamused for a moment as she took the cigarette from his mouth in a silent warning to not pollute her sanctuary with the smell, to then throw the piece of vanilla scented cigar to the trash. The gears in her mind worked like a perfectly oiled machine and curiosity always prevailed within her.

“And?” she urged, and Miguel rolled his eyes. He knew that look miles away. The kind of look that sooner or later would coerce him into speaking the truth. A trait that amused him when they dated back then.

“Nothing else.” He shrugged, “Just need your help to locate a man to finish a little thing pending on the side. Thought you might be interested, since I know you enjoy hunting assholes down."

“How thoughtful." Her brow quirked, "And does that woman have to do with that little thing?”

Silence filled the room for a second, but Xina's giggle interrupted it, with her hands up in the air with a feigned surrender when Miguel glowered her way.

“Ah, don’t look at me like that. You goddamn well now you have a penchant for showing off your conquests. Tacky as they are." Her hand dismissed him, "Must say, I'm surprised, though. This one is... different. Didn’t think you were into eight-to-five job sort of women."

“Xina.” Miguel warned, irked and she just chuckled.

“Guess we're making the right choices in women now, huh? As for your thing on the side, why not ask Dana about it?” Although the pettiness dripped from the question, Xina had to give the brunette some credit. She was cunning, not at her level, but smart enough to call Miguel's attention and give his ego a good stroke.

“She could never do it. And she's dead. Now, can we focus on things that actually matter? Did you read the file I sent you?”

Xina just watched him for a moment before sighing.

“I’m afraid I haven’t. Too busy with other things. Though, I heard about the shooting. Sorry for your men's loss. Is Gabriel okay?”

Miguel just nodded, briefly.

“He is. Came to check up on me the next day. But enough of it." He pulled the chair closer to her main computer. "Long story short, I’m looking for a man, a corrupt lawyer that owes me a shit ton of money. He vanished into thin air. Need to locate him, or to see if he’s left the country.”

“Well, shock me. Who's the poor soul that crossed the devil?”

“That woman's husband.” Miguel's mouth soured not only at the title of said man, but at the sudden image of his face coming unannounced first seats in his mind. Like a plague that haunted him for the wrong reasons.

Xina had to blink a couple of times to let the information sink in properly.

"...Right. If you're here, it means not even her knows about his whereabouts."

Miguel huffed. "She didn't even know he had a secret life. Tried to pry the information-"

"Ugh, stop." Xina scrunched her nose, "I don't wanna hear how you fucked her already."

Miguel just chuckled and crossed his legs in front of her. "Guess my methods are getting old."

"I'd say predictable. Maybe you're not being patient enough to pry it out the correct way from her."

"Time's running out, Xina. Patience is not a luxury I can afford right now. I need to find that man." His eyes raked over the different screens, revealing the many attendees too into their business. Some danced, others drank to their hearts' whims as new ones arrived. Yet Xina's voice snapped him out of the steering thoughts.

"Of course you do. It's not that simple though."

"It never is. I know much. Every time I think I've found something, it turns out it's nothing but crumbs from shit unrelated." He sunk deeper in his seat, "And the fucking cherry of all this? I've got a snitch in the family."

Xina whistled lowly, a little hiss escaped her mouth with disapproval marring her pretty face as she shook her head.

"And it all started with that woman."

"Ah c'mon. You're just frustrated at her for not giving you what you need. And I’m not talking about breaking the bed every night.”

"¡Es un dolor de huevos!" He groaned, "Always crying for that asshole and being dramatic instead of being helpful, and-" (She's a pain in the ass!)

Au contraire of Massimo's unwelcomed remembrance showing up, the sudden memory of your face contorted in the sheerest of pleasure as he pounded into you, came to his mind for a brief second, interrupting his thoughts for a moment.

"And?" Xina teased, But Miguel wasn't having it.

"Xina, por favor, focus."

"Por favor, what?" She huffed, "Must I remind you that's how you and I started?"

"Yeah. And look at us now. I'm surprised you haven't syphoned one of my accounts by now." He grumbled

The boss herself rolled her eyes, slapping the back of his head softly, earning an annoyed huff from him. "You're frustrated ‘cause you, a control freak, don't know how to deal with unexpected things."

And God, he hated when she was right. For someone that prided into being a cold-headed thinker and collected man, the lack of control in any aspect of his life was unthinkable. An error from life itself. A glitch that he would fix sooner or later.

"Unexpectedly or not, Kingpin is after her."

Xina slicked her hair back, a habit she adopted from the man before her, to then walk towards her equipment. Slender fingers typed elegantly the password over the worn keyboards, granting herself access to her database.

"I understand the urge of you to find her husband, but why does Kingpin want her?"

"El cabrón este made her sign things she shouldn't. She thought she was helping him with business related stuff. But, the asshole was just making sure to not leave his traces behind, and put her as the main target.” He paused to wet his lips. “The FBI has all the evidence with her signature in it. And you know those cabrones sell themselves to anyone paying a good cut." (That son of a bitch)

"Just when you think men can't go any lower, there's that guy." Xina shook her head, repulsed, but even she knew pronouncing those words would be like indirectly challenging the corrupt man to be worse.

"That's why I need to find him. If Kingpin catches him, my money is gone."

Bullshit

His mind corrected. Miguel knew he was feeding himself big spoonfuls of seasoned lies. As much as he couldn't care less about people, needlessly dragging innocents to shady business wasn't something he indulged in, as it meant more unnecessary trouble in the long run for his empire.

Unfortunately, you had seen and known too much to go by as an innocent. As you bore the mark of a target, bright and dazzling on your back, not only because of the man that swore to protect and love you at the altar. But for doing such a simple thing as to remain at MIguel’s side.

El Diablo knew that even if you hadn't done something wrong, men like Kingpin wouldn't take the time to tell apart the rotten apple from the rest, and would discard the whole batch instead without much thought.

Xina kept typing, listening with perked ears to his complaints. It was rare when something managed to upset him this much. For a moment she didn't know if to mock him for the righteous karma he got for wronging her in the past, or to pity him.

An empire was put on his shoulders with non-trustworthy men surrounding him, resulting in restless nights because of said people and other things plaguing his mind sure did take a toll on his broad shoulders. Trust was as sacred as his beliefs yet, he couldn't even trust his shadow now.

"Well, that's not a bad thing, is it? Sure the money part sucks, but at least she won't be your problem anymore. Or you'd rather get rid of her yourself?"

The question weighed his other thoughts down. Would he? He didn't have a reason to actually keep you, beyond being a guarantee he knew wouldn't be claimed at this point. A keepsake that was surrendered unwilling and unknowingly in his hands, and always prodded his brain with the same question. If he knew Max wouldn't pay him, why keep you around?

"Can't leave loose ties, can't I?"

The words came out in automatic, but the promise in them, nonexistent. Empty of the end he always delivered his foes with flying colors.

Xina seized him for a second longer and hummed, as if pondering.

"Well, Imma need the guy's complete name and phone number."

Massimo Alessandro Bianchi.

Lawyer at 23, master in laws at 27, successful and professional, charming husband at 30, one of the most acclaimed lawyers in New York at 32, and the most wanted man from underworld dons at 34. He had played God over men's rules for so long, that late justice was an inconceivable concept for him.

Aaron had given him the news he needed and wanted about you, yet few things had surprised him greatly.

To starters, he didn't think or rather refused to believe El Diablo would take the extra mile to protect you. Even if that meant you getting fucked by the criminal Don himself. And not that he didn't enjoy sex with his wife, but money and power had been weighing more in his messed up priorities since a long time ago.

Although you remained in the top five of that list, your spot was always the latest. Aaron had scratched the first one, to know about your status. His own hands had scratched the second, by getting rid of the evidence by burning his home and frame none other than Miguel for it. And now that he knew you were alive and good, and no traces would get to bite his ass later, he moved to the next. Your parents.

Ever since the devil showed up at his doorstep and took you and very important documents away from him, he called his favorite group of officers to help him out. Not only did he untie himself, but searched through other hidden compartments to see if they had been ransacked by that demon’s imps. When he took what he needed, his home turned into one of the biggest bonfires in the city.

And every time your parents called you, he always picked up with loving excuses of how much you both were enjoying an impromptu vacation in Italy. Or how you were sleeping after long hours of lovemaking as you both were trying to make them grandparents. He had them both in the dark for so long that they eventually stopped asking. Until he revealed the most convenient part of the truth to them. Causing a meltdown to your mother as soon as she learned you were missing.

Their anguish had just started, but like the compassionate man he was, Bianchi was here to end their suffering.

His steps guided him to the elevator, after presenting his ID card to the guard assigned to the spot. And once inside he smiled, satisfied at the magnitude the whole show had gained. He truly had outdone himself this time. Hiring guards for your parents security sure was a must, but the fake victim act needed to be up at all times.

Sometimes he purposely didn't sleep to appear more disheveled, he let his beard grow to keep the charade of a worried and hardworking husband, who did everything he could to find his missing wife, afloat to gain the pity of those around him.

So far it worked. Massimo had even gotten a few sympathizers within the firm. His cases were assigned to someone else in a show of support for him to solely focus on finding you, and getting the bad guy behind bars. A true hero. A phony one that had tried a lot of methods to make himself cry, to try to achieve that worn and burnt out man look.

His face adopted that somber and distant stare, but this time he had to be more convincing, especially with the news he wanted to deliver. He squeezed and rubbed his eyes a bit too hard to redden them, and practiced his sniffing before reaching the stage where he would deliver one of his best performances so far in this self made tragedy.

The doors swung open and he walked over yet another guarded door. His eyes became heavy with sadness the more he approached, and when the guards stepped aside to let him in, his hand hesitated to knock. Adding bonus points to the commitment in his role as some guards stared for a second longer in his way.

But Bianchi was brave enough to knock, and in matters of minutes the wooden door swung open, revealing a man with a gentle looking but distressed face. His relief lasted less than a heartbeat and the lawyer was urged to get inside by him.

“Massimo!” Your father yelped, alarmed, nearly dragging him inside.

“Henry.” The defender’s voice turned solemn, adding even more distress to your parent’s worn spirits.

Your mother rushed to your devoted husband. Her gentle hands pried the cold coat away from him and put it on the hanger.

“Please, tell me you’ve found her.” Your father pleaded, anguish shrouded his features as tears peeked in the corner of his eyes.

Bianchi had to take a deep breath and gesture with his hands to keep the animosity down, tensing your parents even further.

“Please tell us!” Your mother pressed

“I need you both to please take a seat. Especially you.” He instructed your mother and she shook her head, dread soaked her from head to toe.

“No. No! Where is my baby, Massimo?!” She pleaded. Your dad joined her as soon as her voice broke, holding her close in a poor attempt to keep her together for the upcoming blow. “I know you’re doing your best, but it’s been almost a month since we’ve known anything about our daughter! Where is she?!” Her voice trailed into an incomplete and choking sob.

“I’m…I’m really sorry, Mira.” Massimo gulped, swallowing the imaginary knot in his throat, as he pulled an envelope and gave it to Henry.

“Wh… What’s that?” Henry’s throat became arid, breaking his voice as well, “Massimo, what is that?” His eyes couldn’t tear themselves away from the capitalized letter inscription in the back of the envelope.

NEW YORK CITY POLICE DEPARTMENT

CRIMINALISTICS FORENSIC REPORT

Mira had to hold onto Massimo’s arms since Henry's were too numb to take over. She wept, and wept hard, while pleading to the heavens for it to be a cruel joke. Cause if it was, she’d stand it. She’d bear the disgust of the universe's tasteless pranks when it came to his beloved ones, if it meant to hear that it was all an atrocious lie later. Yet his son in law’s words did little to solace her bleeding heart.

“I’m really sorry, I… I tried everything in my power to recognize her but…” Massimo gulped, trying to get his broken voice out. Thankfully for him, Mira’s desolated weeping gained him some time to think of his next words.

“What happened to my daughter?!” Henry, half angered and half broken, demanded. “You were the one I handed her over to protect! And now you tell us she’s dead?! How dare you!”

“You think only you have the right to cry over her?! I’m a fucking widow! I’ve lost my wife, my home! EVERYTHING! Because of my job.” His voice finally broke in a breathless shout. Maybe in another life he could’ve been a marvelous actor cause Henry looked away, as if ashamed for accusing him of such heinousness, “You think it was easy for me to know she was scared and then ending up searching for her through charred shit, cause I couldn’t get on time to save her from that psycho?!”

Mira recoiled from the outburst into her husband’s shaky embrace, staggering on her steps and reasoning.

“You think it was easy for me to get to the lab and receive a bunch of samples instead of my wife?!” the defender shouted with glossy eyes, and his words were enough to get Mira’s body collapsing from a nervous breakdown. The news had been too much for her already frail mind.

“Mira! Mira!!” Henry held her close, gasping and trembling. Massimo rushed to help him, but Henry pushed him away. Too volatile and antsy to let any other man close to his rattled wife. “Get away. Get out!!!” He exhaled furiously, trying to calm his erratic and panicky breaths as his mind tried his best to regain control over his emotions and functions. His hands cupped his wife’s paling countenance while laying on the floor with her. Sobbing and sniffing for the sudden loss suffocating them both with a vice-like grip.

Massimo gathered himself and left the envelope in the closest surface available and stepped away, cleaning his face from the dripping tears rolling down.

“I’m sorry I’ve failed you both.” he sniffed, “But I promise you… That madman will pay. I’ll make him rot in hell for ripping a part of me.” He gulped, trying to drown yet another imaginary sob. “Miguel O’Hara will pay for burning everything I’ve loved.”

With an unflinching resolution shining in his eyes, Massimo left the apartment, leaving the agonizing couple to deal with the shocking news, the mourning and evidence described in the report within the envelope.

That’ll have them busy.

“Call an ambulance right away.” He instructed a nearby officer as he got into the elevator.

As soon as the doors closed in his face and isolated him from the main scenario, with a swipe of his hands he erased all traces of misery and despair from his now triumphant face.

A smile spread wider in his lips upon recognizing his breakthrough. They’d be out his way for quite some time, too busy with a funeral and someone else’s ashes to care about his doings. And, if he played his cards right, Bianchi was sure he’d get some time off the firm to finish his own business and move on with his plan.

He’d be free soon. Freedom was two more steps away. He could almost taste it, sweeter than the perfume you wore whenever you tried to get him into bed with you. Scrumptious like the rush of adrenaline coursing through his brain each time cocaine reached past his lungs, after sniffing it out from a woman’s cunt before eating her out like a possessed man.

And now with a third objective marked off his list, it was time for the next in line, even if this one took a little longer than anticipated. Miguel. His prosecutor, his torment, the demon that haunted his sleep and the new owner of his favorite toy. Massimo had shared you enough. It was time to pull his doting husband mask on again.

After what it seemed like never ending hours, Xina finally could find a potential lead that would reduce his search ratio considerably. She searched and he replied to the questions Kwan threw at him, there was no time to waste with physical distractions.

Miguel was too irked and bored to cave in, and Xina was too focused into cracking the many security codes the FBI database had to deepen the search.

“It would all be better if I had Lyla here. Messy as she is, she’s quicker in interpreting this programming language than I am.” Xina mumbled, pursing her lips, completely vexed at the admission and at the program that kept changing lines every certain amount of seconds.

“Call her then.” Miguel pressed with a roll of his eyes, which got Xina gifting him a brief deadpan.

“Once she’s on the dancefloor there’s little I can do. Pray she’s not drunk. She gets too chatty and bold with whomever she’s partying with.”

“Thought you liked having fun as well?”

“Hunting assholes like these, yeah. Not dancing.” Xina nodded, with a satisfied smirk in her gorgeous features.

Miguel in the meantime had glued his eyes towards the screens displaying in the back once more. His eyes wandered through them, skimmed through the many images changing until his stare remained still in a single spot. Curiosity got the best of him as he watched through a specific screen in the middle.

His eyes became unable to tore away from it as the scene displayed before him. It was Lyla, dancing until her feet were sore, singing from the top of her lungs, or so the image gave away, with none but you.

You laughed, wooed, even drank as if tonight was special. As if tonight all your problems would be solved and forgotten. It was a new side of you he didn't know and much to his surprise, it amused him.

It amused him to see you so damn loose and happy, unlike the defensive and reluctant woman he often found within the sheets of his enormous bed or couch. It all depended on his mood. If he was easygoing, the day was peaceful between you both, gaining him a few jokes here and there from you. But if he had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, everything was chaos and a sour day.

But none would prepare him for witnessing Lyla’s, pulling you closer and closer until your mouth collided against yours. And he blinked when you pulled the hacker by her neck to deepen the kiss. His brows couldn’t help but widen at first to then furrow. Still deciding whether it was out of anger or confusion. What was going on?

¿A qué juegas, ratoncita? (What are you playing at, little mouse?)

Xina followed his line of sight and gasped, almost embarrassed.

“Goddammit, Lyla…” She mumbled, pressing a button and a bouncer stepped in right away.

“Bring Lyla and the woman, please.”

The bouncer nodded and scrambled off quickly.

Miguel on the other hand stood, his eyes despite being a little photophobic, adjusted perfectly into the dazzling neon lights surrounding you, to focus on you being yanked away from the kiss by Gabriel. Not that he blamed him for such a thing, he knew Lyla and her persuasive ways with people were always effective. Especially if they’ve been acting weird.

You have been acting out of your curious persona lately. You didn’t approach him for questions, nor bothered him in the slightest, causing the deafening silence to give him discreet jumpscares here and there. If it wasn’t for the gps attached to your ankle, his men would already be looking for you. It was too risky to leave you unsupervised.

You were quiet. Too quiet for his likings, and much to his dumbfound, he almost yearned for a dose of those snarky remarks you threw at him. But now everything you gave him was silence and brief stares, honoring beyond perfection that pet name he gave you. He didn’t like it one bit. He was lucky if he heard you say good morning or evening his way.

He knew he shouldn’t care a single ounce about it, but even a devil like him was aware that whenever a woman acted that way, everything was far from being okay, and he was the only possible culprit in the game. And yet, nothing had prepared him for what happened next.

As in slow motion, his eyes watched with rising dread and an unknown feeling constricting his chest, at the way your hands reached for Gabriel’s face. Almost too lover-like.

What are you doing?

His mind demanded, more at you than at the poor control he had over his body, incapable of tearing his bewildered eyes from the scene. These widened when your hands held Gabriel on the spot, and pulled him for a kiss. Just like you had done with Lyla. No matter how much he needed to break the unwilling visual contact from the show you were giving everyone, his gaze remained fixated on your lips and how these devoured Gabriel’s.

Although his brother froze on the spot, a wave of… something stirred the need to punish him tenfold for not reacting quickly and ending the kiss right away. Was he enjoying it? Was Gabriel enjoying mocking him by letting his problem to kiss him? He had to, or else he would’ve broken the kiss by now.

But oh, the scorching anger and that stupid something flared in his chest when your eyes met his. Defying him openly with an unsaid ‘fuck you’ his way. Just when he took in properly the spectacle, his eyes finally managed to avert.

Xina however had been analyzing every of his moves, acting like a silent watcher as everything unfolded right under her nose. A silent chuckle escaped her mouth upon the sight of Miguel’s evident conflict, switching between your stunt with Gabriel and his reaction. She didn’t know if to praise you for the bold move, or pat his back in a comforting gesture, cause even she felt the distraught energy irradiating from El Diablo.

But he looked away, focusing although absent minded in the blinking screen of his phone, apparently reading the notification’s bar log, until the door echoed with the bouncer’s knocking.

Lyla bursted in and hiccuped a smile, then approached Miguel with stumbling and ditzy steps.

“I’m so sorry for kissing your… your-” He hiccuped again and Xina caught her before the hacker ended up in El Diablo’s lap.

“Can you stop embarrassing me for just five minutes?” Kwan hissed as she took a giggling Lyla away from Miguel, to put her gently on a nearby couch.

You on the other hand sat outside the room, if you were leaving soon, why even bother to make more social life among them? And low key, your mind was too far gone into the many scenarios running in your mind to pay attention to Miguel.

“Guess our reunion is over. Will send the details to you soon.” Xina dismissed him as she asked the bouncer for a glass or bottle of water.

Miguel stood and slicked his hair back, walking over the door. The first one coming to his sight was Gabriel. That gulped and stared his way like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen, and awkward. The youngest of the O’Hara only managed to look away as he cleared his throat.

“She’s on the stairs and-”

“Tell Ben to prepare the car.” He interrupted dryly as his eyes scanned the hall, or rather the end of it.

Just as Gabriel had said, you were there in the stairs, slumped against the cool wall, staring into nothing.

Gabri just nodded and disappeared as fast as his feet managed to. There was an unspoken rule he always obeyed despite the blood connecting them.

To not touch what was his.

Sure you were far from being his favorite person, but if Miguel had already laid eyes on you and bedded you, it meant you were off the table, even if accidental. He wasn’t in the mood, nor the time to fuck around and find out again. His eldest brother could be quite creative when it came to punishments whenever he misbehaved.

Miguel’s steps however echoed your way, announcing his presence with ominous moves. You didn’t flinch when he stood tall and proud next to you.

“It’s time to go. Move.” He spoke, yet you didn’t move, instead, just yawned and rubbed your face, trying to wash away the alcohol written all over your cheeks and eyes. And this got his jaw tensing. “I said, move.”

“Manners wouldn’t be bad for you.” Unlike Lyla, your alcohol intake offered a bit more resistance towards it, and you had diluted it through constant glasses of water to avoid ending up completely wasted. Your brain was aware, but your body staggered slightly as you stood.

Miguel had to muster everything in his power to not bite a comeback, but the speed you were walking sure did increase his brewing anger. How dare you speak to him about manners when you had kissed his brother before his every eyes and could barely stand on your own, while he was trying to get a hold of your husband?

Without much saying, he stood before you and threw you over his shoulder.

“W-What are you doing?! Put me down!!” You shrieked while trying to remove yourself from his shoulder, but your sight was everything but stable. It swooned, twisted and bent underneath you, as if it would swallow you whole if you fell. Your hands held onto him, clawing at the end of his back. His hand however curled around your thighs, to hold you in place as the other one, delivered you a firm spank, stilling you completely.

“Cállate ya. (Shut up already) You barely can walk on your own and smell like fucking cheap wine. Thought you had more standards than that.”

“Oh scre… screw you.” you hiccuped, “You’re the least to talk about standards.”

Miguel had to stop for a moment to take a deep breath. He didn’t want to cause a scene, but you were proving hard to deal with. In other times, he’d reply with the same high spirits as yours, but right now the anger and other unknown feelings plagued his mind, ruining any form of interaction.

Some people outside stared at you both as he approached the car. With ease, he pulled you away from his shoulder, pushing him inside the car. The heat of your body had increased, he noted. He didn’t know how much you had drunk, but sure as hell you’d wake up hungover tomorrow. That if you didn’t put yourself in danger.

“Help!” You yelped and kicked, “Help!”

But none of the attendees in line outside aided you, given your current stupor, they thought nothing alarming was happening. If anything, It only made Miguel put you down on the floor to then push you into the back seats as he slammed the door shut. It was enough cue for Ben to drive away.

Miguel caught Gabriel’s eyes for a moment. His lid twitched and his lips scowled, and Gabri looked away. A submission gesture that earned a satisfying huff from Miguel.

“Take a turn on the left. We’re going to Queens.”

“Wait… wait… what about the hotel?” You mumbled groggily, the alarms flared in the back of your hazy head but Miguel ignored you completely.

“Go to Copper Boulevard and then stop at Ember Towers. Tell Peter and Jessica to bring our stuff there.”

As much as you wanted to protest and give yourself a voice for him to listen to you, the haziness in your brain saved you from opening your mouth to say something potentially stupid that would only add more fire to his already brewing anger. With a pout, you curled once more on your end of the seat, as Miguel looked through his window. Devoting himself to silence.

For a moment, your brain played a graceless joke and tricked you into seeing none other than Massimo sitting there. A painful déjà vu crossed your memory, forcing you to relive for a brief moment the way Bianchi used to ignore you whenever you were ‘too emotional’ for the night.

“Miguel…” You called through a careful mumble, pressing to see if he’d even look your way, “Where are we going?”

Silence welcomed you instead. His mind was too enraptured by the messages displaying on his screen to pay attention to you. But in truth, he was holding back his tongue to say stuff that would probably make the rift between you wider. And the least he wanted was to take more of what he could manage in his plate.

You didn’t talk during the rest of the trip, as you had slowly fallen asleep.

Your head swayed and lolled to the sides. Your eyes managed to slowly open, sadly they didn’t recognize the place they were in. Marble floor extended left and right, a tinge of golden rimmed them on the edges. Your whole body floated, almost too comfortable as if someone was taking you to a peaceful realm.

The grip adjusting underneath your knees only broke the illusion of you floating, and when you looked up who it was, your heart raced, making half the stupor to leave your body in a go. Your head craned to see the door sliding open, revealing a place that looked like Miguel's personal penthouse.

Unlike the tower he lived in, the place was almost empty, stripped from its deco. Except for a couple of scarce furniture scrambled in strategic places like the living room you were both in, the main bedroom and of course the kitchen. It was the basics as the rest would come later.

You heard Gabriel’s meek voice telling him that he had business to attend, that he was sorry. But Miguel ignored him, and rather put you, a tad brisk, on the couch. Earning immediately a protest kick in his forearm as he had startled you while he removed your shoes.

“Stay still.” He warned

“No! Let me go!” You half mumbled, half startled, earning a growl from him as he tried to get your dressed feet.

“Mira que si eres un dolor de huevos horrible… Stay the fuck still! You’re gonna hit yourself.” (You’re such a pain in the ass.)

He grumbled, hovering now his arms over your shoulders, but your mind was still on cloud nine of alcohol and melancholy didn't help by showing up. You slapped his hands away with a firm no. And it was the last straw of his patience. He took you by the arms and lifted you, shaking you briefly to see if that made you come to your senses.

“Fucking stop!” He shouted. “You’ve got no idea what I’m sacrificing for letting you breathe another day!” The words dripped with venom as his face hovered over yours. His fangs bared to you as you struggled to push him away. Unlike other times, fear was completely absent in your head and heart.

“Then, fucking kill me!” You defied. Tears pooled in your angry eyes as you looked at him straight in the eyes. “If I’m such a burden for you, fucking kill me and get rid of me like you told Gabriel you would!”

His hands loosened their grip for a moment. Realization didn’t hit him with all his might as he tried to place your spite. He didn’t remember talking to Gabriel recently, except for…

Oh…

Your hands pushing him away and unsheathing the gun from his waist, was enough dose for his eyes to widen, disturbed as you turned the gun’s cannon and placed it under your chin.

“Stop!” He shouted, horrorized for a second while your fingers tinkered with the weapon, struggling to get the damned security pin off. “Gimme the fucking gun!” Never in his life his fingers worked so fast to neutralize someone. His fingers curled on the weapon and pulled back, just in time as a gunshot echoed through his ears with an acute ring, buzzing through his system.

The bile rose in the back of his throat, his mouth turned arid, swallowing was too painful and for a moment his chest trembled with an unwelcome guest from his repertoire of feelings he rarely paid attention to. Panic. He had panicked for a moment. Not because of the gunshot. No. Panic because you still wanted to get the gun from his grip as tears rolled freely down your flushed cheeks.

“¿¡Qué mierda te pasa?! (What the fuck is wrong with you?!) You’re gonna kill youself!” He roared, still perturbed as he threw the weapon away from your reach, and you screeched and punched his chest.

“You’re just like him! You’re just like Massimo!” You bawled, completely out of wits. The sudden weight of the events finally crashed on your shoulders, unable to hold it anymore. Too heavy on your feeble psyche. The kidnap, your beaten husband, your missing parents, him, his world, everything. Everything was turning your head upside down. “You fucking liar!”

But your words only made him cage your torso tighter with his broad arms. If anyone could look at you both, would say that you were hugging. But in truth he was containing you to prevent your meltdown to worsen as you struggled and even punched his chest harder in an agonizing attempt to break yourself free from your misery.

“You just used me!” You wept and gasped, and he pulled you tighter, unabling you to move. Yet, you squirmed, desperate to breathe and be away from him. “And you keep using me!”

Miguel��s eyes darted back and forth between you and your shaky hands. He could feel the speedy thrumming of your heartbeat, that threatened to stop at any second. Your words hammered in his chest with such power, that the comparison between him and Massimo had stung a bit too much than he actually wanted to admit.

And even despite the terror spreading through your body, your mouth kept spilling what you didn’t have the courage to tell him while sober. The alcohol had won over you, unleashing the dam of your chaotic thoughts, while you kicked, screamed and cried in his chest, until your own legs gave up. Much to his own shock, his body had gained self control as he was unable to let you go. Instead, it had locked you in a tight embrace.

Too on edge to free you and give you the power to commit another unhinged trick. You had seen death face to face and hadn’t hesitated to end it all, you had welcomed it even. You had even begged to be released to finish your task. And then quiet. You had quieted down.

Your hands slowly loosened their grip on their own and clutched onto his back, holding him in a such grip, his throat gulped laboriously as your body collapsed in his arms, causing both to fall onto the couch. You fell on top of him, and he caught you with ease.

“Ratoncita…” He whispered and tensed as soon as the first open and maudlin sob escaped you. Then another, until turning into that familiar cry only those in real anguish let out. He swallowed again.

“He doesn’t love me, Miguel…” You hiccuped with trembling lips and shaking your head, finally grasping the truth behind your next words “Massimo never loved me…”

The realization hit him differently this time. He sighed, glad that your strength had vanished, but also conflicted. The pain in each syllable coming out of your pretty mouth held so much heartache, so much hurt that for a second his mind stopped to ponder properly what kind of man did this to a beloved one?

What kind of heartless man would abandon his wife in such a risky situation that probably would put anyone in the psych ward?. And by the looks of your outburst you sure as hell needed it. But it also made him wonder with a question he refused to find an answer to. Cause even he had limits when it came to his violence.

Did Massimo beat you?

“Why… why won’t he love me?...” your weeps vanished into the soft, yet soaked by tears shirt. The warm and moist feeling of your liquid pain staining his chest, puzzled him greatly as it stirred and poked awake, even if little, that urge of protection and comfort

“I don’t know, hermosa…” He shook his head, his voice toning a good couple of angry notes down, but it wasn’t strident like when he started yelling, it was soft. Almost comforting if it wasn’t for the sudden hatred simmering in between lines. “His loss, though.”

His words made you crane up to meet his stare, and his chest constricted for a second longer than necessary upon the sight. Beautifully defeated, anxious and weary. Staring at him with more questions in those pretty eyes he could barely answer.

“He’s not paying you up, is he?”

He gulped and shook his head. And your head hung for a second before giving yet another sob, staring back at him.

“He doesn't care what happens to me anyway, never did.” Your voice trailed off. Even in these messed up entanglement of limbs and heartache, the heat irradiating from his body resulted in an unexpected comfort.

Once the initial resilience of escaping vanished, your hands relaxed completely, sauntering over his chest to finally cup his face. His pupils dilated and a breath escaped his mouth as you placed your head against his.

“Why haven't you killed me yet?” More like why haven't you ended your suffering with me yet?

“I… I don’t know.” An honest answer. Too honest perhaps for his likings, and it didn't help that the beat of his heart had somehow matched yours in that crazed tempo only hummingbirds managed to achieve when your nose rubbed against his.

“Then, kiss me.” Your mouth was already hovering over his but Miguel pulled away, enough for those eyes of yours to turn glossier and rounder at the evident rejection.

However his hand cupped yours in return, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. Taking a feel of your trembling lips. He didn’t know what confused and perturbed him the most. The emotions you put him through in a single night and the outcome of so many bad decisions resuming into you asking for a kiss, or the words coming out of his mouth

“I’f I’m to kiss you right now, you won’t remember it.” you blinked almost stupidly at him to then press closer once more. He pulled back again with a tender yet warning look.

“Maybe I want to forget.” You mumbled, half asleep, half staring into his soul. Yet, you let him maneuver your body until you rested on his chest, back in your original position.

The warmth of your body mixed with his was the unexpected and calming antidote for your chaotic outburst. His hands for once had the opposite effect in a foe, as your breaths evened until the weight of your world crushed your eyes resistances and put you to sleep. Completely drained from yourself.

Maybe he had turned softer over the years. Or maybe you had pressed the correct buttons for his walls to crack enough and let the man underneath to allow himself to feel a bit more beyond responsibility and duties. The heartache had been real in his life as well, giving you both another thing in common.

“And maybe I want you to remember.” He murmured in a faint whisper.

Massimo sure made it all about business. But now that your tears had soaked his bones and your pain permeated his soul as you rested in his chest, stripped off your dignity, it had turned completely personal.

And may God or mercy protect the man that turned things personal with him.

Taglist:

@stargirl-mayaa @kenmaspuddinghair

@bunnibitez @gabrielarose29 @night-spectrum @miss-canon-event @reverieblondie @choppednerdtriumph @amelialysm @tatatida @daddysfavoritesexkitten @huniedeux @blissdoubtyattuma @rositabluemoon @freehentai @solesurvivorjen @ewan-tef @miranexx @madastrid @sukioyakio @whos-writting-stuff @spiderbunny00 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @ginger23 @bammzyboomy @mmyyhhhh @escape-your-nightmare @m4dyy @mxtokko @lauritajn @pearlescenthearts @bookshied @stevespixie @crimin4llyins4ne @6thhokageswife @rabiebarbie @ellieaze @babyprofessorsharkpalace

@hermione8888 @ang3l-dust1 @eepybunny0805 @mafiaanomaly @sana-4 @brlwla @alitaar @kenmaspuddinghair @kyriekurokami

@aaaaslaaaan

#t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguelverse #el diablo wears prada #Spotify

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months ago

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Private equity rips off its investors, too

I'm coming to DEFCON! TOMORROW (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

It's amazing how many of the scams that have devastated our economy and everyday people owe their success to the fact that we assume that rich people know what they're doing, so if they're doing something, it must be real.

Think of how many people lost everything by gambling on junk bonds, exotic mortgage derivatives, cryptocurrency and web3, because they saw that the largest financial institutions in the world were going all-in on these weird, incomprehensible bets.

Then there are the people who are convinced that online advertising is built around a mind-control ray, because tech companies claim that's what they have ("I am an evil dopamine-loop-hacking wizard and I can sell anything to anyone!"), and because huge, sober blue-chip companies hand billions to these soi dissant svengalis. Sure, online ads are a swamp of clickfraud and garbage, but would these super smart captains of industry spend so much on online advertising if it didn't work super-well?

http://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

From our worms'-eye-view here on the ground, it's easy to assume that rich people and the people who sell them stuff are all on the same side. "If you're not paying for the product, you're the product," right? If Facebook is tormenting you with surveillance advertising, it must be doing so on behalf of the surveillance advertisers, for whom Mark Zuckerberg has bottomless reservoirs of honest, forthright impulses.

The reality is simultaneously weirder, and obvious in hindsight. The reason Zuck is tormenting you is that he's a remorseless sociopath who doesn't care who he hurts. He rips off everyone he can rip off, and that includes advertisers, who have seen steady price-hikes and lower-fidelity targeting, even as ad-fraud has skyrocketed while Facebook draws down its anti-fraud spending:

https://www.404media.co/where-facebooks-ai-slop-comes-from/

This is not to say that Facebook advertisers have your best interests at heart, that they aren't engaged in active deception in order to better themselves at your expense. Rather, it's to say that there's no honor among thieves, and Zuck is an equal-opportunity predator. Moreover, both Zuck and his advertisers are credulous dolts, so the mere fact that they are pouring money into something (advertisers: FB ads; Zuck: metaverse) it doesn't follow that these are real or important or the coming thing.

For me, the Ur-example of "rich people are dumb, even when it comes to money" is the private equity sector. I've written a lot about PE, and how destructive it is to the real economy, from Toys R Us to pet grooming:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/05/rugged-individuals/#misleading-by-analogy

How they killed Red Lobster:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/23/spineless/#invertebrates

And how they actually created the death panels that Sarah Palin warned us about (it's OK, though: these death panels are run by the efficient private sector, not government bureaucrats):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

The devastating effect of private equity on the real economy is increasingly well understood, and a curious side-effect of this is that people assume that if PE is destroying their lives, they must be doing so on behalf of their investors, who are making bank.

But – like Zuck – PE bosses are just as happy to steal from their investors as they are to to steal from the workers and customers of the businesses they acquire on those investors' behalf. They swaddle this theft in performative complexity and specialized jargon, but when you strip all that away, you find more fraud.

All the misery that PE inflicts on workers, communities and customers are just a convincer in a Big Store con, a bid to make the scam seem credible. For a certain kind of investor, any economic activity that destroys communities and workers' livelihoods must be a good bet. This is the dynamic at work in the pitch of AI image-generator companies, who spend tens of billions on technology that there is no substantial market for:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/07/25/accountability-sinks/#work-harder-not-smarter

AI image generators represent a high-profile, extremely visible example of "a job that AI can do." Nevermind that AI illustration went from a novelty to a tired cliche in less than a year. Even if you think that AI illustrations are a perfect substitute for commercial illustrations, that still won't come anywhere near making AI companies a profit. Add up the entire wage bill for every commercial illustrator in the world, hand it to Open AI, and you're not even gonna cover the kombucha budget for Open AI's staff kitchens.

Hell, all the wages of every commercial illustrator that ever lived won't pay back even a fraction of the money the AI companies spent on image generators. The pauperization of an entire class of creative workers is just a canned demo, a way to fool investors into thinking that there is a whole universe of similarly situated workers whose wages can be diverted to AI companies. This is the logic of small-time spammers, scaled up to the scale of the entire S&P 500. Smalltime spammers looked at AI and thought, "OK, I can generate as much botshit as I want on demand for free. Science fiction magazines pay $0.10/word. So if I generate a billion words, I'll get $100 million." But that's not how any of that works: sf magazines don't buy botshit, and even if they did, the entire market for short fiction adds up to what Sam Altman spends on a single designer t-shirt. The point of destroying these beloved, useful things isn't to make a lot of money by taking their markets – it's to convince dopey, panicked rich people to give you lots of money you can steal, because they think you can do this to every market and they don't want to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Take "divi recaps": after a private equity firm acquires a company (by borrowing money against its assets), it typically declares a "special dividend," emptying out the company's cash reserves and pocketing them. A "divi recap" is when PE then takes out another massive loan against the company's (remaining) assets and pockets that:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/17/divi-recaps/#graebers-ghost

All of this happens under an opaque cloud, thanks to the light-to-nonexistent disclosure rules for PE. A public company has to open its books for the SEC, its investors, and the world. PE is private – and so are its finances. It is absolutely routine for PE bosses to put their spouses, kids, and pals on the payroll and hand them millions for doing little to nothing, all at the expense of their investors:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2022/02/sec-set-to-lower-massive-boom-on-private-equity-industry.html

PE bosses charge huge fees to their investors – not merely the usual 2-and-20 (2% of the funds under management and 20% of any profits) – but also a wide variety of special one-off fees that pile to the sky. They also dip into their investors' funds to issue themselves massive loans that they use to make side-bets, without telling the investors about it:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/10/monopoly-begets-monopoly/#gary-gensler

PE investors are chickens ripe for the plucking: take "continuation funds," which allow PE bosses to soak the rich people and pension funds who supply them with billions:

https://news.bloomberglaw.com/mergers-and-acquisitions/matt-levines-money-stuff-buyout-funds-buy-from-themselves

Remember 2-and-20? 2% of all the money you manage, every year, and 20% of all the profits. You'd think that these would be somewhat zero sum, right? If you use some of your investors' cash to buy a company, and then sell off that company for a profit, you get the 20%, but now the pot of money you're managing has gone down by the amount you used to buy the company, and so your 2% carry goes down, too.

But what if you sell your portfolio companies to yourself, using your investors' own money? When you do that, you continue to hold the company on your PE firm's books, meaning you continue to get the 2% carry, and you can pocket 20% of the sale price as a "profit":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/20/continuation-fraud/#buyout-groups

This is straight-up fraud, wrapped up in so much jargon that it can successfully masquerade as "financial engineering" ("financial engineering" is really just a euphemism for "fraud"). PE bosses keep coming up with new, exotic ways to steal from their investors. The latest scam is "tax receivable agreements":

https://archive.ph/RczJ9

On its face, this is a tax scam. When a company goes public, early investors generally hold stock in the original partnership or LLC; this company ends up holding a ton of shares in the new, public company. When they sell those non-public shares in the LLC, this creates a (potentially gigantic) tax credit.

A TRA hustle involves tracking down these LLC shareholders and convincing them to sign off on dumping the LLC's shares, which generates a huge tax credit for the public company. The hustler offers to split these credits with the LLC holders.

All of this is especially attractive to PE bosses, who often take a company private, do a bunch of "financial engineering" and then take it public again, leaving the PE firm as the owner of those LLC shares that can be converted to a TRA and a huge windfall – which the PE bosses pocket, because they (not their investors) are holding those credits.

This scam is really doing big numbers. KKR – the monsters who killed Toys R Us – just diverted $650 million in TRA loot, prompting a lawsuit from Steamfitters union pension fund, which had handed these jerks millions of its members' money to gamble with:

https://archive.ph/kqQvI

This highlights another very weird aspect of the PE scam: they are absolutely dependent on pension funds. To add insult to injury, PE funds are notorious union-busters – they use union money to buy companies and destroy their unions:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/05/mr-gotcha/#no-ethical-consumption-under-capitalism

People who try to understand the PE business model often give up, because it seems to make no sense, leading many to assume that they're too unsophisticated to grasp the complex financials here. For example, PE is absolutely dependent on massive loans as a way of looting its businesses, but it also often defaults on those loans. Why do banks and investors keep making huge loans to PE deadbeats? Because – like the PE fund investors – they are credulous dolts.

The reason PE seems like a scam is that it is a scam. It is a fractal scam – every part of it is a scam. You might have heard about the "carried interest" tax loophole that allows PE bosses to avoid billions in taxes on the money they steal from their investors, creditors, workers and customers. Most people assume "carried interest" has something to do with "interest" on a loan. Nope: "carried interest" is a 16th century nautical tax rule designed for mercantalist sea-captains who had an "interest" in the cargo they "carried":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/29/writers-must-be-paid/#carried-interest

But rich people and other "sophisticated investors" (like pension fund investment managers) are no smarter than the rest of us. They are herd animals. When they see other rich people piling into some scheme or asset class, they rush to join them, which makes the asset price go up, which makes them think they're smart (until the inevitable rug-pull). When one plute jumps off the Empire State Building, the rest of them jump, too.

Which is why there's more money flooding into PE than at any time in history, $2.62T in "dry powder," handed over to greedy, thieving PE bosses in a poker game where everyone is the sucker at the table:

https://www.institutionalinvestor.com/article/2di1vzgjcmzovkcea8f0g/portfolio/private-equitys-dry-powder-mountain-reaches-record-height

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/08/sucker-at-the-table/#clucks-definance

#pluralistic #tra #tax receivable asset #financial engineering #private equity #two sided markets #pe #looters #sucker at the table #kkr #debt #dry powder

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feralmode · 4 months ago

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it actually pisses me off so much whenever anyone calls andrew a sociopath. ik not everyone is privy to the details of his life but you want to come after andrew minyard??? the love of my damn life??? and pretend he doesn't have FEELINGS????

andrew, who finally found a loving mother after years of abuse in the foster system and wanted so badly to be loved he tried to force himself to endure more abuse, and only put a stop to it to protect a brother he’d never met

andrew, who fights fiercely to protect other people's boundaries no matter who they are, even if it's his own family crossing a line

andrew, who learned exy in juvie and managed to put enough effort into it to become the best damn goalkeeper in class 1 exy

andrew, who told his uncle about his abuse to make sure his abuser wouldn’t have access to any more kids after him, only to be told it was a misunderstanding

andrew, who nearly killed the men who attacked his cousin and then was drugged against his will for nearly three years and took every opportunity to fight for sobriety even though it made him sick

andrew, who promised to protect kevin on only the hope of a future will to live because he wanted it so badly, because kevin told him he was worth something

andrew, who befriended renee when he discovered how similar they were and trusted her with his past and learned from her a way to protect himself and the people he cares about, who talks to her about the zombie apocalypse and world war 3 and spars with her when he's upset and only wins half their fights and never treats her like her faith or kindness make her weak or fragile

andrew, who fully trusts and believes in bee's ability to help him, laughs when she sends him funny texts, buys her souvenirs at the airport, and would go back for her in an apocalypse

andrew, who shut down the goal because wymack asked him to, but pretended it was for the booze

andrew, who falls for a man who’s an obvious liar and a runaway, knowing it could kill him to let someone in again, "maybe i'm not as smart as i thought i was"

andrew, who says yes to neil because neil is the only one who actually pays attention to how andrew thinks and listens to his reasons and offers him something in return for his loyalty, who gets close to neil because neil respects his no, "that's why"

andrew, who’s afraid of heights

andrew, who fights fiercely to protect the people he loves but won’t tell them why, because caring almost killed him the first time, who keeps his promises, "fuck you for expecting anything else"

andrew, who is fighting so, so hard to be alive and never gets any credit for it

andrew, who does end up smiling after he comes off the drugs, god damn it i will die on this hill!!!!

literally don't say shit to me about andrew "has feelings" minyard

#andrew minyard #all for the game #aftg #tfc #the foxhole court #andreil

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bijouxcarys · 6 months ago

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Reina de mi Corazón (Damian Priest x fem!OC)

Masterlist WWE Masterlist

Description: She's the light of his life, the itch he can't scratch... and his bretherin's main squeeze.

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, Kayfabe-compliant, sort of infidelity, semi-public shenanigans, Finn is a prick, I feel like pre-Rhea returning Liv Morgan should be considered a warning, so there you go...

A/N: Here, the fem!OC has no name; can be read as x reader without the use of Y/N. Also, I am not a native Spanish speaker, I know some, but please correct me on any inaccuracies!

Tags: @eringobragh420 @new-zealand-chic @terrortwinunicorn @hellonheels-x @loki69zowens

@thefairywithboots

(If you want to be tagged in any future Damian or Roman stories, please let me know!)

“Ya know, I’m havin’ a real hard time understandin’ why you can’t just get over it.”

“Get over it?!”

“Don’t yell at me.”

She spun around to come face to face with the blue-eyed Irishman she’d dedicated her life for the past year to, and just grimaced at the completely vacant look on his face. As though he didn’t understand what the issue was.

“Then stop being such a fucking pushover, Finn, it’s not hard! You go out there, you stand in front of Dom, you tell her to back off and then…” She scoffed, putting a hand on her hip as she lowered her voice to a vicious whisper. “Then you think it’s a smart idea to just let her ride with us tonight, are you insane?”

If she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn she saw a look of guilt flash before Finn’s eyes. But she did know better, by the grace of God, did she know better by now. She’d learned months ago that he was vying for chaos, a reason to feel a fraction powerful. Now with Rhea gone, it just meant one less around to anchor him to the ground of mediocrity.

She just never expected to catch him inadvertently encouraging Dom to consider Liv’s constant advances.

“Oh, come off it,” Finn groaned, rolling his eyes. “You coulda come out there and helped me with that shit, you coulda told Liv to back off too, don’t act like you’ve had no part in this.”

“Had no part in what? Getting Dom to break whilst Rhea’s not here? Oh my God, you have lost it…”

She turned to continue her walk down the backstage halls. Maybe if she just got a minute alone in the locker room, she’d be able to rationalise Finn’s decision to extend the invitation for a ride to the next town. Highly doubted it, but it was worth a shot. But it didn’t seem like she was going anywhere without Finn right on her tails, telling her all the reasons she should reconsider her anger, to hear him out, as though he actually wanted Dom to give in.

“Will ya stop walkin’ away from me?” Finn grabbed her wrist, perhaps a little too forcefully, stopping her in her tracks. As expected, her instant reaction was to rip her arm from his grip, even if it severed her entire extremity from the rest of her, but he wasn’t relenting.

“I swear to God, if you don’t let go of me in about three seconds, I’m gonna break your fucking jaw,” she warned with a clenched jaw. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

“I’m not the one makin’ it worse, love, you’re the one overreactin’ at nothin’.”

“I’m not overreacting at nothing, you sociopath. I happen to care about Rhea… You remember Rhea, right? Your fucking family.” She managed to yank her arm from him, the friction albeit scorching her in the process, but she’d sort that out later.

“Rhea this, Rhea that, you’re just as bad as ‘im!” Finn’s brows narrowed, his fists clenched at his sides.

“Ay, there you are!”

Speaking of ‘im…

Here he came in long strides from behind Finn, his championship belt slung over his shoulder like it always seemed to be since Mania. Braided hair, studded vest, just everything the world loved him for—everything she loved him for, but never had the balls to admit it.

“We’ve been tryin’ to find you, wh–” Damian paused as he got closer to the two of them, instantly noticing the thick tension lingering in between. His eyes immediately narrowed at her, and he glanced down at the man in front of him. “Everything okay?”

Her throat felt like sandpaper; she couldn’t find it in her to tell him. To tell him what Finn had just done, what he’d just solidified, not just for Dominik, but for the future of The Judgement Day.

“Everything’s fine,” Finn said flatly, his tone clipped as he glanced over his shoulder at Damian.

“Fine?” she shot back incredulously. “Do I look like I think everything’s fine to you? You’ve done some stupid shit before, Bálor, but this? This is a whole new level of dumb.”

Damian’s brow furrowed, dark eyes flicking between them. “Wait, hold up—what’s she talking about?”

“She’s overreacting. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” she snapped, raising her voice once more.

“Here we go,” Finn muttered under his breath, running a hand over his hair. He turned back to her with a forced smile, his jaw tight with irritation. “Y’know, ya don’t always have to make a scene.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she spat, stepping closer, her eyes boring into his. “Am I embarrassing you, Finn? You embarrassed yourself the second you thought it’d be a good idea to hand Liv a damn invitation to ride on our bus. Our bus.”

Damian’s head snapped toward Finn, hardening his expression. “You did what?”

Holding his hands up, Finn tried to play it off the best he could. “Relax, Damo, she just needed a ride for the night. No harm, no foul.”

“No harm?” she hissed. “You didn’t think to ask if maybe, I don’t know, bringing Rhea’s fucking arch enemy into our space might cause some problems? You didn’t even tell Damian!”

“You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“You’re a hypocrite, you know that? You’re always talking about loyalty and trust, but the second Rhea’s not around to babysit you, you're out here making decisions that put all of us at risk. Not to mention Dominik and how he might be feeling about your decision making.”

Damian’s deep voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Cálmate un poco,” he said firmly, stepping closer to the two of them. His presence loomed large, his words enough to make her glance at him, but only for a moment.

“Cálmate?” she echoed, throwing her hands up. “I’ve been calm, Damian—too calm, actually. Maybe that’s the fucking problem.”

Finn snorted, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah, right. ‘Too calm.’ You’ve been ridin’ my arse for weeks about every little thing.”

“Because you’ve been acting like an idiot for weeks!”

“You done?” Finn bit back with a sneer on his lips. “Or do you wanna keep goin’ so the whole locker room can hear how dramatic you are?”

“Dramatic?” She almost gasped at his audacity. “You don’t get to call me dramatic, Finn, not when you’re the one throwing Dom to the wolves and dragging Liv into the pack just to get a reaction. Do you even realise what you’re doing to us—”

“Us?” Finn’s voice rose, cutting her off. “Don’t kid yourself, love. There hasn’t been an us for a while now, and you damn well know it.”

The words landed like a slap, but before she could react, Damian was suddenly lodged right between them.

“Ya basta!” he growled, holding up a hand, forcing them to take a step back. His usually smooth baritone was sharper now. “Finn, man, the hell are you doin’? You don’t talk to her like that.”

“Oh, I don’t?” Finn snapped, glaring up at Damian. “You don’t get to tell me how to handle my business.”

Damian’s lips curled into a humourless smile, and he tilted his head, dropping his voice. “Tu negocio? This isn’t about you, pendejo, it’s about the family. About respecting Rhea while she’s gone. And you’re out here actin’ like you forgot that.”

And Finn, in all his toughness, opened his mouth to speak, but the Archer of Infamy didn’t give him an iota of a chance. “And another thing,” he said, taking a menacing step closer to the Irishman, seething with a deadly calm. “I see you grabbin’ at her like that again, we’re gonna have a problem. Understood?”

The smaller man faltered for a moment, his confidence quite clearly wavering. Damian’s eyes narrowed, and his large, veiny hand clenched onto the edge of his championship on his shoulder. “Entiendes, yes or no?”

Finally, Finn nodded, though his jaw looked like it was just about ready to shatter with how harshly he had it clenched. “Fine. But don’t come crying to me, big man, when this heroic act comes back to bite you in the arse.”

Damian didn’t let his weak threat deter him from doing what he needed to do; he turned to her next, his expression softening slightly. “You good?”

Her heart was hammering against her ribcage from the sheer rage seering through her, and her emotions were swept up in a chaotic mess, but she nodded nonetheless. “I’m fine,” she muttered, though her tone betrayed the storm beneath it.

“Good,” Damian’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned back to Finn. “Go cool off. Now.”

Finn hesitated, his pride clearly warring with his better judgement, but eventually, he scoffed and walked away, muttering something under his breath that she couldn’t quite catch.

Once he was out of earshot, Damian let out a long breath. “You’re really okay?” he asked.

She looked up at him, the tension threatening to snap in her chest loosening ever so slightly under his concerned gaze. “I will be,” she said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it.

He nodded, his lips quirking into a small, reassuring smile. “Good. Now, let’s figure out what the hell we’re gonna do about all this, cariña.”

The night was cooling down, but her temper still simmered as she stomped alongside Damian through the dimly lit parking lot. Fans that had earlier been congregating at the exit had now dissipated, the chaos of the evening replaced by a tranquil, almost eerie silence. She exhaled sharply, still simmering with frustration, her steps brisk and her arms crossed tightly against her chest.

Damian walked beside her, his strides unhurried as he ate up the speed in which she travelled, and his towering presence remained a stark contrast to her tense frame. He didn’t speak at first, letting the rhythmic echo of their footsteps do the talking. It was only as they approached the production trucks—massive, hulking shadows looming in the dark—that he reached out, his large hand gently wrapping around her elbow.

“Mi vida,” he said softly, richly, lowly. A faintest trace of his accent curling around the syllables. “Slow down.”

She stopped abruptly, pulling her arm free but not walking away. “I’m not getting on that bus,” she insisted. “Not with her there.”

He cocked his head slightly, studying her with those deep, thoughtful eyes that scarcely failed to strip her defences bare. “You don’t have a choice,” he said.

Her lips pressed into a tight line, darting her eyes anywhere else. “I’ll figure something out.”

Admitting to himself, her defiance was always endearing; he chuckled warmly. “What, you’re gonna hitchhike to the next city? Sleep in one of these?” He gestured to the trucks around them with a slight smirk, his rings catching the faint light as his hand moved. “Come on, mamacita, be for real.”

Scowling, her arms tightened around herself. “I can’t stand her, though…” she whined, bouncing on her heels. “What she did to Rhea… what she’s still trying to do.”

Damian softened at the mention of Rhea, a wave of understanding passing over his face. He knew more than anyone what it felt like to watch your best friend be forced to vacate something she’d worked so hard for, all at the hands of someone else. He turned to face her fully, the parking lot lights casting a soft glitter over him, highlighting the sharp features in his beautifully aging face. The faint sheen on his neck, and the glisten from the necklaces there that disappeared behind the collar of his shirt. The tattoos snaking up his arms flexed as he adjusted his title belt, the veins in his forearms prominent and mesmerising.

He tilted his head slightly, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “I get it. You’re loyal. We both are. That’s one of the things I like about you.”

His voice dipped into a smoother register, the richness of his tone wrapping around the words like velvet. She hated how easily it still disarmed her, how it made her pulse quicken despite her best efforts to stay annoyed.

“But let me ask you this,” he continued, leaning in a little. “What’s the biggest flex here? Storming off and giving her, and Bálor, the satisfaction of knowing they got under your skin? Or walking on that bus, owning the damn space, and letting ‘em know they don’t even rank?”

Her lips parted, a retort forming, but she couldn’t quite get it out. His words were too mellow, his confidence too infectious.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he said with a grin, as though he’d already won the argument. Well, whatever argument was there.

“I’m not sharing space with her. Period.” She continued to scowl, looking down at the floor, where she absentmindedly kicked at small chips of gravel.

“Ay, mi reina,” he murmured, running a hand over his face. “You’re really making this difficult for yourself, huh?”

Sighing heavily, he turned to lean one broad shoulder against the truck they were standing by, and crossed his arms. His biceps strained against his short sleeves, and she was grateful he chose to keep the vest instead of opting for a long-sleeved jacket.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do,” he began. “You and me? We’re gonna get on that bus. But we’re not stayin’ up front with the others. Nah.” He angled his body down and quietened his voice a little. “We’ll head straight to the back, nice and private. You won’t have to see Liv. Hell, you won’t even have to think about her.”

She blinked, caught off-guard by how easily he’d spun the situation into something that sounded almost… appealing.

“And you’re just gonna make that happen without trouble, yeah?” she asked, arching a sceptical brow.

“Mami,” he grinned, equal parts cocky and charming, “I always make things happen.”

She couldn’t fight the smile that elicited.

“And… the others?” she asked, trying to maintain the upper hand. “What makes you think they’ll just let us waltz past them without saying anything?”

The smile on his face widened, a playful, menacing look in his eyes. “Let me worry about them, they know better than to get in my way. After all,” he exhaled, slapping a hand over his championship. “I am el campeón, mi vida.”

“Yeah, well…” she somewhat sheepishly grinned, looking away. “I think that may be where some of Finn’s issues lay.”

With a rueful chuckle, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers grazing her temple and trailing down to her jawline. Just… brushing off the comment about Finn’s potential ill-feelings about his lack of a singles title. She wouldn’t put it past the man she’d been in such a rocky situationship with to harbour these… feelings.

“And you?” he hummed in a near whisper. “You just have to focus on me. I’ve got you.”

Her breath caught as he tilted her chin up slightly, his thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip. He intensely gazed down at her, smouldering, seeing right through her defenses.

“And just so you know,” he added conspiratorially. “Rhea’s coming back next week.”

Posture straightening, her eyes widened. “What?”

Nodding, his thumb continued ghosting over her lip before moving it to brush along her jaw. “You didn’t hear it from me, but she’s coming back. The other’s don’t know yet, and I’m not so sure I’m gonna tell ‘em.” He watched her take a deep breath, the tension of these past three months visibly tumbling off her shoulders somewhat. “So, he continued, smiling softly. “You’ve got nothin’ to worry about, preciosa. Rhea’s gonna be back, she’s gonna put Liv in her place, but tonight? Just one bus ride. We’ll make it work. Bien?”

His hand moved to the back of her neck, his fingers threading into the roots of her hair as he came closer. “You trust me, sí?”

Still, even after his silken accent, the baritone vibrato in his affliction, she hesitated; her pride warred heavily with the undeniable pull he had over her. But alas, that was too much for her stubborn streak, and she relented with a nod and a shaky breath.

“I hate you,” she muttered, though her tone spoke otherwise.

Damian laughed, pressing a quick, almost teasing kiss to her forehead. “Nah, you love me, you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t have the energy to argue. As he stepped back, his hand lingering on her lower back, she couldn’t help but feel like, somehow, he’d managed to win her over—again…

“Let’s go, mami,” he chided with a glance warm and lingering as he guided her over to where their bus waited. “We got a long ride.”

The bus door hissed open, and Damian stepped in first, his wide frame momentarily filling the entrance. The low hum of conversation inside the bus came to a screeching halt. Everyone was scattered throughout, their chatter dissolving into uneasy silence as they took in the tension radiating off of the two of them as they climbed aboard.

Finn leaned back in his seat, arms draped over the backrest of the bench he sat at. “Well, look who finally decided to join us.”

Damian didn’t miss a beat. “And look who still doesn’t know when to shut up.” The words were sharp but calm, delivered with the kind of controlled menace only Damian could manage. Finn’s smirk twitched, his eyes narrowing.

“C’mon, mate,” Finn said, deceptively light. “What’s the deal? You two been gone and now she’s seethin’.”

“Drop it,” Damian insisted, shrugging off his leather vest and slinging it over his arm. “You’re not as clever as you think you are, pendejo.”

Carlito chuckled from the corner, picking an apple from the fruit bowl and tossing it in his hand lazily. “Depends who you ask.”

Whilst Finn and Damian shot the shit, she took a quick glance around the space and caught Liv perched casually on one of the front seats, scrolling through her phone with her—Rhea’s—championship over her lap. The pair met eyes, and she swore she could have gone over and shoved her phone right down the blonde’s throat once she clocked the little smirk on her face. But she settled with an eye roll, trying to avoid looking back at Liv, even though she could feel her gaze burning into her from across the aisle. Stomach churning, she tightened the grip she had on the back of Damian’s shirt as she stood half-behind him. His earlier reassurance may have helped, but actually stepping onto the bus was like walking into enemy territory.

“You okay?” Dom asked out of nowhere, furrowing his brows. It was nice to see him expressing some other emotion other than sheer discomfort from Liv’s constant advances.

“I’m fine,” she nodded quickly, sending him a forced smile.

“Sure doesn’t look like it,” JD mumbled under his breath, earning a glare from Damian.

“Enough,” the champion asserted, before gesturing toward the back of the bus. “We’re heading to the back. Don’t bother us.”

Liv let out a low whistle, her eyes flicking between them with thinly veiled amusement, ghosting over the almost alarmed look on Finn’s face. “Wow, bossy much?”

Damian’s jaw tightened, but the woman still gripping onto him was the one who snapped.

“You’ve got a lot to say for someone who doesn’t even belong here.”

Liv’s smirk returned, but there was an unmistakable glimmer of irritation behind her eyes. “I’m here because someone thought I’d be a good addition to the crew for the night. Well, that, and clearly Daddy Dom needed a little TLC,” she shot a grin over at Dominik, who flushed with complete embarrassment, before she returned the smugness. “Not my fault you’re pressed about it.”

Carlito barely hid a snort in the loud crunch of his apple while Dom sank further into his seat, clearly not wanting to get involved.

Damian exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “Ay dios míó… Enough, sucia, you wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Bálor. Just be grateful we’re not leaving you in the middle of the parking lot,” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. He then glanced over his shoulder. “Vamos. Ignore them.”

She hesitated, her eyes lingering on Liv for a beat longer. The sheer hubris in her expression made her blood boil, but Damian’s hand circling her wrist pulled her attention away.

“Come on,” he repeated, steering her toward the back.

They moved through the narrow aisle, whispers already igniting behind them. She caught snippets—something about awkwardness, something else about Finn not going after her—but she kept her chin up, refusing to let them see her crack.

The bedroom at the back of the bus was small but cozy, with a plus bench that doubled as a decent bed and soft overhead lighting. Damian shut the door behind them, the noise from the front muffled instantly.

“Finally,” she exhaled, practically flopping back against the wall and running her hands over her face. “I thought I was gonna lose it there.”

Chuckling, Damian tossed his vest onto the bench and laid down his title belt on top of it. “You handled yourself fine, hermosa.”

“Barely,” she muttered, following Damian with her eyes as he moved to lean against the wall in front of her, rather than relaxing back on the bench or even at the window. “Liv’s just lucky I didn’t pick her ass up and throw her off the bus.”

“She’s not worth it,” he said. “Let her think whatever she wants. You’ve got nothing to prove to her—or anyone else for that matter.”

She let out a frustrated whine, but conceded with a stubborn shrug. “This is going to be a long night.”

Resting her head back against the wall, she moved to look up at Damian, who had pretty much settled just across from her now. Arms folded. Intense eyes glued onto her, almost narrowed as if he were trying to pry into her thoughts.

“What?” she stifled a low laugh.

“You think it’s gonna be a long night?”

“...Yeah?”

“It won’t be if you listen to me,” he casually said.

She raised an eyebrow, a playful smile creeping onto her face for the first time that night. “Oh, yeah? What’s your master plan this time?”

Without answering immediately, he pushed off the wall, crossing the small space in a single stride. Towering over her, he placed a hand on the space beside her head, leaning in close.

“My plan,” he said smoothly, “Is to make sure you don’t think about Liv, or Finn, or anyone else for the rest of the ride.”

Like a deer caught in headlights, her heart stumbled at the intensity in his gaze. “You’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”

“Siempre,” he replied with a boyish grin. “And usually for good reason.”

She tried, with her whole chest, to ignore the way her pulse quickened, and tried to brush him off. But Damian Priest wasn’t the kind of man you could easily ignore.

A chest so wide her palm could walk across it a full four times before it covered the expanse. Ink etched into caramel skin so beautiful Mick Rock would need to adopt a whole new method just to capture its essence. Her fingers itched to trace the grooves of his body, the taut planes of his torso—carved from obsidian and bronze. A man whose physique withstood the passage of centuries. Muscles rippling beneath the ink mapping his sinuous path of past lives. Ink so black it swallowed light, swirling like the last whispers of a forgotten prayer.

“Mi vida,” he grumbled as his calloused fingertips grazed beneath the hem of her shirt. “Tan suave…”

An impatient whimper fell from her lips, her hands remained splayed on his biceps. Keeping him at a distance neither of them really wanted.

“No corras, mi amor.” His lips teased her temple, a singular inhale allowing her scent to overwhelm him. New shampoo.

“Damian,” she managed to whisper, squeezing his sinewy arms in yet another pathetic attempt at separation. It didn’t seem to matter how many times she told him she only understood a fraction of what he spoke in that bewitching native tongue of his, he would always do it. Of course he would, she loved it.

Nevertheless, he lifted his head, gazing down at the woman in his arms with a hooded glance. Even under such subdued lighting and uneven ground, the swaying of the bus prohibiting a stable view, he just looked so… irresistible. A black Killswitch Engage shirt, obviously a tad too small, hair hanging in beautiful braids, those blue jeans he basked in whenever he got the chance. Rings on. Every. Finger.

“You spend so much time tellin’ me why you can’t.”

“Because I can’t.”

Sighing, he angled his head to the side, bringing a hand up to cup the side of her face, the cold metal of his endearing accessories bringing her back from melting completely into his hold. She was so hyper-aware of his proximity, of the others’ proximity.

“Claro, qué sí...”

“Damian–”

He quickly shut her up just by sliding his hand down to the back of her neck, his thumb massaging just behind her ear. There was no way she could resist laying her head back against the wall behind her.

Lips feathered her forehead, the intoxicating aroma of Aqua di Gio forcing her thighs together, down to her nose, her cheek, the corner of her mouth.

“You know I’ll stop if that’s what you really want, cariño.” Their hips met in one motion as his free hand gripped onto her lower back, careening her toward him. Finally, she felt the expanse of his chest, just as tough as she remembered it being, the shirt may as well have not been there. A smirk tugged at his lips, a deep chuckle rumbling from the back of his throat as her smaller hands clung to his shoulders.

“But you don’t want that, ¿verdad?”

Swallowing down the dryness that threatened to encompass her ability to utter a single word, she trembled under his touch, wanting nothing more than this gorgeous, hulking 6’5” leviathan to take her to another realm. Make her forget her name. Her birthday. Where she was.

“N-No…” she finally admitted, meekly shaking her head.

“Then why don’t you just surrender to it, baby? It can’t harm you unless you let it.” Her lip was gently tugged downward with the pad of his thumb, only to bounce back against her teeth. “Dios mío, extraño esa boca,” he muttered, breathing in sharply through his nose.

“It’s not that easy,” she answered, glancing down at his lips as his tongue traced them like a water-starved lion. “You know it’s not that easy.”

They both knew it wasn’t so easy, and each time they acknowledged that fact, the magic faded. Every. Time. In a perfect world, surrendering to the Archer of Infamy would be the easiest thing one could ever do. But it wasn’t their world, and it wasn’t so perfect.

“I know,” Damian relented, but maintained his grip on her. “But you know it as well as I do.” He sighed her name, leaving one lingering kiss directly on her lips to hold onto until next time.

“You’ll always be mine. Reina de mi Corazón.”

His lips continued to hover near hers, his breath hot as it blanketed her space in a soft, uneven exchange with her own. He wasn’t rushing her—no, he’d never do that. He was just deliberate. Intentional. Devastatingly patient.

She knew that if she gave him this—if she surrendered, took the promise at the corner of his lascivious smile—he’d handle her with a precision no one else ever had. As if pulled by some invisible force, he angled her face up, brushing her lips against his in a feather-light kiss. And instead of pressing forward, instead of deepening the contact, Damian let her set the pace, let her linger until her nerves gave way to a quiet, shuddering exhale.

“There she is,” he murmured against her lips, like velvet sliding over her goose-pimpled skin. He cupped her face gently, his thumb grazing over her cheekbone in slow, soothing circles. “Knew you’d come back to me, baby girl.”

“Damian,” she started, her voice barely louder than a whisper, but he cut her off with a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth, then her jaw, his lips trailing down to her ear.

“Shh, mi vida,” he coaxed, tingles from his words rippling down her neck. “I know you’re scared. I know you’re thinkin’ about all the reasons you shouldn’t.” He pressed another kiss, this time to the hollow of her throat, his hand sliding to her lower back. “But tell me, cariña… do any of those reasons feel stronger than this?”

Nails digging into his shoulders, her head tipped back involuntarily as his lips moved, prudent and proficient, against her skin. “It’s not just us, though,” she whispered wearily. “Finn’s here. They’re all here.”

Damian snickered, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through her. “Let them be,” he simply said in that effortless charm. “You think they matter to me? You think Finn matters?” He paused, lifting his head to look her in the eyes. “Finn doesn’t matter. Not in here. Not when it’s just us.”

Her heart stuttered as his hands lowered over her hips and tentatively rested on the curve of her ass, applying the smallest amount of pressure, before suddenly hiking her up the wall so she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his body. His lips were by her ear again as hummed in a low, intoxicating murmur.

“You’re nervous. I get that. But let me ask you this… has he ever made you feel the way I do? Made you laugh like I can? Made you want to crawl out of your own skin just to get closer?” Tilting her chin, he forced her to meet his gaze. “You think he could’ve made you smile the way I do? Made you lose yourself?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came; Damian’s warm hands slid around to her front, teasing the buttons on her jeans before popping the top one open. Then, his rough fingertips scaled the parameters of her waistband, comfortably tucking them beneath the fabric. He grinned at her hitched breathing, his confidence surging as his voice dropped to a near-growl.

“And don’t get me started on the rest, hermosa,” he teased. “Because I guarantee you, no one’s ever known how to take care of you the way I do. To really take care of you. Mind, body… everything.”

Damian was always attuned to her every move, every tell, as he pressed another soft kiss to her lips, this time lingering just a little longer, savouring her softness.

“Say it, mami,” he almost pleaded, popping yet another button open on her jeans. “Say you want me. Say it, and I’ll give you everything you didn’t know you’ve been needin’... todo lo que no te pudo dar.”

That was it. He knew that was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Shit,” she breathed, moving to hold onto the back of his neck and pull him as close to her as she could. “I want you,” she relented, looking straight into his dreamy eyes. “I need you, Dam…”

Victorious, Damian smiled at her. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

The moment shifted like a pendulum swinging, as his arms tightened around her to hike her further up to the wall, lips claiming hers again in a no longer soft or coaxing manner. Her gasps were swallowed by his mouth as he gripped her thighs, feeling her lose some of her strength in the heat of the kiss.

“Wrap them around me,” he growled against her lips, the baritone in his voice like a physical presence. His words weren’t a request; they were a command laced with molten heat. Her legs obeyed instinctively, locking around him as her back pressed flush against the wall. He tugged at her jeans, somehow finding a way to shimmy them down to her knees before he had to let her go to let the denim fall to the floor. But she was back, clinging around him, in a matter of seconds. She barely registered the loss, as her focus was entirely on him—on the way his strength felt like a force of nature, unyielding but controlled. Hoisting her again, he bent gravity at his will.

She tugged at the roots of his braids, eliciting a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. Even as he resumed his heated kisses against her neck, biting and nipping at her, her senses frayed at the edges.

“You taste like heaven, mi reina,” he mumbled, his voice laced with reverence, though his actions were anything but saintly. He kissed lower still, hazing her to the point where she hadn’t even realised he was lifting her higher until the tops of her thighs had hit under his arms.

A sharp intake of hair caught in her throat as she clocked the position, yet he didn’t stop until she had no choice but to spread her legs over his broad shoulders. Damian stood as though the weight of her body was nothing more than an afterthought.

“Damian,” she breathed, trembling with a combination of exhilaration and disbelief.

He glanced up at her, a smirk curling his lips, dark and devastating. “I know how to handle you, baby, I’ve been dreamin’ of doin’ this to you.” His hands splayed over her thighs, his thumbs traced in slow, tantalising circles along her skin. “Trust me, preciosa. I’ve got you.”

Her own tongue felt too hot against her lips as she wetted them, watching as the Puerto Rican God below her peppered kisses along the band of her panties, stopping at her hip to tease the fabric with his teeth before moving to the other side to repeat the movements.

One hand braced her firmly, his long fingers splaying wide over her lower back, while the other trailed down her side and between them to tuck the tip of his pointer finger into her underwear, tugging at it so she felt the teases of cooler air hit her.

“Shit,” she gasped, her thighs tensing beside his head once he fully pulled the flimsy fabric covering her core to the side, exposing her to his face in such close proximity.

He could have melted right then and there at the sight shimmering back at him; her glistening folds just begging to be parted and worshipped. A neatly kempt, pristine little patch just above his meal—the crowning glory of her womanhood. Even as a brief flash of Finn getting to be this close to her flipped through the pages of his mind, absolutely nothing could sour this moment for him. And he was going to savour every last second of this—of her.

“Baby, you have no idea,” he whispered, adjusting his arms so his hands could easily access where he needed. “How many nights,” he continued, using his thumbs to slowly part her weeping folds, “I’ve thought about doin’ this again.” He brought his mouth as close to her centre as he could, blowing directly onto her heated slick and taking such pride in how she jolted helplessly in his arms. “You have such a pretty pussy, hermosa…”

“Damian, please…” she whimpered, attempting to grind her hips toward his face, but only encouraged him to tighten his arms around her so she couldn’t move at all.

“Shh,” he hissed softly, turning his head to press a kiss to her thigh, before whispering under his breath as he made eye contact with her pussy. “Deja que Papí como.”

Before she could begin to respond, his lips made contact with her core, an open-mouth kiss that gave him a taste of what she had to offer—as if he didn’t already know how sweet she was.

His tongue explored slowly, languidly. Dragging gentle patterns all over her, the action creating a subtle hollowing in his cheeks as he glanced up at her. His eyes narrowed as he inched his tongue up, finally settling it on her sensitive nub, where she’d been throbbing and pulsating since he’d gotten her in this position.

“Ahh,” she panted suddenly, not expecting the jarring of her own hips. One of her hands flew up to the wall beside her, the tips of her fingers grazing the ceiling, once again reminding her of how far up the wall she’d been lifted, and that she wasn’t in some random hotel room; she was in the fucking bus.

“There it is,” he chuckled. “Already shaking for me, and I’ve barely started.”

Her other hand settled on top of Damian’s head, her fingers once again finding space in the roots of his braids as he resumed circling her clit with his tongue in slow, purposeful strokes. She could feel herself pulsate into his mouth already, and she just knew that she was soaking his chin in the process.

“You’re so sensitive here, mi amor,” he murmured, pausing just long enough to kiss her clit before flicking the tip of his tongue again. “You like that, when I focus right here?” Another flick, another jolt. “Tell me.”

She couldn’t find the words, only managing a shaky nod as her calves pulled him closer in her direction.

“That’s what I thought,” he said, a smirk evident in his tone. “But you gotta keep quiet for me, baby girl, we don’t want Finn hearing, do we?”

The reminder sent a thunderbolt of adrenaline through her, and she pressed her hand over her mouth to muffle the small moan that escaped as Damian ducked his head and sucked her clit into his mouth, applying just the right amount of pressure as he ate her out like he knew she needed. Her eyes fluttered shut and her head tilted back as she embraced the feeling of his tongue moving back and forth, side to side, any and all ways all over her pussy, putting intense focus on her beating clit just how she liked it.

“Good girl…” His voice came as gravel and silk. “Doin’ so well for me. Lemme hear those little noises—just for me.”

She tried, but every movement of his mouth, of his tongue, even the gentle scraping of his teeth against her, had her trembling uncontrollably. Her body strained against him, her toes curling in her heeled boots as she tried to keep her balance atop his shoulders, but Damian’s grip was steadfast.

As his head started bobbing with his actions, her sense of reality stretched further and further away from her consciousness, and all she wanted to do was take all of that thick dick deep inside her, like she remembered doing so long ago. Wanted to make him grunt and groan, to leave his mark on her, in her, ruin her for everyone else.

“Shit, shit, D–fuck, don’t stop,” she panted quietly, her jaw clenching as she kept her noises to a minimum. “Papí…”

“Sí, mami. Let me have you.”

As he drooled and salivated all over her pussy, he let out a low growl against her, and that’s what did it for her. She couldn’t stop herself from banging the palm of her hand on the wall behind her as she came so hard into his mouth, her back arching painfully as she let out strained grunts and strangled whimpers.

The hand that had a tight grip on Damian’s head flew up to her mouth, her nails digging into her own face as she tried to muffle the cries. He wouldn’t stop. His tongue kept moving over her pulsing bud, abusing the pressure point like he would a popsicle on the verge of melting. He wanted to drain every last bit of her pleasure until she couldn’t stand being hoisted all the way up on the wall anymore—until the idea of staying upright caused unease.

But when her tremors subsided, only left with the sheen on his chin and a shiver up her spine, he finally lifted his head with a wicked grin full to the brim with pride.

“I could do that shit all night, hermosa,” he said through a ragged exhale. “But I think you might be a little too sensitive for that. For now.”

Easing her back down the wall, his grip remained firm but tender, as though she were to break at the slightest mishandling. Her legs slipped from his shoulders, trembling slightly as they found solid ground again. Still, she was catching her breath, her body flushed and buzzing.

Both of them were oblivious to the rhythmic thuds her earlier ecstasy had caused against the wall—a sound that surely hadn’t gone unnoticed beyond the small space.

Her body slid against the wall, her legs wobbling under her so much that Damian kept one arm around her to steady her.

“You good?” His voice was softer now, the teasing edge replaced with a gentleness that somehow made her chest twist and ache.

She nodded, her forehead falling against his shoulder as she tried to regulate her breathing. “I… yeah. That was…” Words escaped her completely, overtaken with some kind of erotic brain fog.

Damian chuckled low, his breath warm against her temple. “I know,” he mumbled. “You don’t have to say it.”

Just as she lifted her head to look at him, he silenced the prospect of further words with a slow, delicate kiss. She could taste herself on him—the aroma, the zest, the intimacy of it. A potent reminder of what had just transpired.

Groaning softly into the kiss, she pulled back only slightly. “That’s… that’s me,” she whispered hazily, with embarrassment and arousal.

“Yeah,” Damian said, a wicked grin apparent as he ran his tongue along her bottom lip. “You taste fuckin’ amazing, mami. And you know what? Now you’ll never forget it…”

Her breath caught in her throat as his words sank in, his confidence so intoxicating that it left her dizzy.

“Papí…” she almost quivered.

“Hmm?” He leaned in again, brushing his lips over hers, not quite kissing her. “Something you wanna say, or you just gonna stand there thinkin’ about how I had you shaking for me?”

Before she could respond, he stepped back, his hands still lingering on her hips as though he wasn’t ready to let her go. He turned slightly to retrieve her jeans from where they’d been discarded in a heap on the floor. He handed them to her with a crooked grin.

“Better put these on before I change my mind about you being too sensitive, mi vida,” he said, half-seriously and half-playfully.

She took them, her fingers brushing against his as she did, but instead of the sound of her raspy, worn-out voice constructing an answer, the soft click of the doorknob turning caught their attention.

In an instant, Damian’s hand shot out, pressing against the door with casual strength, holding it firmly shut. The sheer ease with which he managed it was almost more arousing than anything else he’d done so far, his palm flat against the wood like it weighed nothing.

“I thought I said not to bother us,” Damian called, brooking no argument with a sharp and commanding edge.

There was a pause on the other side, and then JD’s voice floated through, apologetic but amused. “We’re stoppin’ for gas in a bit. Just thought you’d want to know.”

“Pendejo…” Damian huffed, his annoyance clear, but his hand didn’t move from the door. Instead, he leaned over in her direction, lowering his voice as he whispered, “He’s lucky I’m in a good mood.”

She stifled a laugh, the absurdity of the situation settling in. But Damian, being the kind of unflappable man he was, shifted his focus back to it entirely.

“Alright,” he said loud enough for JD to hear, almost dismissively. “You’ve said your piece. Ve dale.”

There was a boyish laugh from the other side, and the sound of retreating footsteps followed. Damian waited a beat longer, ensuring their privacy, before letting his hand drop and turning his attention back to her.

“See, preciosa? Easy!” He wiped his hands together, brushing the existence of the others off his shoulder.

“You’re insane,” she grinned up at him.

“Maybe,” he smiled back unrepentantly. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it all of a sudden.”

She rolled her eyes, but the truth was undeniable. He stepped toward her, his fingers trailing lightly down her arm before catching her wrist and pulling her into his chest so he could take her fully into his arms.

“When we get to the next city,” he stared, his voice muffled against her hair. “I’m booking us a room. No interruptions, no walls, no keeping quiet. Just you and me.”

Humming in acceptance, and almost contentment, she angled her head to the side so she could speak to him. “And then?” she asked softly.

“And then…” he echoed, lowering a hand down to her ass, where he unashamedly grabbed a handful. “Then you can ride Papi all you want, baby girl. All night, however you want me.”

Her cheeks burned, but the elated grin she gave him let him know he’d hit the mark.

“Gas stop’s not gonna take long,” he said. “It’s just enough time for me to think about everything I’m gonna do to you later. But for now…”

He pulled his head back to look down into her eyes.

“Behave, mi amor. Or Papi might not be able to wait that long…”

Translations: Ya basta - Enough’s enough Cariña - Sweetheart/darling/term of endearment Mi vida - My life/term of endearment Preciosa - Precious/term of endearment Pendejo - Idiot/dumbass/dummy Ay dios mio - My God Sucia - Dirty Hermosa - Pretty Siempre - Always Tan suave - So soft No corras, mi amor - No running, sweetheart/my love Claro, qué sí - Yes, you can ¿Verdad? - Right?/No?

Dios mío, extraño esa boca - My God, I miss that mouth

Reina de mi Corazón - Queen of my Heart

Todo lo que no te pudo dar - Everything he couldn’t give you

Deja que Papí coma - Let Daddy eat

Ve dale - Now go

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hobisfavoritespritecan · 1 year ago

Note

Hey,

First of all, I absolutely adore your writing style and in general your stories (especially the Hannibal ones). Could you please write one, where Hannibal is overly possessive, because he thought his wife got too close to Chilton at one of his dinner parties? And to end it all of there is smut. (If you are comfortable with that).Thank you for considering

Close Call

Hannibal Lecter X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Over possessiveness on Hannibal's part, slight angst, swearing, mentions of blood and wounds, sociopathic and manipulative tendencies, uhh first time writing smut so hopefully it's okay (it's fairly light) ⚠️

I also didn't read through this again and edit it, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors!

Hannibal finds himself somewhat outraged at an overly confident Chilton getting too close to his wife. No matter, he'll just have to remind the two of you of what's his.

Dinner parties were nothing short of extravagant when it came to Hannibal Lecter's craft.

The wines were paired with the delicacies adorning the plates on the mahogany table; everything had its own respective place, down to the last spoon and fork on each intricately folded napkin. There was, of course, the smell wafting through the corridors of the Lecters' home, signifying the delicious meal being prepared in the kitchen and acting as bait to those mingling in the living room as they awaited the call to be seated. From your perspective, the table had to be crafted to perfection so that the party full of rich good-for-nothings had no complaints of the events of the night. Of course, you adored your husband's cooking, but less so you enjoyed the company he chose. Intelligence wasn't something that came from the accumulation of degrees and the bragging of doing so- in your opinion- but rather came from the passion associated with the understanding of others and their natural environments. In other words, conversations of nonsensical retellings of the rise to power and gathering of wealth that these particular guests had were of no interest to you. These people spoke of books on law and work projects as though they've forgotten entirely what it means to express humanity: experience.

But you were ever so careful to express your opinion on the subject of what it means to be human. Although you acknowledged your differing perspective, you didn't want to diminish the perspectives of those who might only know of the desires associated with "book smarts," and not what you referred to as "experience points." These two things could coexist, but it was often that a person leaned heavier towards either side. You still had more to learn about the balance of these, but alas, that is the human condition.

Hannibal loved you for this.

Being someone so intensely driven towards the path of psychology and law, it was refreshing being married to someone who expressed opposition to having that be the basis of every conversation. He loved a good conversation on written words and philosophers and mathematical expressions, but he loved even more to have someone in his life that kept him his understanding of biology and the preservation of his humanity. With his- er- hobby, as some would refer to it as- it became difficult to maintain this humanistic approach. These dinner parties served more as an obligatory social preservation to his image, so as not to be caught with his peculiar hobby.

And the culinary arts were his escape, anyways. A win-win except for the fact you'd be bored out of your mind talking to some of these people, he knew. Nevertheless, you had a polite smile etched onto your face wearing very presentable attire. You were a master at code-switching, it seemed, replacing your usually laid-back and outgoing personality with a more hoity-toity, reserved aura.

You had on a slightly more revealing outfit; a dress so navy it almost seemed black under any lighting that wasn't direct candlelight. This dress had been cut just above the knees with an off-shoulder neckline, exposing the very top of your chest and the beginning of your upper thighs. It was classily paired with silver earrings gifted to you by your husband, and a half up-do with your precariously crafted curls threatening to spill out of the fastened hairclip from behind. Hannibal had expressed just how lovely you'd looked as he helped you with your zipper earlier, placing a hemline of kisses to your collarbone.

He wasn't the only one who'd had this realization dawn on them during the night, however. A bright-eyed Dr. Chilton who'd received nothing short of a pity-invite, found himself drawing away from the conveniently placed appetizers to the lavish chairs facing the fireplace where you sat. He silently waited for your conversation to conclude before he decided to sweep in and take the woman's place on your right, finishing the glass of brandy in his hand before doing so.

"(Y/N)," He almost seemed exasperated, as if he were already slightly drunk, "A pleasure."

He reached out his hand to you in an attempt to get you to shake it as an overly friendly gesture, acknowledgement to his presence. You proceeded to smile at him instead, as you'd become familiar to his intentions.

"Hello, Dr. Chilton, how are you?"

His face flushed as he withdrew his hand from your space, opting to rest it against his leg as he sunk further into his chair, getting more comfortable. He was definitely drunk and if not drunk, then the far side of tipsy. You already didn't care for the guy much, so this chance encounter was a hinderance in your eyes before conversational topics even arose.

"You know, I never understood the drab curtains you chose for the interior of your living room, Mrs. Lecter. They block out all of the sunlight." He began, eyeing the bottle of scotch being poured out by another guest to the left of your chair. His eyes seemed to be glazed over as he spoke, however, the dimly lit fireplace seemed to cast some light back into them. His suit of choice was a corduroy one. The heavy material of the fabric already making him break out in a slight sweat.

Grimacing, you feign another smile as you fully acclimate yourself to the conversation at hand. You tell yourself to remember your polite flattery, but honestly with the way Dr. Chilton was, you knew he would take any sort of attention to his character the wrong way.

"Yes, that was the way we intended them to be, doctor. Have you ever been to our home during the daytime? It's not as drab as you may have perceived it to be."

Dr. Chilton had been coming onto you for quite some time now. Despite knowing you were wed and the many implications of your marriage you'd spoken about, he still managed to hold onto the hope that maybe one day something would spark between the two of you. It wouldn't. It hadn't. His blatantly disrespectful comments about yours and Hannibal's relationship were starting to burrow under your skin and take root in an uncomfortable fashion. Part of you felt bad for the man, another part wanted to sock him in the face.

Respectably, of course.

"Perhaps not. Maybe I spoke out of turn." He claimed, uneasily moving about in his chair despite his initial comfortability at the beginning of your dialogue. Maybe if you kept with the slight I-don't-like-you innuendos, then maybe he would be drunk enough to give it a rest and would return to his normal self come morrow.

"Maybe." You agree, taking a sip from your glass of Chardonnay. It was almost dinnertime. You could hold out until then, couldn't you?

"You know," Chilton began, staring deep into the fire and allowing a hushed sigh to escape your lips in anticipation of another redundant comment, "I used to set fires in Uni all the time. Its a miracle I graduated with any degree at all with the amount of trouble I used to get into as a boy."

Pause. Was there finally something worthwhile to discuss with this man?

"Really? And the occasion was...?" You asked, trying to direct the topic back to this small bombshell the Doctor had just dropped in your presence. Experience points were far more interesting to talk about than a poor understanding of the "48 Laws of Power," which was the last conversation you'd had.

He seemed to perk up in his chair realizing that you'd finally taken something that left his mouth with interest. "None, we were just playing with matches and grew bored. Only got caught because the wind carried the flames back to our dorm which almost set alight." He smiled and for a moment, you could see the memory replaying through those glossy eyes of his. You felt included, as if you'd been there yourself, watching the growing light of the flames dance around the edges of the matches you were playing with.

As if on cue, your husband's hand was gently but firmly placed on your shoulder from behind. You knew instantly it was him because of the wafting smell of his woodsy cologne and the wine he was drinking infiltrating your nose. His grip on you was polite but there was an edge to it, an unfamiliar one at that. Was something wrong?

Turning around, you see his darkened glare towards Chilton in the chair next to you. His matching dark navy suit making him look all the more professional and intimidating in this light; if you were Chilton you'd have run far far away from the glare Hannibal had. He seemed to pay no mind, however, eyes still focused on you until your husband broke the silence:

"Dinnertime."

It was at that moment that you noticed all the other guests had made their way to the kitchen and the three of you were the only ones in the living room. How long had you been talking to the doctor for? Hannibal's repressed anger suddenly made sense.

Walking to the kitchen, you were in awe at the sight before you. Hannibal had really put his all into tonight, and it showed. The plates were nothing short of art with the first course on display with accompanying sauces and garnish that turned them into something out of a museum painting. The entire get-up was something out of the Renaissance itself; everything in its perfect place. Hannibal stood at the head of the table, glass in hand as he prepared to make a toast to progress the night's dinner.

"I would like to thank you all for coming out tonight."

A collection of smiles and exchanged glances ensued, everyone pleased with their invite.

"Amongst this crowd are the most intellectual and inspiring people I've had the pleasure of getting to become familiar with. You're all of high accomplishments and achievements and I would like to thank each of you, individually, with a meal that encapsulates such dedication shown by you all."

Your husband then smiled at you and raised his glass.

"I would also like to thank my lovely wife, with whom I share this simple but joyous life with."

There was a hint of something there, something alongside the adoration he expressed for you on the daily. There was a twinge of that anger once more, but could it really be directed towards your conversation with Chilton? It seemed so clear to you that your husband surpassed the former in every way possible: intelligence and compassion, hell, down to the formal attire he adorned himself with daily. There was no way he would feel threatened by another man so unruly.

"Likewise." You said, tilting your glass up to the ceiling in acknowledgement of his kind and respectable words.

"Once more to reiterate, MY wife and I spent a long time on this meal so I hope you all enjoy it." He smiled a forced grin and directed his gaze towards Chilton. "And nothing on the menu for tonight is vegetarian."

...

The night was filled with more of the usual countless bantering between everyone in the room, trying to appeal more and more to everyone else. You were swept into what seemed like every conversation in the house and all of this sociability was starting to grow exhausting. The meal was phenomenal, to say the least, but did little to calm your worries with your husband's current expression of intolerance and dismay. You wanted nothing more than to head upstairs to your shared bedroom and to sort things out with him; to maybe end the night with a passionate kiss and to then retire to bed, finally. That desire, however, seemed like miles away because of the ongoing event that you were starting to despise more with every passing minute.

Not to mention, your dress was starting to get extremely uncomfortable, as if your skin were melting into the seams of the fabric.

As if on cue to make the night worse, Dr. Chilton was making his way towards you, undoubtedly much more drunk this time. He was stumbling over his own loafers and the floorboards were not his friend at the moment. He was making a fool of himself and you wanted so badly to just disappear.

Just then, the floorboard by the fireplace where you were sitting popped up in front of him. Everything from then went in slow-motion, the wood, the stumbling of Chilton's feet and the slow advancement towards the fire. Seeing how this would play out, you wanted to yell "Stop!" but you were frozen. Just as you had predicted, he had a horrid fall towards the open flame, his cufflinks connecting with the place stones and his right arm breaking the fall. His hand wasn't lucky enough to miss the fire, his scream instantly echoing throughout the room.

"Dr. Chilton!" Hannibal yelled, already to his feet with the pitcher of water from the charcuterie table. It was insane that his reflexes allowed him to respond instantaneously. Almost as if he had prepared for the doctor's fall. Springing the water onto Chilton, the fire was put out almost as quickly as it had started.

"Are you okay?" You asked the doctor, leaning down to his level on the floor, holding his now hurt hand.

"B-b-bandages." He was able to muster out.

The closer look you got to his hand, the closer you could see the wound. The flames didn't consume his flesh for very long, although there was now a coating of red on his skin alongside a few open gashes. Looking to your husband for help, you instead saw him standing above you, a scowl on his lips. He looked angrier than he'd ever before and the sight of it scared you. Had he been angry that the party was ruined? That one of his guests were hurt?

Chilton was then led to the kitchen where his wounds were properly addressed and tended to. The aid kit that had collected dust on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet had finally been put to use, and, upon further inspection, it had been decided for the doctor to call for an ambulance for a more professional treatment.

He left. Everyone followed suit. It was now only you and your husband.

"I'm sorry that had to happen the way it did." You said, reaching out to touch his shoulder and soothe him in my way you could. "Would you like me to help you clean up?"

He mumbled something under his breath before he made his way up the elongated glass stairs. It was unbelievably peculiar for him to retire to bed this early, especially before cleaning up from a party.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, voice coming out as nothing more than a feeble whisper. He stopped in his tracks, his blazer now resting atop his free arm opposite to the one holding the railing. His tie was loosened and from where you were standing, you couldn't see his face all that clearly.

He finally spoke up.

"What are your intentions with Chilton?" He asked.

You stopped in your initial tracks to follow your husband up the stairs. Was he accusing you of courtship? And with the doctor of all people?

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N)."

Your heart broke for a moment, there was no way he really thought that after years of marriage, after what you had come to learn about him and his... capabilities...that you would choose another man, albeit in front of his own eyes?

"I have no intentions with Chilton, Hanni. Not as an acquaintance, not as a friend, not as a lover." You continued to follow him up the stairs and to your shared bedroom where he placed the blazer and tie on the bedside table rather than hang it up as he usually did. He undid his cufflinks and unbuttoned the top his neckline.

"I only want you, Hannibal. You know that."

He pursed his lips and finally, from where he leant against the bed, looked up at you standing in the doorframe. Your expression was a worried one, not of someone who had underlying intentions. Hannibal knew what you wanted, knew who you wanted, but Chilton had gotten the better of him tonight. And besides, tormenting the two of you to remind both of you who you belong to was a much more satisfying game to play.

"Alright." Hannibal said, accepting your validation with his thick, Danish accent. "Show me."

"I- what?" You asked, being taken aback completely by surprise. His eyes were dark with thoughts you had grown to be all too familiar with from him. Despite clearly understanding his interpretation of the words, you still stood frozen at the door, waiting. There was something about this that wasn't going to be as sweet as the usual slow and sensual intimacy you'd had with your husband and you knew this fact.

Just then, as if taking your hesitance as permission, he stands and walks over to you, the height difference ever so apparent now that you were face to face. His gelled hair was now starting to come undone, as was yours, as he held your gaze. His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear and then trailed to your neck, your collarbone, your breast. He then allowed his hand to go further, down to your waist and then pulled you into him, holding you there as gently but firm as one could be. He was watching your face as he did so, never breaking eye contact even once.

Your breath hitched in your throat. A growing warmth developed in your midsection as your husband had you entranced with his every move. He was enjoying this, enjoying you, enjoying the situation he put you in. He had turned on his more sadistic side and it was becoming evident with the way he progressed down your body, replacing his hands with kisses and moving towards your thighs then back up, as if with haste, towards your mouth. You felt as though you were going to faint right then and there.

He suddenly stops his kisses and then goes to finish unbuttoning his shirt. His wide frame was revealed with every unfastened button popping off, slowly but surely. Every inch of his skin had been crafted to the likes of the gods, it was as if he were one of them himself. No imperfections in his skin as far as the eye could see. He was beautiful. He was the divine definition of beauty itself.

He swiftly moved his hands to your throat, fingers following suit as he held you there, against the bedroom wall, a juxtaposition to his masterfully divine beauty of feigned innocence. His breath was hot but not unpleasant as he whispered into the nape of your neck:

"You belong to me."

And that was all it took for you to fold entirely, becoming a puppet to his every command, desires of the flesh being the only thing on both your minds. You needed him and he needed you to need him. He wanted a full surrender, a full understanding that he was the only man you'd ever be able to fulfill these lustrous fantasies with.

"Do you understand?" He asked, not giving you a second to think any further before he moved you from the wall and to the bed, where he towered over you.

"Y-yes." You said, waiting to see what he would do next.

"Good. Now take it."

Confused, you looked up at him but he had already had other plans, flipping you into your stomach and forcing himself inside you, under your dress. The instant burn that you felt was replaced by immediate satisfaction as you saw stars. Through this position you could feel him inside you, hot and intense, pushing deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He dug into you until he was all you could feel, hear, taste, see. He was owning every inch of your skin and forcing you to feel it.

And you loved it.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, anger laced in his voice.

"You." You tried your best to get out with the intense feeling between your thighs but it was next to impossible.

"What was that?" He asked once more, forcing you to say it louder.

Just as you were about to respond, he picks you up and turns you around to face him, taking in his expression. You were on your knees looking up at him, tears in your eyes at the intensity of what had just happened. Your dress was definitely ruined by this point but you couldn't care less.

"You." You said, waiting for him to say something, anything at all. He placed his finger on your lips and smiled down at you while he toyed with them. He then put himself inside of your mouth, your jaws stretching to be able to take him.

"Good." He said, quickening his original pace as he sighed with content. You allowed him to finish before the two of you fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

He was holding you in his arms now, making sure you were alright as he kissed the top of your head and face, looking at the marks he'd left on your skin. He'd make sure those were more visible the next time someone tried to intrude on your guys' company. Especially on a pity invite.

He'd also make sure not to let Chilton off with a warning next time, making sure to purposely set his entire body on fire, not just his hand.

But you were asleep soundly in his arms, full of him and he had won.

...

A/N : Hello! This is my first time writing smut kinda so I hope this is up to par with some other fanfic writers. I really hope this fulfills your request! Lmk if anyone has any other requests, my ask box is open! 🫶

#hannibal x reader #hannigram #hannibal nbc #hannibal lecter #hannibal #mads mikkelsen x reader #mads mikkelsen #mads mikkleson #fanfiction #fanfic writing #hobisfavoritespritecan

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