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toournextadventure · 2 months

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everyone but her pt.43

Summary: Wednesday knows she'll discover the killer. She will end this string of disasters. Even if it's the last thing she'll ever do.

Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: swearing, blood, canon typical violence Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader A/N: This has maybe two or three allusions to the one-shot revenge, but it's not required to read before this chapter. (Masterlist)

The summer air was starting to give way to fall in the most minuscule of ways. Heat still enveloped the atmosphere, leaving you miserable and sticky with a sheen layer of sweat. Wednesday liked seeing you with a layer of sweat covering your skin. It was attractive in a primal way that she wouldn’t dare be ashamed of. The only thing she didn’t like was your attitude.

Which had only gotten worse since the charity event.

You weren’t unkind, not intentionally. It was evident in the guilt written across your face whenever you snapped at someone or something. Not too long ago, you had snapped at Wednesday after she had asked to assist you with making dinner. She had stood her ground as you berated her, saying you were “more than capable of cooking on my own, I’m not inept.” No sooner had the words left your lips had you turned to face her with tears in your eyes.

Of course you had apologised instantly, incessantly. Never had you said something to her with the intent to injure. Not unless you were already hurting over something you had yet to talk with her about. She knew this, knew your insecurity with emotions. After all, she was learning along with you, and it was no easy journey.

But those very instances were what led Wednesday to struggle with figuring out how best to assist you. Nights passed where you were found unconscious on the couch, all the lights on and the television still playing. It was usually something childish; a technique you and Enid shared in common to disallow the nightmares from reappearing.

Even when Wednesday attempted to stay awake with you, insisting she preferred your company, the nightmares prevailed. Or perhaps they weren’t nightmares, but intrusive thoughts. She could hear you mumbling to yourself, both conscious and not, arguing with someone who wasn’t there. If you finally managed to sleep, you twitched and whined and cried.

Initially, she had believed you were talking to Nicky; she remembered when you had told her you could still see him. For a long while, she had believed that was who you were talking to. She knew siblings bickered and fought, it wasn’t too unusual. After all, she and Pugsley fought as well, it was quite common.

She wasn’t so confident in her beliefs after the fire.

You were more on edge, jumping at the slightest of noises. And after the charity, your reactions had gotten worse. If you were unaware of her presence, you talked in a normal tone, arguing with whoever you could see. Or perhaps you didn’t see anyone at all; after all, you weren’t a Seer. Whatever was inside your head, she had no idea. All she knew was it was slowly driving you insane, and she couldn’t help.

I’m scared, you had said once. I don’t think I’m alone in my mind. She had asked her mother what it could mean, but she had no concrete answers. And it wasn’t like she could very well ask you, seeing as you were unaware of what was going on as well.

The only saving grace through the entire summer was Eugene graduating from Nevermore and getting accepted into the same university they all attended. For the first time in years, Wednesday saw you smile effortlessly. You had instantly invited Eugene out for a night, and he had eagerly accepted. She enjoyed seeing you happy. If she had known all those years ago that her forcing you to hang out with Eugene would have led to this sort of friendship, she would have never believed it.

“Don’t go into the woods,” Wednesday said when you grabbed your keys by the door.

“Why?” You asked.

Images flashed in her mind of the woods. The two people from her last vision were standing there in their own blood, looking directly into her soul. Surely her visions didn’t always come true. Whatever the case, she wouldn’t let this one come to pass.

“Every time you two have gone into the woods, you’ve come home injured,” she said instead without an ounce of hesitation.

“The first time was a full moon, and the second was a freak accident,” you argued, entirely too stubborn to accept defeat so easily. “We’re a perfect duo.”

“A perfect duo of tomfoolery,” she said.

You smiled. “I like that word,” you whispered. “But quit worrying, we’re just going to get coffee.”

“In town?”

“No, in the forest,” you chimed back. Wednesday turned just enough to give you the look she knew you hated. “Of course it’s in town, love,” you chuckled.

She turned back to face the overly large Investigation Board you had bought for the apartment. Though she loved her original one, it was hard to deny she had needed the extra space. Information came to light almost faster than she could keep up with, and her one board had long since become crowded. With your new addition, she could continue to investigate without any worries.

Boots hit the ground lightly, getting closer until an arm snaked around her waist. It used to startle her, sending her pulse skyrocketing before she remembered who it was. Now, it was a comfort. Your warmth scorched its way to her soul, and the silent possessiveness of the act was not lost on her. It was a character trait you had picked up after the gala. She wasn’t upset about it.

“We’ll be safe,” you said softly, your breath brushing against the shell of her ear. “My phone is charged this time.”

“Is Eugene’s?” She asks.

“Let me check,” you said. Behind her, you shifted to your other foot and leaned down to her other ear. “Yeah, it’s good.”

She knew you didn’t check.

“No unplanned excursions without prior warning,” she said. Demanded. Pleaded. It was humiliating.

But when she thought of the two previous instances you had been caught in the woods with Eugene - three, if she included when you had gone with Yoko - she lost any care about how she sounded. Too many times she had seen you on the brink of either death or mental anguish. Or both. If pleading for you to be careful was humiliating, then she would put her pride aside for the time being.

“If we do something else, I’ll call,” you said.

“If I do not answer?”

“I’ll call Enid,” you answered immediately.

Good. She had trained you well.

“Inform Eugene that I said hello,” she said.

“Yes ma’am,” you said.

Behind her, you shifted, pulling her back into you ever so slightly. Not enough to disrupt her train of thought - though you had done that already - simply to get her attention. Warm lips pressed lightly to the back of her neck and, not for the first nor last time, she thought of how unusual the comfort was.

Perhaps you had made her into her mother after all.

Oh. Oh, that was a horrific thought.

“We’ll go over the board when I get back?” You asked when you stepped away and made your way to the door.

“I’ll have my findings in bullet points,” she said without turning to face you.

“Sounds good, I'll be back!” You called out. Far louder than necessary, but that was rather typical.

Wednesday didn’t answer. Which, quite frankly, was also rather typical. She was too focused on trying to find out how to get you unconnected from the list of suspects. Of course, she knew you weren’t the one that had attacked those fraternity boys, or your therapist, or Ash and Joel. She knew, because you had told her you hadn’t.

Perhaps it was foolish to believe a suspect, but she trusted you implicitly.

Which left her feeling at a loss for new leads.

Your mother’s words echoed in her head. This curse prevailed long before Nicholas. Surely that hadn’t just been a threat. There wasn’t much that she knew about your mother, but she did know the woman was calculating. Raised in a higher society that valued cold precision over reckless action.

Was it a genuine curse? She was well aware of them, Grandmama Addams had taught her everything she knew. Her mother had taught her everything she knew. If it was a genuine curse, there would be some way to break it. Perhaps, if she talked with your mother, she could learn the nature of your downfall and reverse it.

The thought of something surrounding you, enveloping you in chaos and distress was unsettling. Wednesday was well versed in chaos and distress, she craved it, actively sought after it even. But when it involved you? She had seen your troubles enough over the years she had known you, she knew you didn’t need any help from outside forces.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to talk with your mother after all. Would you hate her terribly for it? Surely not, she was doing it for you, after all. If it could help you have a normal life like you wished, then there would be no problem at all. You just needed to trust her.

Now all she needed to do was find a time to make it happen.

“Hey Wil-,” Wednesday turned quickly to see Enid stopped in the doorway, “-um, ew.”

Of course. The Investigation Board.

“Finding any answers?” Enid asked as she precariously entered the apartment.

Wednesday huffed. “No.” Her arms sat crossed over her chest. “Though I have a list of suspects.”

“Is your girlfriend anywhere on that list?” Enid asked cautiously with hands clasped tightly behind her back.

“Of course not,” she said quickly. “Why would she be?”

“Well.” Enid let the end of the word drag out. “Okay listen,” she sighed. “You know I totes love her to death.” Wednesday nodded once. “But don’t you think it’s a little suspicious that everything happening seems to revolve around her?”

Well, she didn’t like that train of thought one bit.

“All of her whereabouts have been accounted for since everything started,” Wednesday defended.

“Have they?” Enid asked. “No one knew for sure where she was when Mac was murdered.”

“At the shop, there were cameras.”

“That weren’t working,” Enid said quickly.

“I was by her side the entire fraternity party.”

“Until you went to round everybody up.”

“We were together when we discovered the murders of her parents’ acquaintances.”

“How about before they were discovered?”

Wednesday opened her mouth to argue. Of course she had been with you the entire time. Where else would you have been if not by her side? It wasn’t like you would simply run away, commit a murder, and come back like nothing had ever happened. Besides, every new murder had seemed to shock you, and you weren’t a good actor. She would have noticed if it wasn’t genuine.

Her mouth slowly fell closed. She supposed you had left before at least one of the murders. Or… all of them. No, that was impossible, you couldn’t have done such a thing. You had been gone for reasonable times, and never unaccounted for. Even if you hadn’t told Wednesday personally, you had told someone else. There was no possibility that it was you.

“I mean, she did kill those Canadian guys when she was younger,” Enid said with a shrug.

Wednesday did her best to push the thought of her mind. As usual.

“Have you found anything useful?” Enid asked softly, changing the train of thought either nary a hitch.

Wednesday turned to face her. “Do you truly wish to know?”

She hummed and nodded.

Not that there was much to tell. Wednesday went over the knife wounds, and the attempt to blame a werewolf (which she was, appropriately so, angry about). About the possibilities of a siren, or shapeshifter, or who knew what else (you had both agreed it was still up in the air). Everything she knew, she informed Enid of.

Much to her surprise, Enid didn’t faint at the autopsy photos.

“Are they even still out there?” Enid asked as she stepped closer, her shoulder brushing gently against Wednesday’s. “It’s been a while since the last one.”

“The family house burned down only a few months ago.”

“Well yeah, that was weird, but I mean the murders,” Enid said. “We technically can’t say if the two were related.”

“They’re out there,” Wednesday said definitively.

A phone vibrated on the small dining table. She left Enid to look at the board as she picked the phone up. Anxiety bubbled up into her chest at your name, but when she swiped the phone open and read the message, it eased.

“Everything okay?” Enid asked.

“Y/N and Eugene are going to lunch with Devan and Casey,” Wednesday said as she placed the phone back on the table.

“I’m glad they all get to hang out,” Enid said as she finally placed herself on the couch. It only took her a moment to find the remote and put something on the television.

As am I, Wednesday thought before situating herself beside Enid. She was elated that you were hanging out with Eugene again. You had sighed and moaned about missing Eugene more times than she could count. You had both talked on the phone plenty of times and played your silly little games together, but it wasn’t the same. Or so you said, she believed it was rather similar.

Though she could have done without you seeing Casey and Devan. They were most certainly on her list of suspects.

Enid didn’t stay long; a bit unusual for her, though it was a full moon later so it could be excused. Her absence, along with yours, left the apartment quiet. Cold. An unusual situation to be stuck in. Wednesday wondered when she had started to rely on your presence to make the living space feel complete.

Her eyes trailed away from the television. Your things were so interspersed with hers that she was unsure what belonged to who. That dagger on the shelf had belonged to her, but you had stolen it at Nevermore, and now it sat wedged perfectly between a handmade mug and an old Addams vial of poison. An heirloom if ever there was one.

If one were to open the closet, one would assume it was split perfectly in half. Wednesday’s dark wardrobe in contrast to your carefree, occasionally bright and colourful one. Yet that’s not what they would find. They would find black mixed with colour, items not belonging to one person but to you both. With the exception of a few items that didn’t fit the other, everything was shared amongst you both.

Though she had fought the idea at first there were even… photographs hanging around the apartment. She knew of the paintings in the Addams family home, all of her ancestors. But this was different. To know she was in the photographs with you, together, showing the most vulnerable of emotions around you. It was solidified in a physical manifestation, laid bare for the world to see. Or the photographs you had taken without her knowledge, of her and the friend group and your family and her family. It lit a fire in her chest that she had initially thought was horrific.

She was wrong.

As much as she despised the thought, she wondered if her mother had seen such a thing happening. Had she predicted that you would be so intertwined in Wednesday’s life? That if someone wished to see you separated, they would have to surgically remove each part with inhuman precision.

And she found a surprising amount of joy in that fact.

Wednesday found herself still staring at those pictures when the door to the apartment opened. There you stood, bags in your hands and an unusually serene look on your face. She liked seeing you come back to the apartment. To home. Your shared home. She wished to have you come home to her every night for the rest of your lives.

“Are you okay?” You asked as you closed the door behind you.

Wednesday hesitated. “Of course,” she said, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s your writing time,” you said with a head gesture toward the typewriter.

Of course. She had nearly forgotten you cared enough to remember - and respect - her schedule. Something you had done from the moment you met her, and yet it still surprised her. Though she was stuck in her own determinations, she should have realised then that you were different. Special.

“I'm quite content to skip my writing time today,” Wednesday said.

You smiled. “Too busy with the Board?”

She hummed in response. It was better for you to believe she was investigating. As soft as you had made her over the years, she didn't have the humility to inform you of her actual actions throughout the day. To tell you she had done nothing but think of your life together.

“Oh,” you said from the kitchen, “I brought dinner!”

It wasn’t even nearing the proximity of dinner time.

You reappeared with empty hands. “Chung had a few pickup orders that were never picked up,” you explained as you walked toward the couch. “Eugene took some home and I gave some to Ash since, you know, she claims I’m going to get her killed.”

You fell onto the couch, and your hand instinctively went to her knee. The skin on your palms was unbearably rough and calloused. From years of use, whether it be climbing or carpentry or helping your family, your skin was what she could consider “worn.” Yet when you touched her, all she could feel was the gentleness underneath the rough exterior. The love and care you put into every movement around her.

She stiffened. There. This softness was the perfect motivation to ease whatever curse had been laid upon you.

“Did you give any to Joel?” She asked. You tilted your head. “Since the same argument can be used for both him and Ash.”

“I’m not gonna get him killed,” you mumbled. Even softer, “he wasn’t home.”

Wednesday nodded in answer. Silence enveloped the room as you both sat on the couch and looked off into nothing. Something was playing on the television, but she couldn’t have said what. The sound was down so truly, it didn’t matter. Your fingers rubbed gentle circles on the inside of her knee.

Your head tilted once, then again.

“Is it morbid that we have pictures of dead bodies in our living room?” You asked.

She looked back at the Investigation Board taking over a good portion of the living room. It was quite the anomaly to most people, she would admit. Since Nevermore, Enid would always faint and the others would comment. None of it mattered to her, of course, but it was an undeniable fact.

You had never said anything negative.

“I believe it’s quite acceptable,” she finally said.

You nodded subconsciously. “My thoughts exactly.” Your shoulders sagged with a sigh. “Whatcha wanna do now?”

With a turn of her head, she looked out the window. Clearly she had misjudged the time, as the sun was starting to make its decent to the ground. Still bright, leaving a column of light on the floor, but fading second by second. It was a calming sight, to watch the sun start to set from the comfort of her living room. Your living room.

The idea was bold. She didn’t care.

“I would like to bathe,” she said. Her eyes met yours. “With you.”

Your smile met your eyes. “I’ll go start the bath.”

Without time to say a word, you practically jumped from the couch and ran to the bathroom. Always so eager, she thought as she stood. You were rummaging around in the bathroom before the faucet squeaked and water rushed into the tub. What were you looking for? Had you found it? Her questions internal questions about you were endless.

“Don’t come in yet,” you called out through the still-open door.

You had a plan, that much was obvious. She loved when you had plans; more often than not, they failed. There was something enjoyable about your failed plans. It made them more realistic. Not because you weren’t good at planning, but because you simply planned bigger than life.

Her feet carried her to the bedroom while you continued to shuffle around out of her sight. The closet doors eased open and Wednesday lowered herself to her knees. There, in the back right corner of the closet - in what had originally been her side - was a pair of boots that often went unworn. A small black box sat in the left boot, shoved into the toe behind a rolled-up pair of socks.

Small fingers gently pulled it from its cave before opening the top. And there, in the middle of the box, was a ring. A ring that she had gotten from her mother, who had gotten it from her mother, and the list went on farther than she could accurately remember. Just a simple silver band with a black stone in the middle; simple, efficient, comfortable.

Your humming floated into the bedroom before reaching Wednesday’s ears. She hadn’t heard you do that in months, if not longer. Something you only did when you were relaxed. Safe. An unknown song that you were probably making up on the spot. A soothing melody that rested peacefully in her chest.

The ring would look stunning on your finger.

“Hey did you want-”

-Wednesday’s head spun to look at you standing in the doorway to the bathroom. Looking directly at the box in her hand; no, at the ring.

“Put it back,” you said quickly. What? You pointed directly at her. “Wednesday Addams, you put that back in your boot right this instant.”

She couldn’t find the words to say. What could she say? What did you mean? How did you even know she had kept the ring hidden in her boot? You practically stomped over to the closet and kneeled beside her, mirroring everything about her. Even down to the boot on your side.

You pulled out a box of identical size.

“You’ve beat me to everything,” you said as you shifted, falling further to the floor to cross your legs. “I wanted to beat you just this once.”

Between your slender fingers, you gripped the ring gently and held it up for her to see. A black band that held a white stone between thorny vines. On each side of the stone was a small metal skull with white eyes. It was macabre; perfect. How long had you saved up for such a thing?

“I was gonna ask you after graduation,” you said with a crooked smile. “Didn’t wanna distract you.”

“You are rather notorious for it,” Wednesday answered.

Your smile grew. “I found your box back when we went grave digging,” you continued. “Reminded me I needed to step up my game.”

The peaceful look on your face warmed Wednesday’s cold heart. Her mind was still running rampant with the implications. You had… taken the time and money to buy a ring? For her? After all the things she had been unable to do for you? You still got something that solidified your feelings.

She had been - and still was, at times - unable to talk about her feelings with you. Or even listen to your own without prior warning. Time and time again she had been unable to emotionally console you because her own emotions were so far separated from the average person. She had taken her sweet time to learn how to be in any sort of relationship, even something as simple as a friendship.

And yet, that ring stayed firm between your fingers.

“I’ll wear yours if you wear mine,” you said, pulling her out of her mental spiral.

She blinked once. “Is that a proposal?” She asked. “I don’t believe this would be considered romantic.”

“I have a plan for later, I promise,” you chuckled as you held the ring out to her. “But now I’m kind of excited.”

Something stuck in her throat to prevent her from voicing a similar opinion. Instead, she simply held the ring out for you to take as well. Your smile was almost contagious, leaving her with spiders in her stomach. An almost forgotten feeling, but she wouldn’t wish for anything else.

Surprisingly, by some grace of the Addams ancestors, both rings fit perfectly.

“So do I get to be an Addams now?” You asked.

You were happy. You were excited at the prospect of being an Addams. To be part of her family in every way possible. The sight of your joy at being one of them left a feeling in her chest that she couldn’t explain. Something that spiderwebbed across every nerve and blood vessel in her body.

It was too much emotion for her. She only truly knew of one way to dispel such feelings. You were still looking at the Addams family ring on your finger. Her hand - adorned with a ring of its own - reached out and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt. She leaned forward as she pulled you into a kiss.

Your lips were uncharacteristically soft. Surely you had been using the chapstick everyone continued to gift you time and time again. Not that Wednesday cared, she simply enjoyed the feel of your lips against hers. It went no further, just a kiss, but it was all she wished for, all she could ever want.

Lightning struck behind her eyes. Your lips were no longer on hers, instead replaced by the warm wind of late summer. She looked around to see a familiar sight. It was becoming too familiar to her mind; talk about unsettling. There behind her stood two figures, dwarfed in comparison by a hulking creature behind them.

A creature with menacing eyes.

“Wednesday.”

Her eyes opened to see you looking at her with a concerned face. How often had she had visions in front of you? How long would it continue? She couldn’t even begin to fathom the cause of such an event. But she refused to believe it had anything to do with you.

“You’re fainting more often,” you said softly, “maybe we should take you to the hospital.”

Wednesday looked away from your face to see it was finally dark outside, the full moon hanging low in the sky.

Wait.

“We have to go,” Wednesday said quickly as she stood up from her spot and started rushing out of the apartment.

“Go where?” You called behind her, followed by a whispered “shit” as you too followed behind.

The door remained open as she ran out. Only a second or two passed before it slammed shut and your footsteps followed. Down the stairs, past Ash - who you mumbled a quick “hello” to - and out the front of the building. Far in the distance, she could hear the howl of a wolf. A wolf much larger than Enid.

“Where are we going?” You asked from somewhere behind her.

She couldn’t talk. Perhaps that was how you felt when your house was going up in flames.

Wednesday picked up the pace once she saw the woods. If she could get there in time, her vision wouldn’t come true. She could keep everyone safe. Her brisk walk turned into a run once the wolf howled again. She could get there in time.

“Wednesday, come back,” you called out.

Warm fingers wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her to a stop. She was forced to spin her body to face you. Vaguely, far away from her thoughts, she could feel the ring pressing into her skin. It was comforting; you were actually wearing it. You were an Addams.

“What’s going-”

-a familiar howl echoed through the woods.

“Enid?” You asked.

Both your eyes went wide.

“Okay, go,” you said as you took off into the woods, pulling Wednesday along behind you.

It was unintentional, but she always forgot how fast you could be. Her feet barely touched the ground with your speed, and if your wings had been out, she swore you would have been airborne. Even with your shirt covering the harness, your wings twitched underneath the cloth, begging to be set free.

Her body slammed into yours when you pulled up to a stop.

“Oh shit,” you whispered.

Wednesday looked around you to see the realisation of her vision. On the ground was Eugene, covered in dark liquid that continued to pour from wounds across his chest. Enid’s wolf stood over him, splotches of red in her otherwise blonde fur. Opposite her was a wolf.

A familiar wolf.

“That’s the bastard who got me at Nevermore,” you huffed.

“How can you tell?” Wednesday asked while you took your shirt off and started undoing the harness.

“I left that scar on his shoulder,” you said with a frown. “Help Eugene.”

If you had given her time, she would have argued with you. Told you to stay put, not to get involved. Enid wouldn’t dare hurt you, but when two wolves were fighting, casualties were expected. You weren’t invincible like you believed you were. She told you not to even go into the woods earlier, you most certainly weren’t supposed to be fighting werewolves.

But she couldn’t stop you. Not when you took off into the air with a gust of wind behind you. It agitated the dirt and left a cloud behind. Each particle that went through Wednesday’s nose tickled and, if she hadn’t been so preoccupied, she would have sneezed.

Enid growled and took off, and Wednesday struggled to keep track of where everyone was. But she knew where Eugene was. Yeah, she could take care of him, that would be easy enough. She could keep her concentration long enough to help him. Not like she was worried about you.

Someone whimpered when she kneeled beside him.

“Don’t bite,” You growled.

Another animalistic scream.

She looked down at the injuries on Eugene. He seemed to be breathing just fine. That was good. The blood had soaked through his shirt, but it hadn’t pooled around him like she had been worried about. That was also good. Okay, she knew what to do. All she had to do was put her hands on the wounds and push down, it was simple.

Something ripped through flesh behind her.

The fight carried on behind her. You and Enid were putting yourselves in danger while she sat there and tried to keep her friend alive. Things were supposed to be getting easier. You were wearing an Addams ring, you weren’t supposed to be putting yourself into such needless danger. The both of you should have been in the bath, enjoying your evening together.

Eugene was still unconscious.

Something solid hit the ground.

A whimper.

Another growl.

There were too many sounds, and she couldn’t bring herself to look. Couldn’t bear to see her friends dying, to see her fiancee getting hurt. Why was it always everyone else? Why was she not the one to ever suffer? Was her punishment for existing simply to watch everyone she cared for get hurt because of her visions-

-a gunshot.

A lingering whimper that faded into the forest.

Wednesday’s dead heart was frozen as she spun around faster than she believed possible for a human. Had someone shot you? Was Enid okay? Oh gods please let Enid be okay, she already looked injured when you had both arrived in the woods.

Ash stood by the thick trunk of a tree, rifle held steady in her hands.

That hadn’t been part of her vision.

“What are you doing here?” You asked breathlessly.

From what Wednesday could see, you were standing tall. Blood dripped from your fingers, but you didn’t appear injured. Beside you, Enid was slowly turning human again. You kept your eyes on Ash, but kneeled to cover Enid with the shirt you had taken off what felt like hours ago.

“Y’all ran past me in the apartment,” Ash said calmly, lowering the rifle. “Addams doesn’t run.”

“Crazy bitch,” you mumbled as you got on the ground to replace Wednesday’s hands on Eugene’s wounds. “Thank you.”

Wednesday stood and looked at Enid. She was finally back on her feet, pulling your shirt tight around her. Blood fell from the deep claw marks on her face. Thankfully, aside from that, she seemed to be okay. As okay as she could be for a werewolf fight.

“Willa,” Enid said with a whimper.

Without hesitation, Wednesday walked forward and pulled Enid into a hug. Enid’s breath on her neck was comforting; it meant she was alive. The thoughts continued to ravage her mind. She could have lost her best friend. She could have lost everyone she cared for. Enid’s hands gripped her tighter.

As much as the thought killed her, Wednesday decided then and there what she needed to do.

She needed to talk with your mother.

#wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams imagine #wednesday imagine #jenna ortega x reader

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driaswrld · 10 months

Text

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, in matters of love and longing, prince satoru comes to the realization that love may only visit the fearless, whilst prince suguru comes to terms with the taste of hope on his tongue... 5k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, romeo & juliet esque balcony meeting, fruit flavored jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO. . . ˚ ༘ *

GRAPE FLAVORED.

Sleep eludes you tonight.

Two nights have passed since the first feast and despite Areta’s consistent chatter of appearances and well needed fun time for a lady of your stature — you’ve chosen not to attend the others for the time being.

You’re assured that Satoru’s presence at the feasts and balls in between remain slim to none unless called upon by his mother, a notion that you would be grateful for under any other circumstance to dodge the question everyone at the palace court whispers behind your back—

( why hasn’t the prince married her yet? )

—but you miss him.

Embarrassingly so.

With palms outstretched, you cradle your weight against the concrete rail of the terrace adjoined to your bedroom. A wisp of wind cooling your cheeks, realization settling in.

You miss Satoru — your best friend, your person.

You miss when he’d sleepily stumble into your alcove by the palace’s west wing and lay dramatically before you, begging you to paint him or at least sketch the width of his shoulders ; begging you to 'immortalize the omnipotent beauty of the realm’s strongest' — his words not yours.

The way he’d linger by your side, laugh at your jokes and make even cruder ones of his own—

This yearning settled deep within your bones akin to that of a grieving widow doesn’t feel the way it should feel when one misses a friend.

( satoru does not yearn for you in this way, you know it. )

It’s hot, a boiling pit within your stomach and it never leaves your veins—

—not until two nights ago, that is.

Two nights ago when he reappeared.

“Your highness?”

Dearest gentle reader,

in these delicate matters

of love and longing—

“My lady,” Suguru calls out in a similarly hushed fashion. “You're awake.”

Down below the terrace, he stands on the trimmed lawn in his sleep trousers and shirt, dark hair tousled and eyes half lidded — you would've laughed at him if the air between you two hadn't settled with something else.

“I couldn't sleep,” you respond, watching with bated breath as he steps forward, one foot resting atop a raised brick in the mud, eyes trained above, where you stand.

“You often take late strolls, your grace?”

Suguru laughs, breathy, soft. “Your grace,” he repeats your words, mockingly. A few dark strands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back to look up at you. “You’d think having me in my sleeping trousers alone would be enough for you to discard all formalities—”

( right, this encounter is improper. )

“Forgive me, Suguru,” leaves your lips in correction. You lean further over the terrace rail, body bent in near half to gaze down at him. “It isn't often I speak with men while in my dressing gown.”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

A laugh of your own breaks through and he joins in unison.

So far, and yet so close.

A soft silence soon passes over the two of you under the moonlight.

Suguru, who’d been away for so long, could make years of absence feel null — as if he’d been residing here with you all this time. As if he had been keeping your company in tow, as if the breath of your laugh belonged to him.

As if he hadn't left you.

“I wondered,” Suguru breaks the silence, pale fist wrapping around a stray vine along the wall. “If I would get the chance to speak with you like this.” He whispers, but even from so high above, you hear him clearly in the night's silence.

You know what he means. Just us two. You’ve wondered the same, albeit too often through the years.

Why didn't you write to me? You want to ask. Why didn't you come to visit? Follows next in your brain. Did you move on? Did you fall in love?

( have you been happy away from me? )

“Did you read my letters?”

—often we forget

just how greedy

the heart can be.

“All of them,” Suguru breathes, almost like it hurts to say.

As if it pains him physically to remember how he tore the wax seals open with his teeth, licked the flap of the envelopes and nearly cried when it tasted of you—

“More than once, more than I ought to.”

Suguru grips the vine tighter in his fist, stilling himself and invoking restraint. This isn't his place, not anymore.

If he had it his way, he’d be on the terrace with you, and he’d tell you every thought he had about each word you’d written, with his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

“Suguru. . .”

It reminds you too much of your childhood.

Often you would chase after Satoru and Suguru.

Always both, never one.

And though you knew your fate as a Princess — who would marry a crowned Prince — your foolish heart, so greedy and naive. . .

“I have my obligations.” It leaves your lungs like a lie, something you won't even begin to believe.

You're betrothed to Satoru. It's set in stone.

But the both of you know that's not why you're saying no. “The solstice ends in a week and you will be—” He'll be gone again.

“I’ll not wait a whole week.” Suguru’s voice is still quiet, but even you can't deny the raw hunger behind his words. “If I apologize and say that I wish—”

“You will do no such thing,” you warn, shakily. “Not now, not. . . because of this.” Not because in nearly every way that matters, you’re Satoru’s.

( i wish i told you. i wish i wasn't too late. i wish )

Suguru wished he had stayed.

He wished he had made do on the promises he made to you as children and been at your side, not just as your friend but as the man you would marry—

All those things he had sworn upon his own heart. . .

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“And if I say I will, what then?” Suguru had scoffed at your cousin back then. At the mere age of twelve.

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“Don't be so crass, Satoru.” Suguru grumbled, grabbing ahold of your hand and tugging you forward the moment you fell behind. “She's my friend.”

( and yet. )

Lady Dria writes : Prince Geto to assume royal estate in the North following rumored betrothal to mystery woman! Is this the end of our beloved royal trio?

( duty came first. )

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

“I’ll let you keep your tongue,” Satoru scoffed, stepping between you and one of the ladies at court the day after Suguru left. “But address the Princess so loosely again and I swear—”

That night, you cried in the confines of Satoru’s private chambers, your fingers bleeding ink and red wax staining the front of your dress.

What was her name? How long had Suguru known it was arranged? Why didn't he tell you? If you ask him now, will he tell you? Is he ever coming back?

Does he love her?

And it was then, when you didn't have any more words to write, nothing left to say to Suguru that he might not have known, did Satoru tell you,

“I’m here.”

And you believed him.

“Name—” Suguru calls to you and you shake your head, straightening your posture and leaning off the terrace rail. “I wanted to say it before, you were gorgeous at the first solstice feast. . . Still are, even after so long.”

Suguru bites back the words he really wanted to say. I dreamt of you, you look the same.

“You flatter me,” it leaves you breathily, and the beats of your heart elude your better judgement.

“Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.” Suguru's words hold an undertone that’s lost on you in the moment, yet still you smile at him.

He doesn't see the expression on your face when you turn away, craning his neck to find something— some inclination that he has a chance—

“Goodnight, your highness.” In your voice he finds it, that small sliver of nostalgia, and his heart grasps it in earnest.

Beloved reader,

I fear I must also

impart the knowledge—

Satoru stops dead in his tracks, a single peach colored rose falling from his palm.

—that there are always

three sides to a story.

From across the way his cerulean eyes lock with Suguru’s darker ones, and there is nothing to be said, as they both know what the other is thinking.

You are not worthy of her.

Morning gives way to the first of three hunting days.

As per the terms of the competition, all commoners go ahead before nobles to keep the proceedings fair.

Satoru sits still atop his horse, cerulean orbs downcast and flitting through the mass of bodies in the crowd riding ahead of him.

“Have you and Suguru finally fought?”

Satoru’s eyes widen for a brief moment, turning his head to the side and loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, his mother standing at his side, caressing the mare’s mane with jewel adorned fingers.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, mother.”

The older woman scoffs, the horse leaning eagerly into the touch of her palm.

“When you and Suguru were but meek babes, you two had your first fight you know.” Satoru’s mother smiles a little at the memory.

Back then, both boys were merely toddlers and squabbling with tiny fists over nothing but a simple rattle.

Neither would concede to the other.

Even so young, they fought as they still do to this day. As rivals, as best friends.

“Did I win?” Satoru asks, lifting his gaze to the scenery of dawn before him, drowning out the eager shouts of men and women alike, placing their bets for the competition to come.

“No,” she responds and Satoru’s lips curl into a small frown. “The rattle you fought over snapped in two, ‘toru.”

This isn't about a rattle, is it?

“I won't concede, if that’s what you’ve come to ask of me.” He affirms, and his mother shakes her head, stifling a laugh.

“She isn't a rattle, nor is this a battlefield—” Satoru’s mother is observant, painfully so. “I asked your father to arrange the match myself for the sole purpose that I know you care for her, and I would not subject you to a fate not of your choosing—”

( she can choose, whereas a rattle could not. that is the sole difference is it not? )

“But you would have me sit here and let her choose him?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

Doting reader,

our beloved Prince Satoru

has yet to realize—

“I did not raise a selfish fool. Maybe a proud fool but not a selfish one—” She smacks the side of his leg to which he immediately recoils with a pout on his lips. “You never win love, you earn it.”

As if love can be akin to fleeting favor.

“I am selfish,” Satoru confirms, not shy of shame though. “She would hate me for it, if she doesn't already.” He hangs his head for a brief moment, a puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. “But can you blame me?”

Satoru is many things.

But not blind.

How can he tell you that he cares for you, that he’s fallen helplessly and carelessly in love with you knowing that he’d be imprisoning you to a fate he loathes?

Whispers behind your back the more you are seen with him or without, the more he puts off the betrothal, the more he leaves your side the more he hopes you’ll learn you don't want him—

That this life, at this palace is less than you deserve.

And yet. . .

—that love is not

a war you march into

of your own accord.

He’s selfish.

“Have you asked her what she wants?”

No, because he’s afraid you’ll say what he wants you to. That you don't want him.

That by the hour you grow more miserable the more he keeps you waiting, tethered by a short thread just waiting to snap—

Satoru convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, that maybe you’d grow tired and snap the thread all together in one go.

And then the marriage wouldn't happen, you’d contest it and he'd agree. He could keep you close like before, without breaking your heart, even at the cost of his.

“Satoru.” His mother warns, deep azure boring into the side of his face. “That debutant at the dinner—” God forbid she did raise a selfish fool, who would selfishly self sabotage—

“I never touched her.”

“You say that and then you do these things as if I'm to be convinced you've changed.” His mother sighs, as if history has come around to repeat itself. “You don't even realize you're clutching your end too tight.”

And you’ll break if he doesn't let go.

“I can't tell her.”

“You must.”

Who is he to condemn you to the life of a Queen?

In the same way his father did his mother?

That spark in your eyes will go dim, and he’ll watch you give yourself to your duty and it’ll kill him, even worse than you not wanting him will.

He’d prefer you hate him altogether.

“Are you happy with father?”

Darling reader,

perhaps love

only visits the fearless.

“Your father is a good man.”

Satoru would rather die by his own hand before he hears those words from your lips too.

“My lady?”

You visibly wince, cowering behind one of the marble columns in the ballroom.

The few chandeliers that provide light do little to help your situation as Areta’s voice had already notified a few of the dancing nobles of your presence — to which you were met with confused stares.

“Please, keep your voice down.” You hush her, sliding around to the other side of the column where Areta stands, eyes wide and curious.

Areta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, her lips parting, about to question your odd behavior.

You're hiding. Or at least trying to.

You had no choice in coming to tonight's festivities, as you were already knee deep in your pre-arranged afternoon nap when your dearest mother barged in and asked ( read : demanded ) that you attended tonight's ball to quote en quote ‘keep up appearances.’

With much practiced skill, you’ve eluded Satoru and Suguru by barring yourself in your room recently.

But, cowering behind a column won't get you far, right?

“I don't think hiding is what I mean when I encouraged you to have fun, my lady.” Areta speaks hushedly, joining you behind the column, two full glasses clutched between her fingers. “And if it’s the Prince who you—”

“Oh, spare me, which one?” You chuckle, tilting your head back onto the marble with an eye roll.

“You’ve had trouble with Prince Geto too?” Areta gasps, though not shocked, the young girl's eyes gloss over with curiosity — ever the devoted gossip.

( perhaps if you stay here and sip drinks with Areta, no one will even notice your presence ! )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

has a pattern of

terrible judgement.

“Hardly trouble, I’m afraid.” You take one of the glasses from Areta’s hands and bring the rim to your nose — grape juice. How fitting. “Trouble would be better, I can handle trouble.”

What you can't handle is both your childhood friends driving you mad with feelings you never even knew existed.

One who torments you with mixed signals and provokes new feelings in the pit of your stomach.

And another who stirs and awakens old feelings inside of you that you thought were long lost.

“Well, I doubt trouble is what you need presently, my lady.” Areta chuckles a little, her voice soon trailing off as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Oh! You wore them—”

“I thought perhaps,” You murmur, more to yourself, fingers fiddling with the edge of your silk gloves – the same black ones from a few nights ago. “I’d wear them once more before I set them aside.”

Now that you think about it, Satoru never said anything about the dress or the gloves — not that it matters to you anyway.

Faithful reader,

it matters.

Too much.

“They're quite beautiful, as are all Prince Satoru’s gifts.” Areta affirms with a soft smile as you drink from your glass, leaning off the column and straightening your posture. “But, I thought he usually had more of an affinity for lace—”

“I was called?”

You jump just a little, turning immediately to meet the source of the intrusion, to which you bump straight into Satoru, spilling the contents of your cup on both of you.

“I’m sorry—” “Grape juice—”

You take a few steps back, immediately crouching to retrieve your fallen cup, but Areta beats you to it, not shy of shooting you a quick wink before she scurries off into the crowd. Deviant.

“You don't like the wine tonight?” Satoru hums, outstretching a hand to pull you to your feet, and you hesitate for a moment.

Only for a moment.

“I didn't think drinking would be wise,” You take his hand, silk sliding soft against his awaiting palm. You don't miss the way his shoulders tighten. “And grape juice—”

“Is your preferred drink of choice, I know.” He finishes, cerulean orbs gazing into your very soul.

You can feel the thrum of his pulse speeding up against your fingertips, calling you, like a siren song. . .

( you should've stayed in bed tonight. )

Admittedly, Satoru was never the type to drink either. He could never hold his alcohol, hated the taste, even if it was just a drop in fermented fruit.

Grape juice was his drink of choice.

And then it became yours.

“I’m sorry, again.” It leaves your lips in a hurry as you look away from him, pulling your hand back as soon as you're upright. “My head must've been somewhere else. . .” Last night on the terrace. Your mind remains there.

Is Suguru going to magically appear too?

You furiously rub a fist over the purple stain forming at the front of your gown. “I need to change my dress—”

“It's not your fault, silk can be slippery.” Satoru bites back a grunt, bringing a palm to your elbow as he guides you off to the side, towards the adjacent corridor. “Come, I’ll help.”

Silk.

( what's his problem with the gloves? )

You follow his lead, a sigh escaping your lips as you both come upon the nearest alcove in the dim light.

You can barely see the velvet cushioning of the sofa tucked away neatly in the back.

The soft moonlight falling through the open window brings a sense of calm when you take a seat, eyes catching on the violet smudge against Satoru’s pearl white vest.

Often in your youth between balls, you, Satoru and Suguru would sneak off to the nearest alcove you could find, pry the window open and sit together on the sill—

“Your vest—” He follows your gaze as he bends a knee, kneeling at your feet casually.

Satoru presses his middle finger over the damp fabric, and unabashedly sticks the digit into his mouth. “Mhm, that's grape juice.”

“Satoru!” You scold.

He only laughs, strands of snowy hair bouncing with each shake of his shoulders. It's a very Satoru-like laugh, but there's something else you can't quite place—

“It's just a juice spill, I’ll live.” Satoru’s smile dips into his cheeks. Dimples. “Hated this stupid thing anyway, I should be thanking you for ridding me of it,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back to slip the vest off, muscles taut against his shirt with each movement of his arms.

“Hey— hey—!” You raise your palms to push against his chest to stop him, heat rising at the back of your neck. “Don't do that—” It comes out too late because Satoru is in the middle of rolling the vest off his arms. "You can't just undress—"

The way Satoru only leans forward, shades of azure searching your gaze for something, it's like he's daring you to not look away as he slips the vest off his arms bent behind him.

( why did you run away from me? )

You hold his gaze, the longest you have in days, manicured nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

( why didn't you give chase? )

“Name,” he whispers, as if he’s holding back, but he refuses to look away from you. Not right now.

“Don't look at me like that, ‘toru. . .” You whisper, and it takes everything inside you not scream at him, to say everything you've been wanting to say, everything that's burning your insides.

( don't look at me as if you know desire. )

“Name.” Satoru calls your name, firmer this time, just as his vest drops to the floor behind him.

His knees burn, or maybe his eyes — he doesn't know, his mouth has gone dry and oxygen eludes him.

He's not how he was in your youth.

Satoru slides a pale hand up to grasp one of your palms against his chest, pads of his fingers hooking under the dark silk, and in one fluid motion, he's pulling the glove off your hand.

“That's disrespectful,” you breathe, voice barely audible, the echo of classical instruments sauntering through the vacant corridor. “You can't have two times the favor in any competition—”

“It's not your favor I want.” Satoru grasps the silk in his palm, biting back a grimace.

I’m jealous, he wants to say. Instead he leans closer, and without letting go of your bare hand, he’s aiming to toss the glove over your shoulder and out the window.

“Satoru—!” You retract your hand from his chest to paw at the glove, trying to get it back, and his breath tickles the skin of your throat, his eyes looking down at you, only this time a few shades darker — royal blue, cobalt.

Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.

( so that's what suguru meant. . . )

“Are you—”

“Jealous? Me? Never.” Satoru rasps the words out like a cancer, his heart seizing and doing somersaults against his ribcage.

“I have to commend Suguru though, the North does make the finest silk. . . Any lady would be glad for such a gift,” he whispers. Even praising Suguru is like an act of surrender to him.

“I wasn't going to say jealous, my Prince.” Your brain melts to a mush of questions.

Satoru isn't jealous because of you— no, that can't be right— he’d be jealous if someone bet on the same horse race as him and won—

( you’re thinking too much, name. )

It's the assessment of his audacity that has the back of your neck heated.

Satoru bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second he squeezes his eyes shut.

Everything burns, it's a miracle he can still see straight.

“What were you going to say?”

You swallow, hard.

Satoru’s face is so close to yours that every word he speaks reverberates through your being like electricity. “I was going to ask if you were okay.” A half truth, really. "Your vest is stained—"

First, you were going to ask if he’d lost his damn mind.

“God, name.” Satoru grunts, dropping the glove dramatically onto the velvet sofa, instead moving his hand to cage you between his arms, his hips against the outerskirts of your dress. “You don't even know what you're doing. . .”

His lips curve into a smile, dimpled cheeks staring back at you.

“Satoru—” It’s innocent enough, the way he leans forward enough to press the side of his face against your cheek.

It’s innocent enough, the way his hand grips your hip, firm and reassuring, the way he’d guide you on horseback. You only pretended not to be good so he'd teach you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips soft against your burning skin.

“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced?” It's a sultry tease that has your nails digging into the sofa under you.

Silk gloves, he wants to say. Men seduce women with silk.

Satoru dips his head in a swift motion, his mouth planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner or your lips, and his dimples deepen when your head moves forward to chase his taste, something you’ve never had but crave with every inch of your being.

“Satoru.” You whisper, desperate. He hates himself for wanting this so bad.

He doesn't make you wait long as he presses his lips to yours, it's rough, hungry — he sighs into your mouth, shoulders drooping like he’s finally found what he's been searching for all his life on your tongue.

He’s kissed you before, on the cheek, side of your neck, corner of your mouth — tasted the salty tears of your youth, licked his lips and drank in the remnants of your flavored lipgloss.

He was too young then, too foolish, too afraid to want more.

Satoru’s tongue slips past your parted lips, teeth on wet pink muscle and a shiver runs down his spine when he tastes you, truly tastes you for the first time.

Grape flavored and starving.

Your hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, to pull him deeper into you.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and your body trembles, unravelling, unravelling for him until—

He stops.

“Name,” Satoru breathes it in a broken whine, lips wet and swollen with you, each exhale he makes tickles your chin. “We have to stop.”

He’s made a mistake. A foolish one.

“‘Toru, it's okay,” you urge him, moving to pull him closer but his grip on your wrist tightens, keeping you still.

A frown forms on your lips when you see his gaze downcast, unable to meet you, and that gleam in his eyes — guilt.

“We should stop.”

Darling reader,

we all know

how the saying goes. . .

“Why?” The way it leaves your mouth so innocently, so small, in the same tone you had when you were little, chasing behind him no matter how he tried to leave you behind—

( why won't you look at me? )

It makes Satoru hate himself more.

“I’m a gentleman.” Satoru clears his throat and rises to his feet, folding his vest haphazardly over his arm. “You're a lady— a Princess— I can't just. . .”

“You can't just what?” Satoru doesn't recognize the bite behind your voice, the thread he kept toying at with razor blades finally thinning out, ready to snap and break apart. “You can't take me in a dark corridor as you do the other girls?”

He sputters.

It is that. But it's also so much more.

“Princess—”

“No.”

Nothing has changed. And you're not stupid, maybe slow, but never stupid. This isn't about a grape juice spill. It isn't about titles or being respectable.

( it’s about the three of you. )

Is it jealousy? Is this all about a stupid pair of gloves? About his pride? Why? Because he won't let Suguru win even if it means—

“Look at me.” Satoru is slouching in front of you, holding out his palm for you to take. He’s sincere, raw. “I swear to you, the way I feel about you cannot be likened to a secret in a corridor.”

( and yet, you always wished you were one of those girls with him in a dark corridor. )

. . . it's all downhill

from the first kiss.

“Your excuses again—” Satoru steps back when he feels silk stinging against his outstretched palm in a slap of rejection.

The glove he pulled off your hand, the glove Suguru gave to you, falls to the floor.

“And what even is it that you feel?” Your tone reverberates through his bones and Satoru’s considering finding purchase on his knees, where he’d show you what exactly he feels, he'd drink you in, drown in you and be done with the aftermath. “Do you enjoy this? Making me feel like a fool while you stay the bachelor—”

“This engagement was never my choice!” Satoru’s tone raises an octave, brows dipped and frown deep. “And I never—”

That's not what he means to say, not now.

( i never touched another since i laid awake thinking of you. )

“And that's why you won't touch me? Because I'm not your choice, I'm your duty?”

“God, ofcourse I want to touch you—” A guttural groan leaves him then, a rumble in the back of his throat. “If you would just understand—”

He’s a gentleman. Is what he says every waking moment he spends lying to himself that this is for you, that this is for your own good. . .

Because he knows—

( if he touched you now, he’d never stop. )

“Even now you can't say it.” How long have you known Satoru? How long have you been by his side, or rather, chased after him while he remained out of your reach? How long— “That you want me.”

It's almost comical, the way Satoru’s breath hitches in the back of his throat and the palm at his side forms a fist.

He wants you.

“Say it.”

Tell me you want me, tell me it’s me, tell me you feel what I feel too—

“I can't.”

You don't deserve this, I can't give you what you want, hate me so it hurts a little less—

You rise to your feet, the grape juice bleeding into your dress forgotten. “I always thought you were the bravest person to ever live. . .” The strongest. Prince Satoru, the realm’s omnipotent son — “You’ve fought in all these wars and you’ve fought and fought—”

Ever since you were children.

Satoru was every bit a soldier, princely and polished to perfection with his blade. He’s never lost a battle, you're sure, poets write about him.

( what does it feel like to be fought for? )

“Why won't you fight for me, Satoru?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sorry, I’m so selfish. Sorry, I don't want you to leave. Sorry, it should be me and not him.

Sorry, I'm paralyzed in love with you.

He’s not asking you to stay.

This is what he wanted, right? For you to hate him — who is he kidding, you wouldn't hate him even if tried to make you — for you to realize he isn't what you need.

“You won't even give me one reason to stay.” Your throat hurts, you can still taste his tongue in your mouth, grape and mint, mint and grape. “Of all things, I never thought you to be such a damn coward—”

“I’m the Prince, for fucks sake!”

Your lips part then shut again, and Satoru takes a step back. This barrier between you two was always there, wasn't it? Invisible, cold to the touch.

Don't question me, I'm the Prince, he had said the day you asked him why, why can't I come play with you and Suguru?

( why won't you let me in? what are you so afraid of? )

“Then if it pleases the Prince,” It comes out shakier, in a voice that's barely your own.

Satoru picks it up before you do, you sound like a child — the same way you used to when he left you behind. “I’d like to be dismissed.”

The Prince.

Not your Prince.

( does a heart make noise when it shatters? )

“No,” Satoru steps forward, and you step back. It's like a sick game now, and with every thrum of his heart he swears he’ll die. “Name— just. . . no.”

He’s selfish. He knows that.

After this you’ll run off to Suguru won't you? And he’ll be there with open arms and words as soft as silk—

Satoru would know. Because he did the same thing once Suguru left.

But that was before it was this, before this was everything, before—

“Then forgive my defiance to the crown tonight.” You murmur and turn away, the glove is left behind.

Satoru is left behind.

You never win love, you earn it.

L’Incomparable is hardly the jewel on Satoru’s mind when you walk away from him for the second time.

( before he knew he loved you. )

🪷 taglist : @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnaboonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog @/baepsays @xxemmarldxx @/adoraspace @/hikaorinx @/lanecass @/theloveofnagiseishiroslife @/bajbbq @/jiraiyaisgod69 @/gojo-sunglasses @/in4rizaki @/chimsblogg @xkittiecatx @lordbugs @soultoru @ladytamayolover @the1exiled @pasta-warlord @drogonfruitzen @sexeyess @siren776 @v0ctin @scinclaitnoir @gugggu6gvai @shartnart1 @nnanamii @vanevafu @lillmyg @nikitopia @altyx @beaniedoodz @fubukeys @simpforramenboy @sinnerstardoll @coco-cat @melancholia-k

#⋆ 🪷 A ROYAL AFFAIR ! ˚ ༘ *#👑 TSCC — series.#★ driaswrld #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #satosugu x reader #satoru gojo x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fic

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cynical-ghost · 2 months

Note

Kimi Raikkonen with wife reader. He had a great race until it went down. He was involved in the crash and she was worried because she wanted to tell him she was pregnant that day. You decide how it ended. Angst but fluff in the end. Thanks!! :))

HEART OF FIRE

Synopsis: The race was going good until the car burst into flames…

Pairing: Kimi Raikkonen x wife!reader

Genre: Smau- social media, One shot, angst and comfort

A/n: hope you like it nony🫶 sorry it took a while to come out. Not proofread.

vitun helvetti = Fucking Hell

F1_updates

Liked by Kiminumber1, dramapaddok, gossip_grid and 678,984 others

F1_updates Kimi Raikkonens car rolled before bursting into flames, we are still waiting to see if Kimi gets out of the car. Please stand by in these tense times and pray for Kimi and his family.

Gossip_grid We here at gossip grid are sending wishes to Kimi and his family 🫶

Kiminumber1 Has he gotten out of the car yet?? They aren’t showing it on tv!!

User15 I’m at the race, apparently there is no sign of him yet, some people with kids are starting to get up and leave so it does look to good rn.

Kiminumber1 Oh shit!!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was as if your feet were stapled to the concrete of the garage as you watched Kimi’s car roll to a stop.

When the flames began to engulf the crumpled structure it was as if everything froze in place, only the shallow sounds of your heavy breathing and the deafening ringing in your ears were the only sounds you could make out among the chaos of the surrounding people.

Your eyes were glued to the monitor, hopping and praying that the man you had planned your future with would climb out of the wreckage. One of your hands laying flat on the slight bump of your stomach.

If he didn’t survive this horrific crash he won’t know he was going to be a farther.

He wouldn’t be able to watch as the bump in your stomach became bigger as your baby grew.

He wouldn’t be able to hold the tiny bundle that had your nose and his eyes as she came into this world.

The terrifying world that would have taken your baby’s farther away.

As her first words turned into asks of were her dada was, and her first steps became her bubbly skip into the school gates, you would have to do it all alone.

The one person who deserved to be by your side, now sunken six foot into the green soil your daughter would sit on and make daisy chains with the flowers growing on the now flat grave.

The smell of petrol fading into a faint memory as you wouldn’t know where to start in teaching your daughter to kart.

As her tears of grief for a father she never knew turned into tears of heartbreak from her first boyfriend,

She would never know her father, only the story’s from those around her to tell her about the man she missed out on.

Black dresses now unshadowed to white as the young woman walked down the aisle of the church, her mother holding onto her arm instead of a man with blond hair and icy blue eyes.

Grasping tightly onto two hands held out standing at the-

“vitun helvetti” the crackle of the familiar voice sounded around the paddock.

-makeshift alter of toilet paper and freshly picked daisies.

Laughter of the young girl bounced off of the teddy bear crowed, the deep chuckle of then man who’s hands she held mixing with hers.

Bedtime stories of a famous race car driver whispered in a langue different from your own causing your daughter’s lashes to flutter shut as she drifted off to sleep.

Stifled sobs of heartbreak turned mischievous laughter as the man clipped her helmet together under her chin.

The smell of Petrol burned your nose as you watched your daughter fly around the race track in a formula two car from the comfort of your husband’s arms.

‘vitun helvetti’ the words that saved your world from crashing down.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Lillia_Raikkonen

Liked by Ynforeal, lilliasbff, futuref2driver and 578,956 others

Lillia_Raikkonen Great race today! P1 baby!!! 🍾🙌

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #f1 smau #formula one #kimi raikkonen smau #kimi raikkonen #Kimi Raikkonen one shot

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popamolly · 5 months

Text

‘DANCE WITH THE DEVIL!’ ALASTOR

summary. You meet an unexpected guest who gives advice that leaves her feeling uneasy and doubtful. After an intimate night with Alastor, you wake up alone in your room with memories of the night lingering. The following morning, your mother brings up the events of the previous night, potentially addressing the aftermath of your choices and feelings.

PART FIVE | PART SIX | PART SEVEN

warnings. human!alastor x fem!reader, dark romance, murder, mention of blood/gore, agegap (you're in your 20s while Alastor is in his early 30s), alastor preys on your innocence, smut, oral sex (male and female receiving), not a happy ending, 18+

The tension of the interrogation still hung in the air like a heavy fog, refusing to dissipate even as Alastor made his offer to fetch you a drink. You watched him move through the room, his confident stride belying the storm of thoughts raging in your mind.

As some guests timidly spoke to one another in hushed voices, others—emboldened by a few drinks—had taken to the dance floor, their laughter and the rhythmic music creating a stark contrast to the atmosphere you found herself in. Alone for a few moments, you couldn't help but let your thoughts wander, each one like a thread leading back to your suspicions of Alastor.

Your mind drifted to Mr. Ray. He had always been more than just a chauffeur; he was a confidant, a protector, and someone who genuinely had your best interests at heart. His words about the rumors swirling around Alastor echoed in your mind, each syllable weighted with a sense of foreboding.

The timing of the conversation and Mr.Ray's disappearance, sent a shiver down your spine. Was it all just simply a coincidence? Irony? It was as if Mr. Ray's warnings had been a premonition, a stark reminder of how quickly things could unravel.

You recalled his earnest expression, the concern etched in every line of his face as he cautioned you about chasing after someone like Alastor. "He's not what he seems," Mr. Ray had said, his voice a mixture of worry.

Despite your determination to uncover the truth, you couldn't shake the feeling of unease that Mr. Ray's words had stirred within you. Was Alastor truly the enigmatic figure he presented himself to be, or was there a darker truth hidden beneath his prince-like facade?

You had no concrete evidence to support your doubts, only a nagging feeling that something was amiss. Alastor had always been charming, his words smooth as silk and his demeanor unflappable. But beneath that polished exterior, you couldn't shake the feeling that there were secrets lurking, waiting to be uncovered.

As you sipped on your drink that Alastor had brought over for you seconds before, your eyes followed Alastor as he engaged in polite conversation with another guest, his smile never falling. It was moments like these that made you question yourself, wondering if you were simply being paranoid.

You love him, and you were sure he returned your feelings so you knew his heart, but his mind? His mind was something else entirely. You rarely noticed before but you realized that ever since the first time you met on that fateful night that his mind was heavily guarded, shrouded in mystery, that made him all the more alluring to you. He was hard to read and for awhile you dismissed it as a simple man protecting himself, but from who? From what? The man you loved was unpredictable and you weren't sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“Strange, isn't it?" A woman's voice nearly startles you, "How our men can suddenly walk into a sea of sharks without a care in the world."

The woman's sudden appearance caught you off guard but you managed to face her with a polite smile. "Indeed, it is quite strange," you replied, your voice carrying a hint of curiosity. The woman's tall, slender figure and perfect demeanor made her stand out in the crowd.

"It's as if they're oblivious to the dangers lurking beneath the surface," the woman continued, her eyes scanning the room with a knowing look before following your gaze toward Alastor and another man that seemed to be at his side. "But then again, perhaps they enjoy the thrill of suspense, an excitement for navigating treacherous waters."

You couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with the woman's words, as if you both shared a common understanding of the complexities of human nature, especially when it came to the allure of danger. "Some men do seem drawn to challenges," you admitted, your gaze flickering briefly to your champagne glass, "I take it your husband has met my...companion?"

"It seems," The woman's warm smile remained unchanged, but there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. "Enlighten me, would you? Tell me, how do you navigate these treacherous waters, my dear?" She asked, her tone playful yet discerning.

With a thoughtful expression, you replied, "Carefully, I suppose."

The woman nodded. "A wise approach indeed. In a world filled with predators, it's important to know when to tread lightly and when to assert yourself."

"I'm sorry I didn't ask for your name," You tilt your head expectantly, realizing that you haven't seen her at any previous parties before.

"Rosemary," The woman grins from ear to ear, her slender fingers almost cradling the wine glass in her hand, "Though I prefer Rosie."

"(Y/N) Duvalier, though I suppose you already knew that," you said, nodding your head to her in acknowledgment. "A pleasure to meet you, Rosie."

Rosie's eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief. "Likewise," she replied, her voice carrying a melodious tone. "I must compliment you, you seem to navigate these waters with grace and poise."

A faint blush touched your cheeks at the compliment. "Thank you. I've had my fair share of practice."

"Ah, experience is a valuable teacher," Rosie remarked, her gaze drifting momentarily toward the dance floor where couples twirled to the music. "It teaches us who to trust and who to watch out for."

The weight of Rosie's words resonated with you, reminding you once again of the cautionary advice Mr. Ray had imparted. "Indeed," you agreed, your thoughts briefly returning to the enigmatic Alastor and the mysteries that surrounded him.

As if sensing the shift in your mood, Rosie offered a reassuring smile. "Well, my dear, I won't keep you any longer," she said, gesturing toward the bustling party around them. "But do be cautious, sometimes the most dangerous sharks wear the most charming smiles."

With a nod of understanding, you replied, "I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Rosie."

They exchanged a final smile before parting ways, leaving you with a newfound sense of vigilance mingled with curiosity about the woman named Rosie and the wisdom she seemed to possess. As she left to mingle with the guests, your thoughts lingered on their conversation, each word a reminder of the delicate balance between trust and suspicion in a world where appearances could be deceiving.

"Darling?" Alastor's voice cut through the fog in your mind, and you met his gaze, physically startled by his sudden appearance, a reaction he noticed. "Did I scare you? You seem rather jumpy, my dear."

"No, no," you replied quickly, masking your discomfort with a smile as you took another sip of champagne, hoping it would calm your nerves. "I'm just a bit tense from the police questioning me earlier."

"Understandable," Alastor acknowledged, though he could sense your lie. "It's unsettling to think the Bayou Killer could be near, possibly someone you're close to."

You couldn't pinpoint why you felt uneasy around Alastor now, considering he had seen you at your best and worst, most vulnerable moments. Your heart urged you to trust him with your life and future, yet your head was clouded with doubt and suspicion, fueled by a gut feeling— or intuition.

"You think the killer could be someone I know?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's a plausible scenario, isn't it? Reminds me of an enticing thriller novel!" Alastor remarked with a grin.

"It's not a joking matter," you replied, your grip tightening around the glass slightly. "That doesn't ease my mind, Alastor."

"Then perhaps I can ease your mind in other ways, mon chère," Alastor's voice was close to your ear, sending a shiver down your spine at the suggestive tone. All worries faded momentarily as his gaze and voice drew you in, like putty in his hands.

"I couldn't possibly…" You averted your gaze, visibly flustered as if it were your first time experiencing such a situation with him, "My mother—"

He had a knack for manipulating you effortlessly, leading you to succumb to your deepest forbidden desires. Doubts that once troubled you seemed to vanish without a trace.

"Is distracted by the delightful guests; we could slip away for an hour… or perhaps two," Alastor's hand lingered just below your waist, aware of his influence over you, knowing that he could entice your mind with intense pleasure, even though he didn't particularly care for sex. If he could divert your attention, perhaps you would forget your concerns altogether. There was a part of him that held genuine interest in you, prompting him to keep you on the edge, "Indulge me, won't you?"

Your body responded instinctively, surrendering to Alastor's advances as soon as you both slipped away from the bustling party to the seclusion of your room. He was right; with your mother preoccupied and the lively band drowning out any potential eavesdroppers, it was an ideal opportunity to indulge in your desires. It was quite embarrassing how you gave into the temptation so easily but at the sensation of Alastor's warm tongue tracing along the sensitive curves of your neck erased any lingering hesitations.

You gasp the moment your back hits the door, fingers tangling themselves in his Alastor's brown hair to tug at the strands as he makes his way lower, and lower until he is on his knees in front of you, a cruel smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he orders you to, "lift your dress."

Being obedient, you do as your told, not sparing a second before bunching the soft fabric in your hands to pull your dress up, exposing yourself to him completely. Alastor raises an eyebrow at the sight of your bare womanhood, glancing up at you for an explanantion. "No underwear? Did you, perhaps anticipate this?" He teasingly runs his hand up your inner thigh, allowing his fingers to tease at your already wet folds that seemed to drip with arousal, "how naughty of you, my dear."

"You said you were coming to the party.." You flushed under his intense gaze, "I just..." Your words fell flat, embarrassment coursing through you that was clearly washed away with pleasure once you felt Alastor drag the flat of his tongue against your clit. A shiver goes down your spine and Alastor puts one of your legs over his shoulder so you wouldn’t fall.

Your lips were parted as Alastor sucks and teases your clit, alternating between lapping at your folds and giving your clit the much needed attention it deserved.

"Alastor—! Mm!" Your moans were loud and unashamed, bouncing off the walls of the room as you moved your hips in a desperate need to chase your release. Alastor groaned against your cunt, looking up at you to watch your face contort in pleasure as he lets you take control. Not a moment later your hips were stuttering as you came onto his tongue, your upper body slumping forward, “Ah!"

Alastor let you use his tongue to ride out your high before pulling away, a string of his saliva and your arousal still connecting him to your dripping pussy.

In one swift movement he was on you again, this time tossing you onto your bed and forcing you onto you knees in front of him. There was something animalistic in his gaze that you couldn't tear away from as you gripped his thighs, your fingertips fiddling with the hem of his pants, "Can I?"

Alsstor chuckles as he stands before you, his hand slowly unfastening his belt until he was free of it. You watched in anticipation as he pulled his pants and boxers down ever so slightly to free his hard cock from its fabric cage. It sprung out dangerously close to your mouth and you couldn't help but nearly drool at the sight. Never once have you pleasured Alastor in the way he pleasured you and today, tonight, you felt confident in returning the favor to spice things up a bit. Whether it was the drinks you had in your system or a new found confidence, you just wanted nothing more than to make him feel good.

"How good you look on your knees," Alastor comments, twirling a strand of your hair around his index finger with a smile, "you're going to use that pretty mouth of yours on me?"

"Yes," You were breathless, "Please, Alastor, can I?"

"Hmm," He playfully hums the thought as he takes hold of his cock to drag it across your lips, using the wetness to lubricate himself, "Can you?"

You nod.

"Then open your mouth."

You hesitantly opened your mouth, slowly taking his swollen tip into your mouth. Your soft tongue swirling around his slit gingerly before you closed your mouth around it, hallowing your cheeks as you began to suck. Alastor let out a blissful sigh, looking down at you with a smirk that made you unsure if you were doing a good job or not.

"Deeper." Alastor had his hand on the back of your neck to push your head further down his length. His thick cock throbbed inside your mouth as you worked your head up and down, your tongue gliding along the underside of his cock in a way that had Alastor groaning in pleasure, "Good girl."

Alastor locked his fingers in your hair, thrusting forward suddenly to push his cock deeper down your throat. You let out a choking sound, saliva dripping down your chin and onto the mounds of your breast as he continued to fuck your face. The mascara you had on ran down your cheeks, further painting you as the sinful masterpiece you were.

You didn't know how long Alastor was using your mouth as his personal fuck toy but it was truly a sight for sore eyes. The man above you was crumbling, slowly succumbing to the pleasures of your mouth as a string of curses passed his lips. It was so beautiful in a sense— seeing his defenses down ever so slightly to the point where you could finally seem to see through him. You had to rub your thighs together to get some sort of friction happening because you were wet at just the sight of him.

Without warning Alastor's cum filled your mouth and you struggled to swallow his huge load due to your aching jaw. Your lungs were on fire but you braved through it, the semen you didn't swallow ultimately going down your chin and mixing with your own saliva, dripping onto the wooden floor.

"I love you," you gasp, the words tumbling out as you try to catch your breath.

"In heaven and in hell, my dear," Alastor whispers, his hand gently caressing your cheek. "You're mine forever."

The air around you seems to shimmer with the intensity of his words, his love wrapping around you like a warm embrace. In his eyes, you see a depth of devotion that transcends time and space, a promise of eternal connection and unwavering loyalty.

As the first rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, you stirred from your sleep, reaching out instinctively for Alastor's comforting presence beside you. However, your hand met nothing but cool sheets, sending a jolt of realization through your sleepy haze.

Your eyes fluttered open, searching the room for any sign of him. The bed, once filled with your shared warmth, now felt cold and empty. You remembered the events of the previous night—Alastor's whispered words of love, the tenderness in his touch, and then, his sudden departure in the dead of night.

Heart pounding, you sat up, wrapping the sheets around yourself as you scanned the room, hoping to find him there. But the room was silent, save for the soft rustle of curtains in the morning breeze. Begrudgingly, you swung your legs over the bed to get your day started, rummaging through your closets for something to wear.

A soft knock interrupted your dressing routine, prompting you to don just a simple gown and drape yourself in a feathered robe before answering. "Breakfast is ready, ma'am," a maid's voice called out, followed by the faint sound of her retreating footsteps down the hallway. You let out a sigh, mentally bracing yourself for the inevitable tense morning ahead with your Mother.

Descending the stairs, you entered the small breakfast room where your mother sat. Her gaze remained fixed on the morning newspaper, not bothering to acknowledge your presence as you took a seat and thanked the maid who poured you a cup of hot coffee.

The oppressive silence hung heavy as you ate, the tension palpable. It was evident that your mother was displeased, resorting to the cold shoulder treatment. You felt like you were tiptoeing on thin ice, afraid of triggering her anger with even the slightest misstep. As you nibbled on your toast, her words finally pierced the quiet air.

"’The Duvalier family questioned in the recent disappearance case, are they suspects now’?" she read aloud from the newspaper, her tone chilly as she took a sip of her own coffee.

"They don't waste any time," you quipped lightly, but your attempt at humor fell flat in the icy atmosphere.

"Is this amusing to you?" Her reprimand cut through the tension, devoid of any hint of amusement, "Funny?"

"Not at all," you replied calmly, though the practiced tone belied the turmoil within. "I realize how this affects our reputation, but we need to be looking at the bigger picture. Mr. Ray's disappearance is concerning. I figured you’d be quick in wanting to find an answer, considering Mr.Ray’s years of loyal service to this house."

"And yet suspicion falls on you," your mother retorted sharply, tossing the newspaper onto the table as her gaze met yours with equal intensity. "My own daughter, questioned under my own roof, in front of esteemed guests. How will we recover from this?"

"Is that all you're worried about?" you countered.

"What were you doing with Mr. Ray that night?" Your mother brushed aside your question, her tone demanding.

You let out a bitter laugh. "Do you truly believe I'm capable of something sinister?"

"I believe you're capable of naivety," she replied bluntly. "Now, tell me."

After a moment's hesitation, you relented. There was no use in concealing the truth when there were no secrets left to keep.

"I asked him to accompany me," you murmured, "To find Alastor."

"To find Alastor," your mother echoed with a touch of scorn, the sight of the hickies on your neck making her eye twitch with distaste. "Ever since he entered your life, you seem to attract nothing but trouble."

Your mother's words stung, the weight of her disappointment pressing down on you. "It's not like that," you insisted, the words sounding feeble even to your own ears. "Alastor is… different."

"Different, yes," your mother says, her expression hard. "He's a danger you don't seem to comprehend."

"I know what I'm doing," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

"Do you?" Her gaze bore into yours, searching for any sign of wavering resolve.

"Yes," you replied firmly, though uncertainty gnawed at you from within. You loved Alastor, yes, but even still he seems to be so out of reach from you. Out of reach from reality at times.

As your mother received an envelope from a maid on a silver platter, you picked at your food, your thoughts swirling with the weight of the morning's conversation. She opened the white envelope with a butter knife, her expression turning thoughtful as she read the contents of the letter. "It seems we've been invited to witness the final alligator hunt of the season," she remarked, her tone still tinged with the earlier tension. "Your uncle requests our presence in the early afternoon."

"Are you seriously considering going? That doesn't sound very proper," you teased lightly, hoping to ease the lingering strain between you and your mother. Her light laughter was a welcome sound, a fleeting moment of relief amidst the turmoil that had defined your interactions lately. You cherished the rare moments of levity between you two, reminders of the bond you desperately wanted to mend.

"No, it's not particularly ladylike," she admitted with a smile, the remnants of her earlier anger dissipating. "But maybe we all need to shoot something."

You watched as she left the room, her smile fading into a neutral expression. "Dress your best," she called back to you, her words a reminder of the importance of appearances in their social circle. "We must show that we are unaffected by these recent events."

Alone at the table, you released a deep sigh, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily on your shoulders. Between navigating your mother's expectations and the complexities of your relationship with Alastor, you felt like you were standing on shaky ground, unsure if you could find your balance again. Yet, amid the challenges, there was a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could improve, if only you could tread carefully enough.

── ꒰ ‧˚ author’s note ｡˚ ꒱ don't yell at me ya'll! i know i took a much needed break due to personal matters but i am back on track so i will try my best to update this story every weekend moving forward, if not then know that I will try my best to push out an ACCEPTABLE chapter as soon as i can. i rather take my time with this story instead of rushing to publish a chapter, i hope you all understand. in other words, thank you for the constant love and support, i read ALL your comments and appreciate them!

should i make a separate master list for this story? i feel like the chapters will be easier to find and more organized if I did that, what do you all think?

── ꒰ ‧˚ taglist ｡˚ ꒱

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bohemianblasphemy · 2 months

Note

Hello, could I request something with Billy please? Like Billy and the reader are just at the start of their new relationship, and Billy finds out that she has a daddy kink, but it all comes out in front of the group, like when he says ‘Daddy’s home’ to the group and she just whimpers, and The Boys teases her and the reader becomes extremely embarrassed by it and runs out of the office, obviously Billy runs after her and reassures her and they discuss this new thing in their relationship?? Please and Thank you!!

Daddy’s home

billy butcher x reader ✨ i hope this is okay!

the start another chaotic day at the Boys HQ, another successful mission had been completed and the team were getting ready to debrief for their next one. Laughter and muttered chatter was shared around which blurred into the background as your mind wondered to your partner, Billy Butcher.

you both were in the early days of your relationship, but things were growing beautifully between the two of you. Butcher drew you in with his charms and your playful banter with him drew you both closer, his flirty remarks that sent shivers down your spine and burned desire deep inside you.

Butcher strolls in with his confident swagger, closing the door behind him. “mornin’ folks! Daddy’s home..” he grins at everyone and sends a playful wink and smirk your way. your mind short circuited as the electricity of his actions ran through your body, which caused an involuntary whimper to erupt from your lips.

the office fell silent and all eyes landed on you. Hughie, Kimiko and Annie’s mouths fell open and Frenchie erupted into laughter, while Mothers Milk chuckled quietly at his desk. your breath caught in your throat as your face flushed with embarrassment as you watched everyone’s reactions unfold before you. you looked over at Butcher, who had an amused and curious look on his face. “what’s the matter lovey?” leaning in closer to you. “you alright?” you stood up, muttered an excuse and walked briskly towards the office door, the amused emotions of the group echoing in your ears following you before closing the door behind you.

out in the corridor you went around the corners, trying to find a secluded quiet corner to be alone. the situation had you rattled, your mind raced over the whole situation. Billy had followed you out, following along the walls of the hallway and found you leaning against the cool concrete wall. “what’s goin’ on?” he stands in front of you with a concerned expression, his arms crossed. “i’m embarrassed Billy! w-what are they gonna think?” “who fuckin’ cares what they think?” his tone softened. “ i didn’t mean for it to come out like that… let alone you find it out that way.”

“you know i ain’t the one that to judge somethin’ like that love, you like what you like.” he assured you. “are you sure? you’re okay with it?” he nodded, grabbing both your hands. “its a part of our relationship that’s to be discussed yeah? we’ll sort it out...” you nodded, your relief flooded over you. billy looks down at you, pulling you in for a kiss and a hug. “how’s about we chat about this later at my place? we can… talk and figure it out?” he smirks at you.

“that sounds perfect…”

#billy butcher #the boys #amazon the boys #billy butcher x reader #billy butcher brainrot go brr #the boys tv #karl urban #billy butcher imagine #billy butcher smut #pookie bear

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melodyatlas · 12 days

Note

Saw you were looking for Tim robin getting sold to Jason fics and I don't have any recs for you, but I do have typin fingers so have a hastily written and drastically unedited snippet :3

"You fucking BOUGHT me?!" Tim snarls in disgust the moment that Jason rips the duct tape off his mouth. "We've been cleaning up the corpses of traffickers you carved up for weeks now, but the second it's me you waltz in as a paying customer?!"

Jason scoffs and tosses his helmet into the corner of the spartan safehouse. "Better learn some fuckin gratitude or else I might just grant that little wish of yours."

He squirms against the ropes hog tying him. They haven't budged an inch the last twenty times he's tried that, but it's the principle of the thing.

"Yeah, right. You are such a godsdamned hypocrite. You talk so much shit about Batman not avenging you, but the second anyone else puts on the uniform you're just fine with them being put in all sorts of danger!"

Suddenly Jason grips his chin in a hold that would be shockingly affectionate if it weren't so bruisingly tight and stares directly into Tim's eyes with manic intensity.

Tim freezes.

Jason speaks low and quiet and quick. "This is not banter; this is not a joke; this is not a threat; you are going to respond to my next question seriously and with nothing but the plain truth. Do you understand me?"

"...Yes."

"Do you want me to hurt them for what they did to you?"

There is something frightening in Jason's gaze beyond just its intensity - something devotional, something like a prayer, something a little like the taunt of 'make my day' but sincere in its pleading and as vulnerable as a confession.

So yes, his gaze is frightening, but Tim is far more afraid of the wanting he's suddenly found within himself. He had only been complaining flippantly, but honestly? Deep down? Tim is jealous of the people Jason kills for.

Tim has had to be strong for so very long - a mother who died young, a father he had to caretake and avoid, a mentor he had to monitor and guide to better health, a predecessor he had to be stronger than in order to withstand what Jason had not survived.

Tim has been left craving this kind of protection. This force of wild, brutal, impassioned retribution in his name, for his sake, done to give Tim alone some piece of mind or personal satisfaction... especially from the very force which had compelled him to believe that he needed to be strong enough not to need such protection.

He had thought that Jason simply would not or could not feel that protectiveness for him, that taking on the mantle had rendered him ineligible for care from anyone altogether, but he stares into the abyss of Jason's eyes and he sees that it was only not extended to him out of respect for his convictions.

It's not enough to see it there. He knows that if he doesn't test this, doesn't have concrete evidence of this carved into someone's flesh, that the second he looks away he'll stop believing Jason's offer was ever real. He can't stand it. He needs to know. He needs to see someone demand that he is worth it.

In a moment of weakness he chooses to be intolerably selfish.

"Please. They deserve it. I deserve it."

Jason smiles, and looks at him like he's his very own miracle. His grip relaxes into a caress of Tim's cheek.

"Then I'll give you water, and I'll feed you, and I'll put you somewhere where you'll be comfortable while you wait for me to get back. Then I will go out and I will make them pay."

---

So yeah! Hope that was enjoyable :3

-redhoodinternaldialectical writing in from my "main" blog

!!!!!!! you just made my day 🥰🥰

very enjoyable 💜💜💜 thank you so much for sharing!!

#jaytim #timjay #in my brain when jason says he'll put tim somewhere more comfortable while he waits hes tying him to the bed instead #he tells himself its cause its just not as much strain on tims muscles #but rly its cause he wants to see him laid out for him #and then when he comes back after hes taken care of those guys #tims all worked up from thinking about what jasons doing for him #hehehe #melody answers #hellispeacefulandempty #redhoodinternaldialectical

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womanmanipulator · 5 months

Text

goodbye, yellow brick road.

spencer reid x gn!bau!reader.

synopsis: naturally, as a hard-headed and stubborn young adult, you’d chase after the potential unsub when he’s let go due to legality. having your heart set on getting a confession out of him. what could go wrong?

(content warning: graphic, somewhat detailed? major character death, stab wound(s)?, abuse, blood, very angsty. i did some research to write this.)

it’s pouring, hands grip the steering wheel tightly. speeding through the rain.

you were stubborn.

hard-headed.

cocky.

it was only natural, being new to the job. only five months in. you weren’t used to work sticking with you and chasing you around, even when you got home. the release of david sallow from the interrogation room earlier today didn’t sit well with you. you knew that sick bastard killed all those young men and women. and you were going to get a confession out of him.

sure, it was unprofessional. but the others wouldn’t even mind when you caught him and got a confession out of that asshole. that’s what you told yourself as you pulled into the gas station his SUV was parked at. you climb out of your car, striding towards where he stood. david was walking out of building when his eyes caught you. he furrows his brows, confused.

“you’re that person from the FBI.” he states. standing a little awkwardly with a smug look playing on his stupid face. you narrow your eyes. “i am.” you say confidently. “and i know you killed those people, david.” you add. getting straight to the point. “i didn’t, and you let me go today. leave me alone.” he says sternly, smirk now vanished. “i will. catch you. it all depends on when.” you glare. if looks could kill..

“admit it.” you press. he starts to get agitated. talking a bold step towards him, you get personal. an intimidation tactic. he isn’t fazed however, you are set on getting a confession though. “i don’t owe you shit, lady.” he hisses. “listen. if you don’t back off, somethin’ bads gonna happen.” he threatens.

“you killed all those men and women because they remind you of your mother and father, mr. wallows.” you say, a quietness fills the air. david’s fists ball up and a grumble comes out of his throat.

“your parents would abuse you. they’d hit you whenever they got the chance. they went so far as to make up things to be mad at you about so they could hit you, eventually they stopped giving reason and just took their frustration out on you. you want to get them back, except you can’t. you killed them, but that didn’t quench your thirst david, oh no it didn’t—“ you start to list off. you are cut off by a yell coming from the man infront of you. he charges at you with a knife.

everything happens so quick. how did you miss him grabbing his knife? you were know for being so attentive and quick thinking —

. . .

pain blossoms in the back of your cranium as you are knocked to the concrete. brain rattled, you’re confused. you try to reach for your gun but you’re stopped by the plunge of the knife in your abdomen. you can’t feel the pain, yet. the adrenaline overpowers it. coursing through your veins as your insides become outsides. a weak attempt to fight back is made, but you can’t do much with a two-hundred pound man above you, stabbing you.

i should have stayed on the farm.

i should have listened to my old man.

a warm liquid trickles out of you as your breath is knocked out of you lungs, another punch of the knife in your weakening body. you try to gasp for air but it’s as if your lungs are useless. you don’t even hear the store owner running out of the building and screaming at david.

he flees from the scene.

you know you can’t hold me forever,

i didn’t sign up with you.

when you gain a grasp on what’s going on, the store owner has sat you up against the brick wall of the building. propping you up. he has pressure on your wound as his phone wails out inaudible sound. they might as well be speaking another language. the pain of a thousand needles pricking you takes over your belly and side. trying to move and get away from the pain, you make an attempt to get up. you are held down though by a familiar face. it takes time to register it.

i’m not a present for your friends to open

blinking a few times to clear your vision, eyes heavy. you are met with spencer. “hey, hey, stay still. please.” he begs desperately. you’ve never heard him sound like this. it worries you. you don’t know when spencer replaced the nice man beside you, but you don’t think too long on it. as you can feel your heart beat in your side and everytime you try to take a deep breath it’s like a punch in the lungs. a sharp, aching pain. you aren’t getting any air. in reality you are, but. your brain can’t register it. more of the thick, scarlet liquid trickles and sprays out of your wound as you try to heave for air. you cant remember the name.

this boys to young to be singin’

the blues.

everything’s so distant and blurry. your body fights for life as pain washes over you in a new form. you want to scream, cry out but you can’t. spencer’s trying to coax you as he holds a crushing pressure on your wound but it’s like talking through a glass window. “you gotta stay awake for me, okay?” he says. tears pouring down his face.

that’s weird, you’d never seen him cry.

“wake up rookie, keep your eyes open.” he tries. speaking firmly. he wants to sound strong but fails. your ears start to ring and you feel as if you’re underwater. slowly, a black ring starts to creep into your vision. you want to close your eyes.

you’re really tired all the sudden, the pains disappeared. as if it was never there. it’s really peaceful. spencer slaps you in the face, knocking you out of your trance as you can hear sirens blaring loudly in the distance. “just a little longer, stay awake for me please, trouble.” he tries, his hands put more pressure on you. you barely register it though. eyes slipping closed again.

slap.

eyes slowly open, vision obstructed. you can barely make out anything as the black rings taken up 90% of your sight. everything sounds far away and echoey. the words he says come in one ear and out the other, rattling and bouncing around in your brain a first.

it’s really tempting to fall asleep.

so goodbye, yellow brick road.

where the dogs of society howl.

spencer knows as soon as you close your eyes you’re gone.

“we got a DOA.”

you can’t plant me in your penthouse,

i’m goin’ back to my plough.

. . .

oh i’ve finally decided my future lies,

beyond the yellow brick road.

wowowowoowowow

thsi was written in an hour. might be a little choppy, my first time trying to write smth longer than 400 words 😒.

lmk if ya want more 🎀

mwah mwah mwah

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #reader death #Spotify

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tyxoxo · 1 year

Text

Cherry Waves

pairing: jeno x fem!reader

genre: thriller, angst, kidnapper/stalker jeno au, jaemin + mark inserts

words: 11.9k

warnings: stalking, kidnapping, murder, blood, knives, cnc smut, oral, fingering, choking/breath play, voyeurism, spitting, unprotected sex, its lowkey giving incel, post-traumatic stress, stockholm syndrome

(this is purely fiction, warnings in bold mean potentially triggering cotent)

a/n: the feds prolly looking at my search history like “👀” but on another note, this is the longest piece of writing i’ve ever published. so pls pls pls! send feedback! this was a rollercoaster of a fic to write ._.

major hugs and kisses to @glitchfiles for helping me decide on an ending and @pradajaehyun for proofreading!

playlist:

deftones - cherry waves • rosemary • bored • be quiet and drive

clams casino - blast

—

“i’m kind of scared. do you think it’ll bite?”

“noo, don’t worry baby. it won’t. squirrels are always welcome to food.” your boyfriend reassured you, chuckling in the presence of your endearing timidness.

the two of you were currently exploring a nature park, choosing to celebrate your 5 year anniversary in the outdoors, away from the bustling city life.

“here, just take the almond and approach them slowly, they’ll come.” he said as he handed you one to start, out of the bag that read Blue Diamond Almonds.

“how about you go first?”

the two of you shared a laugh, your partner nonetheless agreeing to demonstrate.

just like you expected, he took one almond in his hand and began to tread softly over to a family of kits, and a mother. the four were eagerly awaiting the treat, using their noses to scour over to him. one baby squirrel was more brave than the others as the rest halted once your boyfriend began to kneel down.

in one sniff and a switch of its tail, the squirrel grabbed the almond and hurried back to his family.

“see! not that hard! your turn.” he rose up in the process, standing close by in case you opted out.

“alright, here i gooo.” you geared up the courage, doing exactly as he did, approaching softly towards the group of squirrels.

you cocked your head to the side in curiosity at the fact they all ran away in unison, back into the green shrubs they called home. and with not enough time to save you, you heard the scuffing of shoes against pavement and a loud crack sound to follow.

as you turned towards the deafening sound, your boyfriend collapsed onto the floor, his head making contact with the concrete in just as strong of a crash that you heard just mere seconds before.

you weren’t sure if a scream managed to escape, as the hooded figure armed with the hammer made sure that you weren’t conscious to tell the tale.

—

the constant motion of your head banging against a hard surface is what stirred you. your eyelids were heavy, not just from the forced slumber, but from the blood that managed to seep down from your scalp and cake onto your skin. the familiar smell of iron flooded your senses, reminding you of your current state.

somehow you were moving, not on your own accord. you couldn’t have been... your hands and feet were bound with what felt like rope, based on the friction as it dug in your skin.

you were moving inside a van, laying down in a fetal position, with your boyfriend across from you doing the same; though he didn’t seem to be conscious.

it was hard to tell if he was breathing, due to the jounce of the van driving over rough terrain.

the entire vehicle wasn’t average, all of the backseats were gone, not even folded down into a compartment. it felt industrial, with what seemed like new steel framework covering the entire interior.

you lacked the energy to produce any sound, let alone turn to the direction of the driver's seat to see who was transporting you. the salt from your tears was the last you could recall before falling back into a deep sleep.

—

to say you reanimated back in the comfort of your own home, with your partner by your side would be the highlight of your life. to say that what all happened was merely a dream.

yet, your harsh reality was thrust upon you once you awoke again. all of your limbs were still bound, with the only appropriate action being observing where you were now.

you were placed on a cold, grey concrete floor, plastic tarp covering the walls and ceiling, with a single LED work light standing in the corner offering plenty of illumination. a standalone workbench was positioned against the left wall, with an abundance of mechanical tools to satisfy any technician.

you knew you were still covered in your own blood, but the smell wasn’t there anymore. instead the nauseating odor of overused bleach coming from a nearby bathroom overtook your senses.

your vision finally began to focus on your boyfriend who was lying directly across from you.

you weren’t sure if your attacker merely forgot to tape your mouths shut in a haste or simply didn’t care. either way, you used what freedom you had left to call out, your scream resonating enough to wake him up.

he winced, teeth covered in crimson from the aftermath of his blunt force trauma. once he met your eyes, tears began to well; relieved to know he was breathing, but pained to see him struggling for clarity.

he scanned the room, just as you did, then settled upon your crying eyes.

“are you okay?! please, tell me you’re okay!”

he was selfless just like always, more concerned about your well-being than his own.

“i-im okay.”

truly you weren’t. your head was pounding, and your arms were beginning to fall asleep from being bound.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t protect you. im-”

“no! don’t say that! we need to get out of here now!” you cut him off immediately, not wanting his words to add onto the anguish you were already feeling.

“just stay there and i’ll come to you.”

you nodded as he began to shimmy along the cold floor, using his coarse shoe soles to push along the concrete.

he paused every other moment, most likely feeling dizzy from his injury.

your hopes were crushed when he was halfway. the sound of multiple door locks being fidgeted with, echoed throughout what you assumed to be the basement. the door creaked, and slammed shut even louder. your boyfriend stopped moving, knowing the end was potentially near.

the view of who or what coming down the stairs was obstructed by the tarp covered wall but within seconds, you saw a man.

who didn’t bother to cover his face.

you kept the fact that he was attractive repressed in your mind. it was more important to realize that you would likely die here now that you saw what he looked like.

he was tall, lean, and young. couldn’t have been much younger or older than you. with raven dark hair that was long enough to form somewhat of a mullet. his bangs covered most of his blank expression, though it didn’t take much squinting to realize his irises were black. an evil black.

your memory was too foggy to remember if he was wearing the same clothes as before. but the white dress shirt, and black slacks didn’t seem familiar; especially the black butcher’s apron.

he stopped at the base of the stairs upon seeing your boyfriend’s attempts to get close to you.

“we can give you whatever you want. we have money. take our cards, whatever. just let us go please!”

he ignored your boyfriend’s pleas, choosing not to even look at him. instead, his eyes bore deep in your own.

fear grew in the pit of your stomach. there were only a few things a guy like him would want from you and the thought of him taking not only your life, but your body shook you down to your bones.

your boyfriend must’ve assumed the same based on his whirling eyes between you and your attacker.

you wished to give him a name, something to represent his depravity. but all thoughts were paused once he began walking slowly in the direction of the workbench.

there was a toolbox and a rolled up utility belt waiting for him, it was just a matter of choice.

he rustled through the box, creating enough noise to elicit terror for the both of you.

it didn’t take long for him to choose one, the light in the corner bouncing off of the stainless steel bowie knife that he pulled from it.

he inspected the blade and it’s sharpness in silence, ignoring the sobbing coming from your disheveled body.

“kill me and just let her go!”

your boyfriend’s cries didn’t go unnoticed, as the mephisto of a man paused his inspection, eyebrows raising as if he would accept that offer.

seeing his side profile from his position at the workbench sparked faint recollection within you.

why did he look familiar?

—

Four Months Ago

—

jeno still wasn’t good enough at adapting to his new life of carnage.

how did he not know that a decomposing body would attract maggots, no matter how “clean” he kept his basement bathroom.

the life he claimed was an “accident.”

atleast that’s what he told himself.

but could a life taken after rejection still be considered an accident? maybe.

the girl took too long.

he cooked for her, provided clothes for her, gave her a place to sleep. yet she was never accepting of his affection.

it was just four days ago that he had to rush to the emergency room on his own volition, to have a laceration on his collarbone stitched. the bitch barely missed his subclavian.

he was beginning to be more lenient after holding her captive at his house for 2 weeks. though he wasn’t sure if there was a beginner’s guide on “how long it should take to actually let a hostage begin to roam your house.” but he learned his lesson after dinner, when she ran towards the kitchen sink and grabbed the sashimi knife.

every attending nurse asked what happened, but he continued to blame it on a “freak accident”: trying to transport a porcelain attachment on his shoulders, tripping and ultimately earning a gash.

somehow they bought it.

ten stitches later, he was discharged. seething at the teeth, he sped back to his house to finish her. he couldn’t have another slip up like that again.

that night he brought the blade into her neck, earning her a matching cut.

it was the first and last time she was ever brave.

now here jeno was, at a utility store in search of his first shovel. he wasn’t picky, he just needed something sturdy enough to help dig his first grave.

off into the distance, he saw you. innocently scanning the shelves for new vanity light bulbs.

you were absolutely perfect.

he felt a sudden magnetic pull to be near you, even smell you. but he had to resist the urge; there was a decomp job waiting for him at home.

it probably wasn’t a good idea to approach you either, as there was a possibility the smell of putrefaction was beginning to attach to his clothes.

from that day on, jeno had been watching you for months.

every outfit you wore, every doe-eyed expression, every bite of your lip was all for him.

even though the two of you were never formally introduced, he knew the proper time would come.

so far he had done well becoming acquainted from afar: he knew where you worked, your grocery store of choice, your primary care doctor, even your favorite drink at the local café.

there was still so much left to uncover. now, he set the goal of finding out your birthday, just to send a batch of flowers to your job when the time came; labeled anonymous of course.

but the dreams of becoming your admirer were crushed the day that jeno found out you had a significant other. he almost chucked the vase he was holding. he didn’t need a vase, he was merely there because you and your boyfriend were at a furniture store, eyeing a new couch for your living room. it was just a method for him to blend in.

he kept his composure so as not to draw attention nor have to pay the store for damages.

the boy you called “babe” was average, nowhere near your level. but you clutched onto him like he was the only thing that mattered.

what did he have, that jeno didn’t?

the obvious answer was you.

jeno sat the vase down before storming out of the store, causing the bell atop of the door to slam and chime throughout the showroom. you actually turned to the direction of the entrance, somewhat alarmed at how loud it rang through the store.

fortunately, you were too late to see him.

that night, jeno began plotting his second abduction. it would be a challenge, no doubt.

he would ultimately regret if you got hurt in the process, but with enough love, he could prove that he was sorry.

and now that his “ex” was taken care of, he could finally focus.

there was a small checklist he made within a couple of days: buy a van, have the backseats removed and fitted with steel.

luckily money wasn’t an issue. but he did get a few weird glances from the auto modifications shop at his request.

“you don’t seem like the type to want a van decked out like this?” the automotive stylist said while looking over jeno’s new 12-seater.

he was sly enough to come up with a lie, plus the amount of money he was willing to drop was all that was needed to seal the deal.

jeno considered himself well-equipped from first girlfriend, it was just a matter of time and preparation before you were his second...

—

Present

—

you couldn’t hold back your screams, not when the love of your life was on his knees, being held at knife point.

“please! stop! you don’t have to d-do this!”

you thrashed on the floor, tears painting your cheeks, mucus staining your upper lip.

jeno had dragged your boyfriend back to his original position with his knife in hand, eventually standing behind him.

he took a handful of your lover’s hair to cock his head back, exposing an array of veins lining his neck.

“i love you so much…” was the last you would ever hear, causing jeno to furrow his brow and snarl in disgust.

the life you once knew was taken in a slash, jeno’s right hand swiping the serrated blade along your boyfriend’s stained skin.

your ears rang from the sound of metal against flesh, all of the tendons snapping at once. velvet poured from the now-open cavity, splattering onto the tarp and jeno’s bare hands.

your guts felt twisted, hearing the gurgling sounds of blood clogging his airway. seeing his eyes roll back into his sockets. so lifeless.

jeno let the body fall on its own.

he was inexplicably satisfied. the pig you called “babe” was now out of the picture, merely a slab of dead meat.

you curled into a ball, letting your head fall to the floor, entire soul succumbing to emptiness.

you simply didn’t care if you were next.

jeno stepped over the corpse and towards you, knife still in hand. with a swipe of his nose, he kneeled down in front of your shaken form, the least bit bothered by the blood smeared on his septum.

you didn’t even flinch when he tossed the knife down, barely missing your chest when it came to a stop on the floor.

“when i come back, we’ll be formally introduced.”

with a click of his tongue he rose up, leaving as if he didn’t just rip out your heart.

it didn’t take long for your boyfriend’s blood to run across the basement floor, the rest clotting near his open throat.

you let the warmth of the dark fluid envelop you. soaking deeper and deeper into your clothes.

—-

“shhh. shouldn’t we be quiet?”

you heard the whispered voice of a woman, giggling in between her words.

your eyes fluttered open, taking a while to adjust from the tears that crystallized over your eyelashes.

how many hours, or days has it been?

based on the way your clothes were now brittle from the dried blood, and the sea of black covering the floor, it had been a while.

unfortunately, your subconscious wasn’t able to repress the memories of your dead boyfriend, not when his cold, stiff body was still on the floor.

his skin had blotched purple, showing signs of livor mortis, his irises a milky white.

“no its fine. come here.”

you heard the familiar voice of your abductor, as he ushered the woman down the basement stairs.

excitement littered both of their faces, the girl hopping from the last step and into his arms.

you didn’t care to recall her appearance, the only thing worth mentioning was her frilly dress and kitten heels.

did she not even react to the scene in front of her? a corpse, and your starving body, still tied up, on a soiled basement floor?

she continued to giggle, keeping her hands on his chest.

“this is amazing…you’re so fucking hot.” her ear-grating words were swallowed by the heavy kiss they shared, attacking each other’s mouths. if it wasn’t for the mess, you were sure that he would’ve slammed her against the tarp covered wall.

his hands explored her body, lifting up the ruffled fabric to expose her ass, squeezing ever so often to hear her whine in pleasure.

you tried your hardest to block out the sounds of their smothered lips. even slamming your eyes shut to fulfill the disbelief that flooded your brain.

“you know i did this for you right?” he spoke in between their labored breaths, pulling away for air.

“of course i did…now can i show you how grateful i am?”

he nodded, palming himself through his black pants.

the girl guided him towards his workbench, pushing his back into the chilled metal table, seeming dominant in her quest to show thanks.

her hands trailed down to his belt buckle, freeing the clasp. you could hear his zipper being undone, and the sigh of relief once she started touching him in the right places.

you didn’t have the strength to demand them to stop, nor the freedom to end your own life. either decision would only fuel her to go slower.

the she-devil got down on her knees, pulling down his pants, giddy at the sight of him with no underwear. his dick sprang free from its confines, snapping back onto his chiseled groin. the girl squealed in satisfaction, to see that he was just as big as her face.

a growl erupted from his throat as she took him in her small hands and licked along the underside of his cock.

she welcomed him in her drooling mouth, keeping her eyes glued to his look of satisfaction. he wasted no time fucking her face, eyes darting between you and the corpse he created.

you winced at every gag you heard, every tug of his lips between his teeth.

she was struggling to fit what she could, even tapping his thighs, signaling to stop. but he wasn’t concerned for her effort.

he was busy swimming in pure ectasy, getting off to the chaos he created.

through it all, you finally managed to mutter the words,

“please kill me…”

—

Day 2

—

the snapping sounds were becoming too hard to ignore. you couldn’t drown them out any longer.

your eyes focused on him again, attempting to stuff the rigid corpse into a large black suitcase.

he panted as he tried to bend the unforgiving joints, fighting against the effects of rigor mortis.

his frustration was growing with every trial and error. and the smell of rotting flesh wasn’t helping either.

you were too catatonic to react…it was just another day in his world.

he eventually succeeded, feeling pleased to have the remains covered before it continued its cycle of decay.

in the corner of his eye, he saw you wiggling in your restraints, trying to make your limbs come alive again.

“who was that girl?”

your voice was crackly, barely audible from dehydration.

“what?” he said with obvious confusion, pausing to look over at your crippled frame.

“the girl you were with?” you gulped afterwards, trying your hardest to lubricate your vocal chords with what saliva you had left.

“must’ve been a nightmare…” he spoke under his breath, shameless in his look of concern.

somehow you believed him.

and the mere thought of dreaming something so wicked disgusted you.

you watched as he finished zipping up the suitcase, taking off his vinyl gloves and tossing them on top.

he then made his way over to you, kneeling down to untie the complex knots on your wrists and ankles.

you chose not to look at him, fearing he would change his mind and leave you there to molder in sorrow.

“i’ve hidden my name for long enough…jeno.”

his eyes managed a subtle smile through his introduction; the naturally occurring feature strangely matching his exterior. if he wasn’t a murderer.

once the ropes fell loose, you could barely resort back to mobility. it felt unnatural to finally be able to stretch after so long.

but now that you were somewhat free, you finally realized how filthy you were.

“i’ve got some cleaning up to do…there’s a bathroom for you to use over there. freshen up and then i can take you upstairs to the kitchen.” he pointed with his head over to the ivory bathroom, which seemed to be the only clean spot in the basement.

he had the decency to help you to your feet, watching as you struggled to gain equilibrium. you looked away into the direction of the bathroom, indicating you could help yourself now.

you didn’t bother glancing over to the workbench, figuring he was smart enough to put away his tools and weapons. you didn’t have the energy to defend yourself anyways.

the bathroom wasn’t far enough away to miss the smell of a festered corpse but you hoped by the time you showered, it would all be a bit better.

to your surprise, the bathroom was fully stocked: unopened toiletries, feminine products, shampoo, body wash, lotions, towels, everything you needed to feel alive again.

laying in the sink was an oversized t-shirt, sweatpants and socks, all in a vacuum sealed bag, which you assumed to be jeno’s. or maybe they belonged to a former victim. it didn’t matter as long as they were clean. anything was better than the battered clothes you had on now.

you closed the door and began to undress, keeping your body towards the door incase jeno barged in to take advantage of your naked form. though you doubted anyone would want to see the current state you were in.

raising your legs to get inside the fiberglass shower proved to be a challenge, even bending down to adjust the temperature of the water made your knees buckle.

but you eventually managed to rid yourself of the dried blood and sweat; water droplets masking your tears as you watched the black clumps flow down into the drain.

—

jeno was waiting for you outside the door, leaning against the wall that was now free of plastic sheets.

everything was spotless, or at least that’s what you could discern through your hooded eyes. the floor was free of biomass, all of the tarp was discarded, and the suitcase was nowhere to be found. most of all, the horrid odor was gone.

jeno eyed you up and down, satisfied with the floral smell coming from the lotion he bought you. he was always a fan of rose, and he hoped you were too.

he reached out his left hand for you to take, but you rejected the gesture, instead hugging your sides and looking down at your feet.

you could get up the stairs just fine.

or so you thought.

just as your feet made contact with the first step, you tugged on jeno’s shirt for support as he led the way.

you managed to miss the faint smile that painted his face, as you were too busy trying not to lose balance.

once you made it upstairs, you took in the interior. natural white oak floors, a spacious living room fitted with potted plants, a curtained patio sliding door, a small tv, with a gaming console placed just underneath in the stand, a glass coffee table, and a single white boucle couch that was surprisingly free of any suspicious stains.

the same could be said for the kitchen, shiny quartz countertops, and all steel appliances. you began to doubt if he afforded all of this on his own, but then you thought back to his extensive basement. maybe his career supported all of his dangerous endeavors.

your stomach instantely growled upon sitting at the kitchen bar. so loud that jeno managed to hear it as he began rummaging through the drawers for cooking utensils.

“i guess i should tell you the reason that you’re here.” jeno huffed as he began chopping up the raw food onto a cutting board. your heart dropped at his words; you weren’t sure if you could handle learning the reason right now.

“i’ve been watching you for quite a while now…i just knew from the very first time, that i had to prove my worth. prove that i could be everything you needed.”

you knew you weren’t mentally ready to play along with his insanity, nor try to earn his trust so soon. with his level of denial, your strategy needed time.

all you could do was be a listener and soak in his confession.

“i know i’ve done irreversible damage to you, so i don’t expect forgiveness. but at least let me give you the support you deserve to heal.”

you chose not to reply, it was best that way.

maybe through the silence, he would come to his senses.

as he continued to cook, you tried to look closely for any hints of him lacing the food. you weren’t afraid to deny sustenance in exchange for starvation.

but when you realized he was making a plate for himself, you felt less suspicious.

jeno arranged the food to look delectable, and placed everything neatly on trays, paired with a glass of water. he stood across the kitchen bar, eagerly awaiting your review before he took his first bite.

you picked at the rice with your fork, and tried your best not to tremble when you brought it up to your mouth and swallowed a few grains. he frowned when he noticed you trying to hold back tears.

what was so sad about a plate of food?

“i didn’t do anything to it.” he said sympathetically, but you let the tears fall anyway.

having a meal with the man that kidnapped you wasn’t anything to be delighted about. nonetheless, you grabbed more and more, slowly beginning to feel replenished.

jeno ate with you in silence, every once in a while watching the tears fall onto your plate.

you were sure that the lack of food for two days straight was the reason for the onset of nausea that creeped inside your body. the food didn’t taste bad, far from it. but the more you ate, the more you felt like you couldn’t keep it down.

a couple of spoonfuls remained, and once you set down your fork, you eyed the couch behind you in the living room.

laying on a soft surface for once, sounded the most appealing.

“can you help me to the couch?”

you knew he wouldn’t turn down your request. anything you could do to earn his trust, the better.

jeno was quick to assist, first, gathering the plates and placing them in the sink.

“i’ll put the leftovers in the fridge, just let me know when you want some more.” he said as he walked briskly to your position on the bar stool.

you didn’t dare move.

his soft hands grabbed both of your own, clasping somewhat too hard to get you to your feet. you faced him eye to eye, waiting for him to guide you.

but there was no motion from either of you; his chest mere centimeters from your own. his irises were such an uncomfortable black, soulless.

you couldn’t look away.

sweat formed in your hands, which you were sure that he could feel. yet, he didn’t let go. a sniffle from your runny nose seemed to have snapped him out of his reverie.

with no further time to waste, he helped you towards the living room, keeping hold of your clammy hands as you sunk down into the soft material. you winced as you swung your legs around to lay flat but immediately exhaled in relief at the plush cushions hugging your entire backside.

jeno brought your glass of water to the coffee table, and scooted the tv remote closer.

just the mere sight of the remote made you wonder if turning on the news right now would show hundreds of stories on you and your boyfriend's disappearance. or any leads on the suspect.

your family, your goals, your passions, all ripped away by someone that “cared” about you.

why couldn’t you bring yourself to scream at the top of your lungs to fill the void?

the desperate need for rest overpowered everything else. this was the most comfortable you had ever felt in a while.

you closed your eyes, drifting off into a deep sleep to the sound of running water from the kitchen sink.

—

you missed the answer to your question just half an hour later. it was motivation.

had you heard the sound of heavy knocks echoing off of the front door. you would’ve made your presence known, whether or not it was the police.

a youthful male voice yelled on the other side.

“jenooo! open up buddy!”

then a different voice spoke,

“dude! we know you’re in there!”

jeno froze from drying the dishes, only his eyes looking in the direction of the door.

it was mark and jaemin.

he thought he made it very clear, for them to never show up to his house unannounced.

ever since he began seeking you out, he made sure to send a text to them stating that “he’d been going through a rough time, that it was best to have as much privacy as possible. and to always shoot a text or a call before coming over.”

guess they didn’t want to respect his wish.

he carefully sat down the ceramic bowl on the counter and bolted towards your sleeping body.

he didn’t even need to spike your drink, it was obvious you were going to pass out from sleep deprivation and mental exhaustion.

jeno knitted his brow in disappointment. you looked so perfect like this, ready and willing to take what he could give. and now his friends had to ruin it.

sadly, he didn’t have time to be gentle.

your eyes immediately shot open at the feeling of him gripping your waist with one hand, and covering your mouth with the other.

“don’t fucking say a word.”

he snarled in your ear, spit accidentally hitting your lobe from how hard he spoke. he wrapped his veiny arm around your hips, forcing you away from the couch.

you had more energy than he thought, preventing him from getting a good enough grip to hoist you over his shoulders. you kicked at the coffee table, managing to knock over the glass of water onto the hardwood floor. he saw you turn your head towards the direction of the door from the sound of a few more knocks, those probably being the first you heard ever since they arrived.

he suffered through the discomfort of you gnawing at his fingers as he dragged you back towards the basement.

your measly struggle only allowed a single muffled scream to bounce against the crevices of his hands.

as he kicked the door open to the basement, he switched positions, this time dragging you down by a simple chokehold, causing your body to slump from the lack of circulation.

your heels knocked against each step, no longer having the adrenaline to fight back. he hurriedly grabbed the duct tape on the workbench, knowing he wouldn’t have enough time to do a thorough restraint.

it pained him to toss you onto the hard floor, just when you were beginning to find solace in his home. but he continued to tape your mouth, and your wrists, ripping the strips with his teeth.

he added plenty to your mouth, knowing you were smart enough to try and lick the adhesive.

you were disoriented enough from your elbows and knees striking the concrete, that he was able to sprint back upstairs, locking you inside.

there wasn’t as much of a mess when he returned, just a glass of water shattered into pieces on the floor. he ignored it for now, already coming up with an excuse for the slight disarray.

he wiped his hands free of your saliva before opening the door.

of course the two were excited to see him.

“took you long enough!” jaemin exclaimed before reaching in for a hug. jeno didn’t return the embrace, choosing to remain cold and statuesque.

the two friends could sense the tension, coming to their defense immediately.

“now before you get pissed, we sent you hella text messages and you never responded.” jaemin stepped back, raising up the palms of his hands.

“yeah and we were beginning to worry. is it okay if we come in and talk? just thought it would be nice to check on you.” mark followed suit with his concern, hoping jeno would permit them entry.

secretly, jeno was squeezing his side of the door handle to death, and internally, his blood was boiling.

he had an entire human being probably thrashing around in his basement, and two unmarked graves of his ex and your ex in his backyard.

now wasn’t the time.

but they were already here, and telling them to leave wouldn’t be easy.

“fine. but you can’t stay long. i have to go grocery shopping here soon.”

a complete lie.

jeno stood aside to let them enter, remembering to bring up the broken glass on the living room floor as they took off their shoes.

“be careful, i dropped a glass of water earlier. let me sweep it up first.” jeno made sure they stopped in their tracks before walking over to his coat closet to grab the broom and dustpan.

he swept up the crystal shards in seconds, mentally praying that they would want to do something other than just talk in silence,

something to drown out the potential noises you would make from downstairs.

—

unbeknowest to you, jeno was trying his hardest to appear unbothered as the three took turns playing Street Fighter.

he kept losing, which seemed unlike him. and not once yelling at the screen was unlike him too. mark and jaemin noticed his lack of excitement, but couldn’t brush it off any longer.

“you sure you’re okay?” mark looked over at jeno once the match ended.

“yeah i’m fine.”

“we can stop playing if you want. i get you’re not always in the mood.”

“no it’s fine. i need the distraction…”

jeno looked down at his controller, finding that to be the better option than locking eyes with either of them.

“is work kicking your ass? maybe you need a vacation…have some time away from all the bullshit.”

jaemin did have a point, but you were more important. vacation could wait.

—

had you finally been rescued? had the police finally traced him?

the lack of commotion from the rest of the house left you feeling hopeless. maybe the detectives were doing a welfare check, which wouldn’t account for much noise. jeno didn’t seem like the type to attack law enforcement nor turn himself in.

he’d only had you all to himself for a day now, you doubted he would give himself up so soon.

you managed to stand to your feet, thankful for the rush that prevented him from taping your ankles together.

you tried searching his workbench for any signs of a sharp object that could cut your wrists free. of course he locked everything away, and there didn’t seem to be a secret compartment.

you then ran up the stairs and placed your ear against the door.

all you could hear were two faint voices other than jeno’s. but they weren’t loud enough to discern their position in the world. either way, you had to make your presence known.

the length from the door to the stairs was non-existent, which meant you couldn’t get a head start to ram your shoulders into the steel material.

the least you could do was kick and shove it, just enough to indicate a disturbance.

you did all the above; sure to make his visitors look in the direction of the basement.

you were beginning to get overzealous in your attempts. you just knew you were going to be saved now.

just as you stepped back to increase what momentum you had, you felt gravity pull you down towards the trenches.

without any assistance from your hands to break your fall, your entire body tumbled down the staircase.

the uneasy sound of a pop rang under your skin, traveling all the way from your ankle.

as soon as your twisted body settled at the bottom of the staircase, you instantly knew.

he was definitely going to dispose of you now.

—

jeno thought he could never truly be mad at you. but when you decided to cause a scene downstairs, he knew a punishment was in order.

luckily, mark received a call from his girlfriend saying she needed help installing a new router in her apartment, and since jaemin rode together with him, they had to leave.

your pandemonium just began as the two put on their shoes and said their goodbyes, making sure to stress to him that if he ever needed to “rant or vent”, to give them a call.

his demeanor was like a switch as soon as he shut the door, his eyes darting over to the now silent basement, jaw clenched so hard that he could’ve tore a muscle.

maybe you realized your fate, he thought as he power walked over to the door.

the scene in front of him was far from what he could have ever guessed: you were sprawled on your back, laying in a pool of your own tears. as soon as he caught sight of your injury, he put two and two together.

you fell and sprained your ankle.

a faint sigh left his lips, and he rubbed his eyes as if to erase the mess you were now in.

your sobs grew louder as jeno made his way down the steps, hoping he would gain a conscious by the time he made it down.

to your surprise, jeno didn’t pull out a knife, neither did he wrap his hands around your neck and give it a fateful squeeze.

he bent down, carefully gathering your crippled legs together. with one brief exhale, he brought one arm around the back of your neck and the other under your bundled knees. he rose up effortlessly, without any need to readjust his footing.

you winced into his chest at the feeling of your ligaments pulling apart even further from hanging in the air.

but the pain seemed to have subsided for a split second as you looked up at the man carrying you bridal style up the stairs.

blemishless skin, pink lips, long eyelashes—

you interrupted your outlandish thoughts, choosing not to label him as outwardly flawless. you could burn in hell if you ever admitted so.

—

your foot had completely mutated, like you had swapped body parts with an alien.

somehow you were alive, and that’s all that mattered.

jeno took the time to carry you to his bedroom and place you on his king- sized bed. you didn’t even need to ask for help as he swung your legs onto the semi-firm mattress.

his entire room sported a similar Scandinavian design like the rest of his house, with more plants hanging from his bedroom window.

“my foot looks disgusting…” you thought you whispered low enough under your breath, but jeno managed a chuckle as he started gathering extra pillows from his closet to elevate your swollen ankle.

it sounded foreign, but oddly comforting.

“well, you managed a pretty decent tear. just be grateful it wasn’t your achilles, or i would’ve had to take you to the doctor…”

“how long do you think?”

“mmhm, three to four weeks. as long as you don’t put unnecessary pressure, it should be pretty painless. i have some ice packs in the freezer but i need to go digging for some pain pills. do you need anything else before i go get them?”

“a glass of water and blankets please.”

“of course.” he nodded at each request, making a mental checklist and walking off in the direction of the coat closet to gather the blankets.

you scooted back in the bed, letting the headboard support you while you sat in an upright position.

it didn’t take long for him to come back with a handful of all the things you needed.

a glass of water and ibuprofen lay on the adjacent nightstand, two pillows were placed underneath your ankles, three assorted blankets were folded neatly at the foot of the bed, two ice packs were wrapped in microfiber towels, and the fully stocked bathroom was just a few steps down the hallway to the right.

you already had a brief discussion with him on needing assistance to go to the bathroom, though it left you feeling rather uncomfortable. then you thought back to him buying feminine products—maybe it was less awkward than you thought.

as the evening progressed, jeno remained by your side, scrolling through his phone on the other half of the bed. he didn’t speak much, only checking every once in a while to see if you needed to pee, too much in fact.

he quickly realized your slight annoyance from his fifth time asking, deciding to keep quiet for the rest of the night.

you finally managed to rest with your eyes closed once the ibuprofen took away some of the discomfort, and within minutes, you drifted off.

—

3 Weeks Later

—

your recovery was painless just like jeno predicted. within a week, the swelling and bruising went down.

in the second week, you were able to walk to the kitchen to heat up your own food in the microwave.

considering jeno worked from home and couldn’t leave his office space that often, you tried your best to be self-sufficient.

through it all, he continued to cook and clean, creating somewhat of a new domestic lifestyle that you never thought was possible.

once he finished work at 6pm, he would come out of his office and into his bedroom where you spent your time reading. he would always refill your glass of water and lift the ice pack to take a peek at your ankle.

you never admitted to him that you missed interpersonal relationships or profound conversation, but there was something deep within you that thought maybe he could see it in your face everytime he brought you a snack from the pantry without saying a word.

in all honesty, you were afraid to bring up anything from his past. it wasn’t like the two of you were together and you had no idea he was a murderer.

he showed his true colors from the very beginning.

every night he slept on the far half of the bed, always starting off on his back, with one hand behind his head. once he hit deep sleep, he shuffled quite a bit until he found comfort being on his side, sometimes facing you, sometimes not.

you never awoke to snoring or his body making contact with yours. most nights you would wake from a nightmare, though you did a decent job at hiding it. some nights you couldn’t handle the agony that plagued your mind, laying there crying for hours.

just when you thought jeno couldn’t hear your sublte cries, he did. but what could he do to make it better?

in the final week, jeno did some makeshift physical therapy with you, testing your range of motion while you sat on the edge of the bed.

he seemed to be in deep concentration, even making sure the room was silent so he could listen for any popping sounds that would’ve indicated more recovery time.

“i don’t know if it’s just me, but i don’t look as stiff anymore.” you said as you watched jeno gently rotate your ankle clockwise, then counterclockwise.

“you certaintly don’t feel stiff. i think we’ve done everything right so far.” jeno smiled, quite impressed with how well his methods turned out for you. he let your foot come back softly against the bed before standing up.

your breath hitched when he positioned himself in between your legs, staring down into your glossy eyes.

jeno pondered on the thought of bringing up your sleepless nights. but he didn’t know of a correct way, or if there was one at all. the only thing he could do was make sure you had access to one pain pill at a time, for if the day came that you left him, he would leave the earth too.

you had “been with him” for almost a month now, and you managed to last longer than he thought.

he admired you for that.

“will i ever know who you are?”

your voice gave out, dwindling into thin air. jeno watched as you dropped your head to conceal what dignity you had left.

he used a single finger to prop you back up, ultimately deciding if an embrace would make it better.

there’s no way it could.

—

Day 32

—

this was the worst nightmare you’ve had yet.

the scene was too vivid, too real to let go of.

reliving the day your boyfriend died ate away at your soul and spit out what sanity you had left.

each time he died, the more he spoke to you, as if he wasn’t dead.

“you see that i’m quite dead. how awful.”

though his neck had just been slit, he laid there…staring at you…speaking so monotone, so robotic.

“why do you make me experience this over and over again? wake up. wake up. wake up.” he repeated to you.

your blood-curdling screams filled the bedroom; yet another sleepless night for not only you, but jeno too.

it was only recently that you began thrashing around the bed and filling the silent room with your grief-stricken cries.

there was no trying to hide it now…the pain became too much.

jeno immediately rose out of bed, enveloping your shaken body in a full embrace, the first time that he’d ever done so.

you continued to wail as if he wasn’t there.

“where is he-i need to see him! where did you put him?!”

you continued to repeat your demands, rocking back and forth in his arms.

jeno knew what you meant, but he was sure you truly didn’t need to know. if you were this broken down from the nightmares, there was no way learning the truth could make it all better.

jeno knitted his brow as you continued to shuffle within his broad frame.

he would never admit this to you, but these past few weeks have been miserable.

he was beginning to lose hope.

spraining your ankle was probably the best thing that could’ve happened; as bizarre as that sounded.

the two of you spent so much time together, and even though jeno could tell you wanted to know more about him, there just wasn’t a right time. not yet.

his past and how he came to be was best left unsaid. not until you seemed “better”, as the heavy load of his own trauma would’ve only made it worse for you.

and now here you were, still not “better.”

within the time that you began to gain control of your breathing, jeno contemplated his decision.

he let go of your body, rubbing his eyes to adjust better to the dark room.

you watched closely as he made his way around to you and held out his hand.

for the first time, you took it.

it was if you were still dreaming, but no longer fighting your night terror.

he guided you towards the living room patio door, walking slowly enough in regards to your recently healed ankle.

you seemed to have forgotten that the backyard existed, as you were so used to being in your own purgatory. nonetheless, you were eager to see the outdoors again, yet still unsure why he was taking you there.

jeno used his non-occupied hand to push the curtains away before unlocking the sliding door, still keeping his other hand interlocked with yours.

a slight breeze hit your face as the two of you stepped onto the patio.

even in the early morning, the moon still illuminated bright against the deciduous trees swaying in the wind. petrichor emanated from the dampened grass, soothing away your stresses immediately.

being outside for even just a second made up for all the lost time you spent in captivity.

maybe this is why jeno brought you here, to finally let you experience the beauty of the outdoors again; to take your mind off the troubles of your nightmares.

you remained behind him, peaking over his shoulder to admire the forgotten land you once accustomed yourself to.

still no words were spoken as he lead the way into the yard. you continued to hold his hand, finding comfort in the creases of his palms.

he came to a stop in the middle, and appeared to have been looking down at something. you furrowed your brow as he let go of your hand, already missing the contact that kept you down to earth.

once you stepped aside to be shoulder to shoulder, you immediately realized what this was.

your wish had been granted.

in front of you were two raised patches of dirt, one seemed to have settled more than the other. it appeared that grass had been planted, in an attempt to speed up the rate of growth on the disturbed level of soil.

your world shattered—crashing into the depths of pure misery and sorrow.

you fell to your knees, the softened mud painting your pajama pants deep brown.

all the tears you could’ve cried remained back inside the house. this time, your chest felt tight, constricting any sign of emotion.

jeno remained blank, gearing up for the words that would change your life forever.

he bent down to your level, knees settling into the mud, eyes glossed over.

he waited for you to look up from the two graves, almost considering if he should do this.

you met his eyes, just as dark as the sky.

“this will probably be the last time you ever see him.”

to you, his voice barely sounded human, morphed into the monster he truly was.

you felt a surge of fight or flight—a passion to fight for your survival.

it all became a blur as you lunged forward, grabbing both sides of his chiseled face and connecting your lips to his.

you couldn’t bear to keep your eyes open as you kissed him. for you knew that this way of self-preservation would haunt you if you made it out alive.

giving him what he wanted all this time, seemed to be the only logical way.

jeno welcomed your lips without falter, as if this was the answer.

his lips were soft, mending against your own like silk.

your hands remained attached to his jawline, as he trailed down to grip your waist.

he squeezed you just right, not too hard like he’d done in the past.

you wanted him to take control, to show that he could do whatever he wanted. the whimpers that escaped your lips, told him so.

the kiss never broke, as you both rose and stood under the pale moonlight. his hands traced down further, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. he cupped the underside of your thighs within a single catch of your breath, to which you exhaled and whined, so gingerly.

he took your subtle detachment as an opportunity to connect your tongues, the feeling of warmth completely searing your insides.

you were too dazed to match the way his tongue explored your mouth, but the messiness ignited infatuation for how unique he tasted.

still, it could never be too much, not even the way your conjoined saliva dripped onto your tear-stained shirt.

there was no limit for how willing you were to submit.

he swallowed the whimpers that fell from your mouth, trying his hardest not to tug on your lips too harshly.

his hands pressed upwards on the back of your thighs, signaling that he craved more.

he clutched onto your ass as you jumped and wrapped your legs around his waist.

you could feel the growth in his sweatpants increase the moment your breasts made contact with his clothed chest, nipples almost meeting together in the same distance across.

you were both harmonious in your attempts to get back inside the house; just the simple action of raking your fingers through his raven locks, encouraged him to move quickly.

he managed to walk through the yard with ease, taking only a brief moment to peek behind you to ensure he didn’t trip over the entrance from the patio.

during his journey to the bedroom, you buried your face into his neck, peckering on the veins that branched out into beautiful streams of blue.

your tongue found his racing pulse just as he kneed the door open to the room.

he laid you down on the edge of the bed, choosing to return the favor and kiss along your neck.

your hands couldn’t decide on a spot to grab, so you kept them tangled in his hair.

you had to be as convincing as possible that you craved this too, but it didn’t seem that hard to do when he caressed you in all the right places.

“i’ve waited so long for this, for you…”

his voice had gone even deeper, vibrating against your collarbone as he kissed there.

he continued further, meeting your chest that so desperately needed to be exposed. his teeth tugged on your hardened nipples through your cotton shirt, earning yet another whimper that bounced off the painted walls of the bedroom.

he was dependent on your noises of pleasure, desperate to hear every sound that told him he was doing well.

just as you blinked, he lifted your shirt, with not enough patience to take it the rest of the way off. his mouth latched onto your sensitive nipple, soothing the sting with his tongue every time he nipped it between his teeth.

he gave the same amount of attention to the other, swirling his wet muscle along every inch of your breasts. deep down, you wanted him to inch further towards where he deserved to be.

but you felt so sinful for thinking so.

he continued his descent, kissing along the flesh of your tummy and down to your pelvis. his eyes remained closed while doing so, as if he was already familiar with every feature of your lower body. you hadn’t even realized that he tugged your pajama pants off, discarding them somewhere on the floor.

you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on him, though you knew he had a look of pure bliss; excited to finally take what was his.

you jumped at the feeling of his nose resting on your clit, even rubbing it back and forth, painfully slow. he inhaled deeply, taking in your scent that was bound to get stronger once he took off your panties.

your entire body jolted from his tongue tapping your sensitive nub, causing all of your blood to rush to that spot. he poked at a faster pace, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy the ache in your core, nor nullify the guilt you felt from actually enjoying it.

he was teasing, obviously wanting to savor every moment that had no guarantee of happening again.

“all mine…” he purposefully whispered close to your clothed heat, the spurts of air hitting your dampened panties with every unhinged word he spoke.

you wiggled your bottom half, coaxing him into giving the attention you so desperately needed.

he was receptive to your attempts, immediately hooking his hands under the seam of your panties and pulling them off in one fell swoop. you kept your arms close to your upper body as a way to console yourself for how far you let this go.

he pried your legs open wide, pushing them back so they were bent at the knee. his hands rested on top, pausing to inhale your scent once more.

you kept the view below hidden with your arms, as the sight would be too much to take in. the mere feeling of him licking a single strip with his flattened tongue, from your puckered hole all the way up to your engorged clit forced a complete sigh of relief out of your body.

you covered your mouth with your hands as a result, conflicted on whether or not you should hold it in anymore.

judging by the pause, jeno wasn’t pleased with your concealment.

“don’t fucking cover your mouth.”

he spoke right into your pussy, eyes trained on your next move. you obeyed him that easily, placing your arms down at your sides to grip the sheets.

as soon as you looked down, you were met with a sight that would ultimately defy all virtue left in your sickened world.

jeno’s eyes were locked onto you, lapping at your slick with such determination to make you cum from his mouth alone.

his hands had moved from your legs to your thighs, making sure to keep you static through it all.

he did everything right—sucking on your clit, dragging it lightly between his teeth, covering every inch of your folds with his spit.

each time he propelled his saliva onto your wet cunt, you couldn’t help but try to close your thighs around his head; all purity soiled by the way he defiled your pussy.

you knew it would only get filthier from here.

he snaked his left hand down, the pads of his thumb coming to rest on your pulsating bundle of nerves. his other hand formed a union between his fore and middle finger, making a way to your entrance.

it was evident through your prolonged captivity that jeno would feel resistance as he eased his two fingers inside. he wasn’t as slow as you hoped, but if it was for the sake of prepping, you would take what warnings he gave you.

all three of his methods worked in reducing the pressure in your pelvic floor, but you still felt as though you could never truly be ready for his cock, mentally or physically.

“you can barely take my fingers, fuck…”

he took the chance to curve his fingers inside you, creating friction as he scraped against your spot effortlessly.

your entire world was spinning, and it was just the beginning.

he was steady as he fucked you with his fingers, never once loosing sight of how ruined you were.

the squelching from your walls suffocating his digits caused his sweatpants to feel uncomfortably tight.

he couldn’t wait to stretch you full.

the denial you onced claimed, began to wash away as you felt your orgasm approaching.

his pace increased, creating a rhythm that was bound to make you crash.

“i-i cant! please!”

jeno ignored your cries, utterly content with forcing it out of you whether or not you wanted him to stop.

you grabbed a fistful of his hair again, resting your fingers in his scalp as your whole body convulsed.

constellations flooded your vision, blinding you from the reality of your guilt. you couldn’t help but grind into his face, prolonging the peak of your climax.

all but his mouth left your pussy, his hands ushering your lower body even closer.

he managed to stay latched onto your beating clit, as your body continued to spasm. he truly didn’t want to leave that spot, as he found himself completely drunk off of what you gifted him.

the amount of your juices that painted his mouth and chin, was proof.

you barely had enough core strength to lessen the impact of your legs falling against the bed as jeno rose to his feet.

he undressed himself within seconds, tossing the items of clothing inside the open closet.

all you could do was lay there and be a tool, trying your hardest not to react to the size of his cock.

there truly wasn’t anywhere he could fit, not even in your mouth if he wanted you there.

you managed to survive this far, but you were already second-guessing your chances the moment he positioned his naked body in front of you.

there was complete truth in how perfect he was—toned muscles, smooth complexion, and veins that branched out in every direction, most notably in his arms and hands.

he was the epitome of virility.

you were merely just a vessel for him to use and destroy.

“take off your shirt.”

he stroked his length, watching you fumble with the piece of clothing bunched around your neck.

as soon as you discarded it, he lifted both of your legs up, letting his shaft plop onto your wet mound. the sound was filthy, an indication of how wet you were.

he started to glide his length up and down your pussy, practically wet humping your slick as if you weren’t overstimulated from his oral assault only minutes prior. you involuntarily jerked at the contact of his tip rubbing your abused clit, watching as he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth at your undoing.

he finally let his grinding come to a halt; tip stopping right at your navel.

precum leaked inside the natural divet in your skin, forming a pool from his arousal.

“pl-please jeno…i need you.”

you no longer cared if it hurt, all that mattered was being at his complete disposal.

he listened to your desires, finally conjoining your bodies as one. the stretch was uncomfortable, burning even. but the satisfaction that followed, negated every ounce of hatred you used to feel.

you attempted to breathe through the discomfort, but all you could produce was a gasp as he eased his way further. even through the pain, you could see in his face that you were his entire world.

his mouth hung open, eyes rolling back for a second before gaining focus on your effort to accomodate his size. a line of saliva fell from his lips onto his shaft, making more of a mess than was thought possible.

you were severely uncoordinated from the intensity of your previous orgasm, but that didn’t stop you from pulling him in for a kiss as he bottomed out. you moaned into his mouth, slurping on his tongue to taste what remained of your essence.

he furrowed his brow when you clenched down as hard as his girth would allow, sucking him further inside your cervix.

he finally took it upon himself to move, feeling resistance as he geared up to piston inside you. his hands made their way from your thighs to your neck, gripping hard enough to make a vein visibly pulse against your temple. you placed your hands on top of his, hoping he wouldn’t take that as a sign to soften his hold on your throat.

this was everything you wanted. the exhilaration of being on the brink of death, a stark contrast to how he’s made you feel before. tingling littered under where his palms squeezed, causing you to writhe in pleasure as he drilled into your pussy.

no matter how hard he squeezed, you trusted that he wouldn’t end you. not when he was completely buried in your walls, growling in your ear at how well you took his cock.

“you’re so perfect, taking my dick so well…” his words sounded muddled from the ringing present in your ears, you weren’t even sure you comprehended them correctly through the high building up inside you a second time.

you managed to let a moan escape through the restriction as he pushed both of your bodies higher on the bed, having enough skill to remain inside you the entire time.

jeno noticed your eyelids begin to flutter, a sign that you were teetering on the edge. he relished in the sight—your body slumped against him, your vocal chords attempting to produce noise but ultimately failing.

you were officially cock drunk, inebriated by how well he fucked you dumb.

even through the haze, you could see him enjoying every second, tugging on his lips to suppress the animalistic sounds brewing deep within his chest.

he finally took his hands away, allowing your senses to restore from the lack of oxygen. your chest heaved profusely, causing your back to arch as if you were being exorcized.

his stamina was still just as unwavering, never once losing rhythm. just as you gained control of your breathing, he pushed your legs back towards your head, simultaneously being in awe of your flexibility.

the sound of skin slapping hit against your eardrums with each strike, and now that there was a surge of pressure being applied to your throat from this new position, you could barely vocalize how flawless he was at hitting your spot every, single, time.

you could feel his length twitching, veins swelling, and balls slapping against your ass with every thrust.

your stomach tightened from the pressure against your womb, forming a wave that you were bound to drown in.

“i know you’re close…cum on my cock…fuck.” he gulped in between, trying his hardest to hide the shakiness in his voice. he was just as close as you were, ready to explode at any moment.

all it took was for him to pause and grind into you slowly.

and with it, came a cathartic release.

a string of moans finally escaped through your restriction, forming a melody for jeno to absorb in his frenzied brain.

unhinged groans fell from his lips as he emptied his seed; silken fluid overflowing and mixing with your own.

you clenched around his dick even harder than before, milking him for everything he was worth.

he stilled inside you for a while, practically putting all of his body weight on you while you remained in that position.

the back of your thighs were sure to have bruises from how long he had kept his hands there. but you wouldn’t trade those marks for the world.

you shuddered as he exited you without warning, shifting to lay by your side. even through the silence, your thoughts were loud.

he came inside you, and it was obvious that the aftermath of the situation plagued his mind too.

—

you pretended to be asleep. though jeno was a different story, which all worked in your favor. as the morning progressed, he pulled your backside into his chest, one arm resting on your waist and the other under your neck. it was a surprise to you, considering he never touched you in his sleep.

the main complication you faced now was slipping out of his arms without waking him.

you were still backed up against his front when you lifted your head to view the time.

the nightstand clock read 7:32am.

if you didn’t act soon, you would be put underground, allowing someone else to take your place and experience the same horrors as you.

you wiggled yourself to test his stimuli, no response. so you did it again, nothing.

you carefully lifted his arm that was on your waist and began to scoot towards the side of the bed. he stirred once, but not enough to fully rouse him.

the time read 7:37pm when you finally stood to your feet.

you could’ve made your way to the kitchen, but cleaning up was definitely a priority.

you treaded lightly towards the bathroom, not even bothering to bring clothes. as you stepped inside, you were met with abhorration.

the person you saw in the mirror was barely recognizable, ravaged beyond repair. and no matter how hard you scrubbed your body, it still couldn’t wash away the bruises or the remnants of jeno that had been sitting inside you for the past two hours.

hopefully by the time you got back to him, you would finally be purged of his undying affliction.

the simple action of grabbing a knife from the kitchen wasn’t so simple in your regards.

your anxiety started to rise as you entered the kitchen. there, laying on the counter, in a stainless steel holder, were your means of redemption.

it didn’t matter what kind, just as long as it cut deep enough…

the one you grabbed happened to be a paring knife; ideal for your method of use.

your hands were sweaty, making it difficult to grip thoroughly. but you managed with two hands, all the way back towards the bedroom. before jeno could potentially see you through the doorway, you switched your hands, positioning the knife behind your back.

he was still sleeping, peacefully.

the clock read 7:59am. any minute now.

you walked around to where his back was facing you; his slow and steady breathing being a complete imbalance to your racing heart.

you maintained a good grip of the knife as you slipped under the disheveled sheets, attempting to straddle him and in turn wake him up for his departure.

at first, he grimaced, wondering why his sleep was being disturbed. but once his eyes fluttered open, he smiled, blissfully unaware of your deception.

he turned onto his back so you could straddle him properly, his body heat greeting you like the sun.

he lifted his hands and started to caress your thighs, creating goosebumps along your tender skin. he seemed to be focused on the bruising, expression filled with pride at how hard he claimed you.

you fought with every fiber of your being to hold back tears as you lowered yourself onto his chest.

you met his soft lips for the last time. sealing his fate with a kiss.

you exposed the knife in your right hand before sinking it into his side, the impedance of his tough flesh trying to stop you from sinking the blade in deep.

you kept your eyes closed through it all, but you could feel his mouth open in shock.

your tears finally broke, and just as you felt them separate from your chin, you opened your eyes.

and stabbed again.

and again.

you flinched each time, waiting for a piercing cry, but there was nothing. his mouth hung open in agony, trying to produce a scream, but there was nothing.

his skin had turned pale, eyes dilated and whirling out of control. soon came the blood, painting your hands, the sheets, and his tepid skin.

you buried your face into his neck, hoping to hear his pulse slowly drift away.

instead you were met with his last words,

“you made it…”

—

check to see what readers are saying here!

//tagging:

@pradajaehyun @glitchfiles @nikimeows @seungsthetic

#jeno smut #lee jeno x reader #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno au #nct dream fanfiction #feedback is appreciated <3 #i suck at endings BYE

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krispycreamcake · 2 months

Note

i already adoooore your writing!!!

K, so a story where the reader is the youngest Sakamaki brother, and was also likely treated the worse?? Like Karlheinz broke some of his bones whenever he disobeyed, and replaced them with silver prosthesis. So, he's always in some pain as a result, and on top of that the rest of the Sakamakis (excluding Reiji who likes his father) don't treat him well since he bares the most resemblance to Karlheinz. But maybe they end up coming around at some point to the reader's annoyance.

From author: This is so nice omg, I appreciate this a lot! I literally love this idea soooo much, I honestly enjoyed writing this so I hope you like it!

Warning! Graphic depictions of violence, physical abuse and brief mentions of death/suicide

Of Torn bones and broken homes

A cold sweat ran down your spine, as your hands trembled in panic. Blood dribbled down your arm in a putrid concoction of dirt and muck. How you could've sworn you heard the angels weep their golden tears for you as another lash came, slicing through the cold, dense air. What was once hair that was coloured the same as the heavens, was now tainted a deep scarlet, dying it an unnaturally sickly colour. Your golden orbs twitched with each blow to your back as you clutched your arms, hugging yourself in a kneeling position. The whip cracked into your skin, digging through and slicing your flesh like a filleted piece of red meat. Your crimson life source pumped out of you with each hit, trailing its way through every nook and cranny of the indents in your skin. He'd purposely aim to deepen the wounds that were already fresh and raw, deepening the bloodied gashes.

"Stand." Demanded the demon. God you hated your father, hated the way you knew this was more than just 'discipline'. He relished in the torture he often supplied your knowing body with. The bruises that littered your skin told a story of more than just abuse, a story of each time you came close to surpassing your f- Karlheinz. Every scar, every mark, every broken bone, every artificial replacement, all were consequences of defiance and power. Despite being the youngest of the Sakamakis, you were the most like Karlheinz. From looks, to his vampiric abilities. Your mother was the royal escort, a demon of unknown origins, most likely bought from slavery. Your conception wasn't planned and was only discovered months after, forcing Karlheinz to marry your mother. It was safe to say she wasn't liked by his many wives and was murdered by a certain violet haired woman out of jealousy and spite before the two could bewed. An emergency c-section was ordered, leaving you to be the only bastard child of the Vampire King.

Your body writhed in discomfort as you dragged your twisted ankle to face this white haired Satan. You couldn't even hold your head upright to watch him, but you heard the sound of chains grating against the concrete floor. Its echo reminded you of a passing bell*, as its metallic snake-like body slithered closer towards you. If only you were more careful, more vigilant. If only you slit his throat when you had the time instead of hesitating. You'd managed to even creep up on him in his sleep, but your hands shook with something you couldn't understand and that alone was enough to wake the great serpent. Karlheinz wasn't one to dirty his own hands, but it seemed as if punishment only registered in your brain if it was done by him personally.

With a sharp swish of the air, he wrapped the chain around your wrist and yanked you forward, causing your arm to jolt out of its socket as your tendons tore in half. Your bones splintered as he continued to drag you around like nothing more than a ragdoll, tossing you about and shaking loose all the defiance you once held. Punishments like this weren't uncommon and eventually numbed you, not to say they didn't hurt every.single.time. You were just unphased by this brutality. What used to be flesh and bone, were now metal and iron. On a particularly gruesome night, you were left with only one eye, being forced to plug the open socket with a glass eye.

Even after moving in with your brothers into a mansion in the ancient woods of Japan, your pain persisted. How could it not? With damage as detrimental as that, simple prosthetic limbs couldn't replace the life you once held, the flesh you once cried into every night. But of course Karl seems to see things in a different, more rose coloured light. Not to mention those assholes you were forced to call your brothers, had a certain distaste for your existence. Like if you even asked to be born in the first place. They all hated the fact you resembled Karlheinz the most, even more so than Subaru. What a bunch of stuck up whiny brats. None of them had any right to judge you, they were all his stupid little specimens. If anything, YOU should be the one to scoff whenever they passed by. You had no choice but to ignore them as family, not like they treated you any differently, but God just for once you wished you all could just admit what a horrible life you all had instead of sweeping it under the rug with silent agreement.

It was an especially silent full moon that night. Not a creature to be heard, not even the triumphant sounds of wind banging against the window. The mansion reeked of tension as the stone walls only enclosed the negativity, entrapping those within. The celestial pearl in the starless sky glowed effortlessly beautiful, outshining any mere woman. She was as elegant and as poised as an emperor's most beloved swan. Her radiance often tempted those of the undead species to feed, even going as far as to grant them increased abilities. However, those without a chosen prey would often grow to be impatient and tense.

As you trotted down the staircase mindlessly, ignoring your surroundings, Ayato bumped into you, shoving you out his way. Usually you'd ignore him and mutter a couple curse words, but it'd been weeks since your last feed and your tolerance level for these ingrates erupted. Your eye flashed towards him and in a swift motion, you swung your arm out and shoved him back down the stairs.

"Cordelia forget to teach you some manners, or are you just that obtuse?" You spat at him. The red head watched in disbelief as anger veiled over his emerald orbs. "Don't fucking touch me freak before I rip off your other arm next." It was probably the moon, or perhaps because you hadn't fed for some time, or maybe it was the fact that you were just a fucked up kid who was tired of taking shit from everyone, but in that moment as you charged towards Ayato, you knew for certain, nothing mattered anymore. You ran towards him and grabbed the nape of his shirt and raised him off the floor as you clenched your teeth. "Say that again." Laito who'd been watching this whole thing go down, decided to step in and yank your pale, waist length hair, dragging you up the stairs. "Now now, that's not how you treat your big brothers, you know better than that, don't you otouto*?"

You immediately dropped Ayato to his knees and spun around to sucker punch that fedora wearing pervert, but unfortunately missed as he dodged the blow entirely, teleporting next to Ayato. Your body was now pumped with adrenaline and awaiting for someone to make the next move as you all stood face to face. "Fufu~ I almost forgot how strong you were y'know, if I was a second too late, I surely would've gotten my face restructured. What a cruel fate~" You listened to his stupid ramblings before deciding they just weren't worth it. They were always the most annoying of the group when paired together. You rolled your eyes and teleported to the roof without another word. At least here you had some peace..... Freak, he said. Freak? How were you the freak? You went through the worst of Karlheinz, literally crawling up from hell because he decided a fitting punishment would be to bury you alive in the seventh layer of the demon world. They just threw around insults like it meant nothing, making fun of you because you actually had the balls to stand up to that white haired bastard! You were the only Sakamaki that ever got that close to ending his pathetic reign of destruction.

"Ah, I thought I might find you up here." Damn, Reiji. Couldn't you get a minute of peace in this place? The wind blew your hair against your neck as he etched closer and closer. You really couldn't deal with another person telling you off, especially not Reiji. He most likely heard your outburst earlier, shit. "It's highly unbecoming to not answer someone when they're talking to you, especially if you're going to lecture others on their manners." That last part, you could practically hear the smirk in his voice. Was he actually amused? "Dinner is ready and I expect you to be there as this is a family event, do not keep us waiti-" You hastily stood up and looked him dead in the eye. "Does it look like I'm part of this family!? When have I EVER been apart of this household? Just because we share the same blood doesn't mean I'm one of you. Don't expect shit from me old man." Reiji was stunned, practically frozen in his place. This was the first time you'd ever talked to him like that, the very reason he came up here in the first place was to check up on you. He by far was the one that treated you most like a brother, making ointments and teas to help with your chronic pain.

"Reiji.... Look I'm just- I'm not okay right now and I need to be alone. I refuse to sit in a room with all 5 of those guys. Sorry." You realized the gravity of the situation too late as you watched how Reiji's expression blanked. Your metal arm brushed the hair out your face to better see his expression. Everything served as a reminder of how even before your birth, your life was ruined. "It's our father's orders, they enjoy this as much as you. This isn't me trying to antagonize you, I'm simply carrying out his wishes." You couldn't believe what you were hearing. Even after everything, everything that man put you all through, Reiji still obeyed him like a dog. That's right, that's all he was in the end, that's why you were always labeled as the dangerous one, because you refused to be a neglected mutt.

You ignored him and just teleported to your regular seat at the dinning table. Little did you know, that's where shit would get serious. You watched as the others filed in, one by one, getting into their usual seating positions. You picked up your fork and began to mindlessly twirl the spaghetti on it, unaware that Ayato and Laito were snickering about something. It wasn't until your third or fouth bite did you realize something was up. You watched closely to where their eyes trailed and noticed it was something about you that apparently seemed to bother them.

"Well? Just say it since it seems you have a problem with me." You spat before continuing to eat. "You look like that man when you're so serious. It's actually quite scary." Laito rebounded with. This was your last straw for the night as you felt every mental wall you had come crashing down in a matter of seconds.

"I know I'm scary, I know I scare you. That's why you always need to fight me as a team, because none of you can stand the thought of fighting Karlheinz's only capable son." You said standing up. You could've sworn you heard a chuckle from Subaru. He'd be the most empathetic to your situation seeing as how you two suffered from similarities of that man, but that doesn't mean he still wasn't wary. "Capable? Don't you think that's a stretch? I hate arrogant people like yourself." Kanato chimed in. What? So now the problem child has something to say?

"To hell with what you like or don't like, no one asked." Kanato grated his teeth as he got ready for another comeback. "You don't deserve to sit at this table! Teddy agrees with me, don't you Teddy?" The tension in the air became heightened, causing everyone to sit at the edge of their seats and see who would take the next blow. "That is enough! All of you need to cease this childish bickering at once, your manners are deplorable." It seems that at this point Reiji had enough and deep down, he knew he couldn't stop whatever this might escalate into. "I agree, Frankenstein needs to stay quiet." Kanato spoke up as he began to eat again. You felt the blood rush to your head as anger spiked through you like a drug, throwing your emotions off the chart and causing your words to finally be spoken from the heart.

"That's so fucking typical.... Every single time I have to deal with you spoilt snobs, I always end up being in the wrong somehow. For such pretentious assholes, you all seem to forget we have the same father, whether you like it or not! Everything that I've ever endured was because father saw potential in me, he knew that I'd be the true heir of the Sakamaki family and overthrow him. Compared to me you're all ants! You don't know me or my life or the shit I've been through! He tore off my fucking limbs and broke my bones while you all got to sit and what? Listen to stories at bedtime??" To further accentuate your point, you took your silver prosthetic arm and plucked out your glass eyeball, tossing it to Ayato who caught it out of reflex. At this point the table was silent, even Shu was taken aback. They all just stared at Ayato who held the artificial orb.

"To fear a man so much, you render him half blind and pull apart his limbs. That's the kind of coward that man is, the kind you all seem to be taking after." And with your final statement, you left. Not a word was muttered as you made your way up to your bedroom. It was the first time you'd ever spoken to them like that, to wash them over with the cold hard truth. Before it was usually witty comebacks, but this time, they knew not to push you further.

A couple days had gone by since the incident, no one dared to speak to you except for Reiji who reminded you to take a refill on your ointments. Even then, he didn't say anything outside of the reminders. Everyone seemed to avoid you, but this time there was no whispering and snickering, not even hurtful stares or judgemental glances. You'd be lying if you said you preferred things this way. While the peace and quiet was appreciated, you knew it was because they all had so much things going on in their minds, they couldn't seem to quite word it yet. At least before you knew they hated you, but now you had no way of knowing where you stood with them. It wasn't until a full week had passed, that Ayato knocked on your door. You knew it was him by the sound of his footsteps. Usually you'd ignore him and go back to whatever you were doing, but you felt like you needed to see his face, figure out what decision they all came to.

You creacked open the door and there stood Ayato, who didn't even seem comfortable standing so close to you. "Your.... Eye. Take it." Was all he said as he held out your eye in his hand. You watched the thing almost in disgust, Karlheinz was the one who originally gave you that. Your metallic fingers brushed past your eyepatch as you remembered the feeling of having that inside your socket. "Throw it away, I don't want it anymore." Ayato looked surprised at this and was about to say something more but decided not to push the topic. "You're.... Stronger than you look." You almost belted out in laughter. What was his deal? Stronger than you look? That should be obvious by now, or perhaps it was an attempt to compliment you? You just nodded your head and closed the door. That was certainly peculiar, to hear such a thing from Ayato. It was unfortunately for you, the first of many odd ongoings that were soon to occur.

Laito later on challenged you to a game of darts, but tried brushing it off by saying he was testing how well you could play with just one eye. Then after that, Subaru seemed to have left what appeared to be a silver knife on your bed. Whether it was to end yourself or end them, you weren't quite sure. Then Reiji invited you to try some of his new tea that came straight from England. Kanato allowed you to take some of his macaroons that were laying out in the open without berating you afterwards. And lastly, Shu coincidentally played your favourite classical pieces on his violin, making sure it was loud enough to echo throughout the manor.

As nice as the gestures were, none of them could simply erase the damage that had already been done. If anything, it just annoyed you that it took them this long to pull themselves together and actually treat you like a brother. It was exhausting having to put up with their antics, and it pained you to know that a part of these apology gifts, was pity in their cold, unbeating hearts. You'd certainly been through much worse than social isolation, but it ached deep down to know that your brothers saw you as weak. Their gifts of service became increasingly more annoying. And once again you were all sat together, but this time, in the living room. The only difference was that Reiji was reading out a letter that'd been delivered to the mansion.

"The Royal Ball will be held in the demon world and a representative of each family must be chosen to accompany the ruler of their prospective clan." Reiji tilted his glasses upwards as he finished reading the last of the letter. The obvious choice was to send Shu off, but it'd take more than the workings of God to get that man off his ass and spend an entire night socializing. Therefore, the runner up would simply be Reiji. You turned on your heel once you came to this realization and were about to leave until Subaru spoke up.

"Oi, the hell d'ya think you're going? We still haven't chosen a representative." You rolled your eyes at his lack of critical thinking. "Reiji will be the one to go if that wasn't already obvious." You said bluntly. "Actually, you might be the one to go. I have plans that night, besides, you'd fit right in." Okay, this was odd even for Reiji. God, he was doing that thing again. This sent you over the edge and you were so sick of it.

"Giving me this opportunity, it doesn't fix what happened to me. Nothing you all do can fix me, this is just who I am. These metal limbs, my missing eye, everything. They're all me and there's no cure for that. I understand what you guys are trying to do but it's not working, it just frustrates me to have to see you guys put on some kind of- kind of performance to please me! I'm a real person dammit! And it's time you started treating me like one!" You said storming off once more. And again, you were left to yourself as the others contemplated how to go about this, of if to even try.

Yes, it seemed they'd gone about things the wrong way this time. But when haven't they? You'll have to excuse your brothers, it's their first time being alive after hundreds of years.

Otouto- Japanese phrase for little brother.

Passing bell- A bell often used at funerals in Europe up until the 19th century.

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shini--chan · 4 months

Note

How would England and China react to s/o finding out they killed or staged there child's death just because the child wasn't theirs and the s/o becomes either insane or kills themselves because of it?

Not gonna go all the way to that last one. Trigger warning: forced separation, child death, suicidal ideation, emotional abuse, suicide attempt

Yandere Hetalia - China, England (Heart Blood)

China

“Don’t you think that you are overreacting a bit?”, he asked over the howling wind.

Yao was thankful that he had elected to still keep his hair tied back once returning from work. Though, it wasn’t like he had had a lot of time and opportunity to settle down - he had noticed you standing on the edge of the roof when pulling into the parking lot. With the momentary surge of panic that sight had inflicted upon him, he had gone bounding into the house and taking the quickest route to the top.

You turned to him, loose hair whipping into your eyes. Still, the tear stains on your checks were visible and your eyes were red rimmed. Your lips were pressed tightly together and upturned to a grimace. Finally, you opened your mouth and whispered some words into the wind.

“What did you say?”, he inquired, having not heard you.

“You made me believe my child is dead! How dare you! You monster! Wasn’t that overreacting? Am I not allowed to be a mother?”, you ranted, obviously heartbroken. You hadn’t taken the news of your child’s demise well, so when you found out it had been all staged, your reaction had been even worse.

Yao had left you alone at home today after a contentious discussion at the breakfast table, intent on getting some room to breathe and then resolving the matter. For all intents and purposes, you had other ideas.

Lost in your grief and the feeling of betrayal, you shut your mouth and turned back to the ledge of the roof and leaned forward. Best end this all before the pain grew all the more.

However, upon realising the imminent danger you were putting yourself in, he immediately sprung to action. A deft hand grabbed you by the collar of your pullover and harshly tugged your back.

A gagging sound was forced out of your mouth by the violent change in motion and by the collar pressing into your windpipe and trachea. Skin was scraped open as your shins were dragged over the rough concrete of the ledge. You collided with his chest, and he stumbled backwards with you haphazardly locked in his arms. You weren’t going to die; not on his watch.

China would use the whole incident and your reaction against you. He would argue that you’re unstable and therefore unsuited to be the legal guardian of anybody. Removing the child from your care would have just been a measure to ensure everybody’s welfare, the same applying to his decision of presenting the child’s absence as death to you. You attempting to take your own life would just play into this narrative.

Once the attempt would be over, he would have you locked up in a psychiatric ward for a few weeks. The staff there would be under strict instruction to not give you a chance of tracking the passage of time or following the events of the outside world in any capacity. This would serve to take away some semblance of reality from you. Yao would have the intention of forcing you to adopt a coping mechanism, with something relatively non-destructive like depersonalisation/derealisation being preferable to other mechanisms like forming addictions or the like.

Would use the fact that you were institutionalised to undermine your social standing, and to present himself as generous and optimistic and so smitten with you. Since it wouldn’t be actual insanity, he would have the opportunity to quickly reintroduce you to society and garner respect and esteem due to playing such an important role in your “recovery”.

England

You were in bed, again. In Arthur’s high opinion, this was slowly getting way out of hand. Idleness was only a good look on the ill, and you were perfectly healthy in his eyes. Of course, the events of the past few weeks had been hard on you, it was expected for you to give in to grief. After finding traces of his responsibility in the death of your child, it was understandable that you were upset; not that that would be tolerated any longer though.

Arthur stood up, and set the newspaper he had been reading to the side. Then, he went over to the window and ripped the curtains open. Back on the bed, you just blinked a few times due to the changes in lighting and then went back to staring blankly ahead. What a pity, even some noises of protest would have been preferable to your non-reaction.

With a scowl plastered on his face, he strode over to your side, and wrenched one of your arms up. Quiet muttering commenced, just to taper off after a few seconds. Disappointing.

“Can you really not say anything of meaning anymore?”, he spat at you and then wrenched you out of bed. You crumbled to the floor in a sorry heap, seemingly not conscientious of any pain inflicted.

When you still didn’t move a single muscle even after a few minutes, he wriggled his arms underneath your armpits and hoisted you into the air. Next, he wrapped an arm around your waist to prevent you from falling in on yourself again, as you seemed so wont to do.

A calloused hand grasped your face, and forced you to look at him. Not that it helped much, from the looks of it, with your bovine stare and flat affect.

“Can’t you be more useless”, he remarked snidely.

Arthur would find the whole affair very annoying. You just had to be clever enough to find out about his involvement in your child’s murder and you just had to be so sensitive to fall to insanity/catonia. At first, he would think that it is merely something that you need to snap out of, and proceed to wait. Maybe he’ll even be able to catch you red-handed at being “normal”. When that doesn’t occur, then he’ll go down the route of trying to provoke a reaction out of you.

While he would love the fact that you aren’t cursing him out, or trying to run away anymore, your predicament would be the cause of a different frustration for him. Never had been wanted an inanimate object as a love interest. You are supposed to have a measure of your own agency, provided you heed his whims and desires.

Would try to cure you or even just force you to become more reactive through a mixture of drugs that provoke/suppress certain emotions. In continuation, he would use any ensuing addictions to have tighter control over you.

#yandere hetalia #yandere england #yandere china #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

POLLUTED MARROW & HOLLOW BONES (VIII)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IX ||

PAIRING: Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick x F!Reader.

WORDCOUNT: 6.4k

WARNINGS: Angst, arguments, high-tension scenarios, talks of death, strained familial relationships, anxiety symptoms including lightheadedness, vomiting, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“L-let’s not be rash, here,” you chuckle awkwardly, still staring down from the top of the roof into Gaz’s glaring eyes, the amber in them boiling and rolling with fire. The vans all open their obsidian black doors, multiple armed men spilling out to case the area—but all the Sergeant does is set his jaw.

“Get down,” it’s the only thing said. A low rumble and tilt of accent. Dead.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up, and for a moment you’re so tense you forget the fact that you’re looking into Kyle’s eyes without so much as flinching. You stare a moment longer, one hand on the edge of the concrete, steadily tightening its hold as the other cradles your father’s things.

“Eh…” Your eyes dart away, blood on the bottom of your face dried and itchy. You’d never heard him speak like that before.

Before you can think to protest, you’re slipping onto the latter with a burning face and a skip in your heart. This was worse than having to smack a man with a vent grate—like being taken to your death.

When you land on solid ground, a hand latches onto the neck of your jacket and begins forcefully moving you to one of the vans. Your free hand snaps to the clenched fist, grasping onto his wrist like a whiny teenager and releasing a sound of alarm.

“Hey!” Your feet try to dig their heels in, but the void of the car door is coming up quickly. “Gaz, let me go!”

There’s no response. The form beside you is so firm and his hand so unrelenting you wonder if you’ll be in even deeper trouble this time than when you stole your mother’s credit card in middle school. Kyle’s athletic build surges with anger—a clench to his teeth so hard his jaw bones can be seen while the corners of his eyes.

Any snappy response or insult stales on your lips as you see his other hand tightly curled in on itself, the tiny growl that builds in him at your struggling. Throat bobbing, you let the man push you forward to the car and hop in without another word.

Oh, I’m screwed. You thin your lips and cringe at the loud slam of the door, trying to keep calm in the enclosed space as the darkness sets in. Some of the soldiers enter the Museum, probably doing damage control.

Bringing your items to your chest, you take a steadying breath and rub under your sore nose; bits of red flaking off like dirt on the wind. Your head pounds with uncertainties.

Did you really think you could pull this off? Body hunching in, the driver glances back at you, his eyes narrowed with annoyance and a frown on his lips. Your face and the tips of your ears feel like they’re being placed over hot coals.

You clear your throat, staring at the portion of skin right under his orbs. “Problem?” The driver scoffs and returns his gaze to the front as the passenger side door opens with a pop.

“Get us back.” Kyle orders, voice clipped and final.

Engine starting, the man that had tracked you down clicks his seatbelt on and closes the door with a stiff arm. Alone in the back, you do the same after a slight beat of hesitation; a second of something like panic hitting you in the chest.

It was stupid to ask why he would be acting like this, but you still wondered if you had really met Kyle’s breaking point. The aggressive re-situating of his ball cap seemed like a good hint—the rod-straight spine and tapping fingers on the door-arm.

He was in full gear.

But…this was what you wanted, right? A breaking point?

Your mouth opens and then slowly closes, breath caught in your throat and not knowing what to say. Why did you feel like you’d just done something irreversible?

Gaze darting to the floor, you glare at the mats as the vehicle jerks forward, turning to bring you back to the mansion surrounded by metal like an abyss and bullet-proof glass.

“I…found some stuff, y’know,” you puff out, not liking the strangling silence about two minutes in. The USB in your pocket sits heavy.

Again, no one answers. The Sergeant’s eyes don’t even glance at you from the mirror. Frustration grows like a virus.

“I wouldn’t have done this if you’d just let me help, Gaz.” You try to get him to speak, suddenly nervous and building in volume…or was that desperation? “I mean, really, it’s my dad!”

Nothing.

Face stained with shame and lips peeled into a sneer, your eyes crinkle with a slight burning sensation trapped behind the skin. You sit with shaky fingers the entire ride, your mouth strangling down the loud exclamations as to why this wasn’t your fault so you don’t bark like a dog.

You had to, didn’t Gaz understand that?

Whatever was in your father’s belongings would tell you what you needed to know—break this entire thing open. And if the rest of the Sergeant’s friends overseas could track down the two that started this, all of it could be over.

You could be left alone again, finish your classes, and…and…

Brows slowly slide in.

What then? As the car pulls up through your gate, you find a horrifying realization that you have no idea.

Unclipping your seatbelt, you go to try and open the door with a frown, only to find it’s unwilling to release you. Lightly pushing on the material again, your eyes slowly widen.

No way.

Kyle had child-locked you.

Gaping, you have to wait for Gaz to get out in a long moment of letting this new reality settle into your blood. He does so after pure silence, seeming as if he might say something, but the Brit just ends up sighing loudly and shaking his head. Gaz gets out and grasps the handle to your door, pulling it out and standing back—all without a mumble.

Like you want to prove to yourself that this doesn’t make your chest feel weird, you shuffle out and scoff at him. But anyone can see the guilty expression on your face.

Striding up to the front door, you push at it with your shoulder, the night air cold and encompassing before the relatively warmer air of your house hits your face. The plate you’d left out for the cat hours earlier is left behind on the step, empty.

Kyle follows close after, hands hanging off his combat vest. In the foyer is when you snap.

“Are you going to speak up or keep acting like a child? Look at the stuff I got, Garrick!” You hold the items in display as you can hear the car out front leave in a grind of gravel. “This could be the answer to if my father really—”

The laptop and the journal are all swiped from your grasp and he’s pushing past you before you can continue. Shocked, even petrified for a moment, your mouth flaps like a fish.

Realization hits you like a truck.

“Fucker!” That was a new one.

Twisting on your heel, you stalk quickly after the male as he stomps, hands clenched into themselves and the skin of your knuckles thin. “Give those back! Garrick—don’t you ignore me, I don’t deserve this!”

It’s like he snaps at that, whipping around and pointing a finger right into your face. You balk back, surprise and alarm alighting your features.

“Deserve?!” Your eyes blink rapidly, lips parted. You stare widely into his cheek scar as his lips turn into an attacking jibe. “Bloody fuckin’ hell, what you deserve is to be locked into a fucking jail cell! Least then I’d be able to keep track of you, eh? What kind of bastard do you have to be to think that was a good idea?!”

“Oh, I’m sorry, is it your family that’s,” you splay your hands, the house echoing with the sounds of verbal battle. The glass finally shatters. “Being goddamn hunted, Sergeant? Your father that got his head fucking imploded?”

You didn’t want to admit how much this argument was making you feel uneasy, but you want your father’s things back. They belong to you, and now they’re stuck in this jerk’s gloved hands like a doll. Those things were valuable; they could fix this.

“If it was me, I wouldn’t be running off like a bloody fool! I’d be listening to the people that are here to keep me alive!” You growl and shake your head. “How thick-headed are you?!”

Gaz isn’t done, his finger moving back and forth as the skin of his cheek tightens, lips dancing to speak rapidly like a fire was under his feet.

“Your father is dead.” Blood drains from your body, expression immediately blanking. “He’s gone and he wasn’t someone to be proud of. Whoever he was with you was a facade for his family and the public. If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else, yeah, you understand that?” Tears infect the sides of your wide gaze, and you’re suddenly sucked into Gaz’s eyes as you had been the first day you’d both met. Amber and flashing gold—enraged emotion and raw bluntness that you’d had yet to experience in this capacity. What had happened to his sarcasm? His stern and laughable annoyance?

“Hell,” he keeps going, moving his finger to point to the side. “Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead—innocent civilians and a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t exist! You’re mental, Love, fucking mental!”

Kyle pants, staring into your face and your tiny pupils; your shaking body. He grits his teeth and peels back, angrily twitching his nose.

“If you would listen to me, this all would have already been over with, can you get that through your skull? I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

The house gradually goes back to silence, but it’s no longer a deep, ancient feeling. It’s like walking on glass, blood pooling along the soles of feet and sticking through flesh.

You stare and can’t find it in yourself to breathe anymore.

Amber darts to your bloody nose and Gaz bares his teeth, face bright with dismissal. He pushes past the concern at the crimson flecks. He’s done trying to earn your favor, so he blankly spits out, “Clean yourself up. I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag,” and turns down the hall.

“I fucking hate you,” the words spill out in a strangled gasp, a wheeze on your tongue. Gaz pauses, his back taunt and straight. His chin partially peeks over his shoulder.

“Good.” The worlds feel like lead. “It can go both ways, Love.”

When he disappears, you stand in the darkness and feel the first dribbles of tears wet your lashes—making them stick to one another as you stutter on air.

Your brain can’t make sense of it.

Empty-handed, your body is so heavy the first few steps in the direction of your room feel like you’re dragging a statue of stone behind you; the rope tied to your fingers and toes. But when the bile starts to fizzle in your throat, you pick up the pace; darting through your opened bedroom door and beelining to your bathroom.

Just in time, your face finds the toilet, vomit coming out in sputtering coughs as your sobs exit moments later, stuck between the acid in your throat and your stubbornness.

You hated crying—hated vomiting—but lately, it was like those were the only things you could do; your body didn’t listen to your pleas or begging, only did what it wanted. On that front, you believe that your brain and matter were equally matched.

Gasping and feeling saliva drip off your lips, you raggedly cough up what little you had in your stomach until you can sit back against the wall and blankly stare ahead. With varying success you try and take down deep breaths, shivering something awful as the chill gets to you.

But suddenly the silence of the mansion was a prison.

The water pipes, the small creaking—the click of your small clock out in your room.

Click-clock, click-clock, click-clock.

Your mind told you that you shouldn't feel bad. Shouldn’t be wearing that thousand-yard stare as you tase vomit on your tongue and in your throat; the burn of that shame and guilt. You had nothing to be guilty of—nothing.

It was your father, not Gaz’s. He’d do the very same thing.

Right?

You grasp at your scalp and lean forward, slotting your head in between your knees. Everything spins and twirls, there’s a violent need to satiate the thirst in your throat, but you can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.

“...I’ve tried to be nice about this, truly, but I’m done. No more leaving the mansion; no more late-night stunts that leave me callin’ up my Mates only to find you’ve gone and snuck out. No more damn,” he holds up the laptop and journal, “involvement from you. You’re done. I’m done.”

Gaz’s hands on your palm and the way your very injured hand stings now in memory; those stitches popped and bandages bloody—the crimson on your nose.

How he held you in the kitchen and leaned you back against the island. Spoke so softly and casually, as if you hadn’t nearly passed out on him.

He’d apologized not hours before you’d gone and snuck out.

Your heart tightens.

He’d apologized.

Your fingers dig into your flesh, biting hard as you suck down sobs and tiny whimpers; tears staining your clothes in fast droplets.

“If it wasn’t an end by Row, it would have been by someone else…Look at the carnage he’s caused just by being dead…a fucking daughter who fights for an honor that doesn’t bloody exist!”

You curl into a tiny ball of horror.

“I’m finished with being your bloody punching bag.”

—

Kyle moved his things to the room directly in front of yours in the middle of the night, when you’d passed out from your panic on the bathroom floor. He’d grasped all of his belongings with clenched hands, bags contouring under the force.

At every instance, he cursed your name and everything you’d put him through.

“Bloody, unbelievable,” he growls, shoving clothes into his duffel bag before zipping it up and wrenching it over his shoulder.

It was rare to find the Brit this mad, so often level-headed.

“Give her every chance in the books, and what does she do?” He flicks the lights of his old room off and quickly walks down the hallway. “Fucking plays me for a fool! Jesus. Brilliant, just brilliant.”

There was no way to describe how his heart had jerked out of his chest when he’d come to try and speak to you hours earlier; when he’d found the room empty after knocking for minutes—trying to be considerate to your privacy.

The open window, the damn curtain rack.

It was insulting.

Gaz stalks in a bitter and steam-emitting silence to the room across from yours, not bothering to check on the cracked open door from your own. You’d had your fun, you’d probably just forgotten to close the door fully as you made fun of him behind his back.

Kyle frowns and sets his things down on the white, sheeted-covered bed that would be his. Tiny, and not even long enough to let his legs stay on it fully.

He tries not to remind himself about how afraid you’d looked as he’d laid into you. Halfway through his barking match of emotion, he’d thought maybe it was time to stop—to ease off a bit and reel it back in, but then it had become necessary.

If you didn’t listen to him when he was calm, the fact was that you wouldn’t listen to him at all. Best to get it all off his chest while he could.

He’d already sent in a reassignment request to Laswell not an hour prior.

Taking out his things, his fingers brush your stolen laptop and journal. Christ, there was so much paperwork to go through after what you’d done—damage reports and write-ups on his record for losing track of his VIP; the crimes you’d stacked like awards that needed to be scrubbed.

This wasn’t only a protection Op, this was his job.

And you were taking a hammer to his perfect track rep.

Pulling out the two items, Gaz huffs and shakes his head, running his free hand over his chin.

“Two things and it couldn’t have waited a few more days? What is this girl about?” They’re placed down on the bed and not given another glance.

He’d have to go through them later.

Kyle goes and splays both of his hands over his face, pressing his palms into his eyes before taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with oxygen. An attempt to calm down.

You’ll not get anything done acting like this.

The resounding truth was that he was tired. You’d tested him to the point of snapping—how was that even possible? You were a bloody Uni student with a big mouth and a stubborn streak, not even a drug lord could do what you did.

You’d gotten him to yell at you and on the other end, he’d gotten you to look at him. Yes, look, with your own volition, but that fact left a sour taste in his mouth where it should have felt like a triumph after the terrible first in the park.

You’d stared into his eyes with utter shock and numb fear—as if he’d pull a gun on you.

A civilian. His charge.

You had been terrified, even if you’d tried to use entitlement to sneak around it. You’d been shaking. With eyes dead still.

“God, you twat,” Gaz grunts. Had he really called you mental? “Bloody hell, you’re in for it.”

You’d be livid tomorrow when it catches up to you. A damn near homemade bomb wrapped in metal and filled with nails; Gaz’s name written on the top in red ink.

As he kept his door open to stare at yours in the middle of the night, the Sergeant prepared himself, still angry and dreading the future.

If only it could be that simple.

In the morning, you wouldn’t even look at him.

Wearing a large hoodie and pajama bottoms, you had already downed three cups of coffee by 9 o’clock, your body stiff and the air around your head a cloud of indiscernible separation. But it wasn’t like Gaz had tried to speak to you, either.

Both of you were forced to be in the same room, as the Sergeant wouldn’t let you alone save for the bathroom. You couldn’t be trusted.

It was mental torture.

Jaw clenching, the man watched you work on your personal laptop, doing classwork while your USB stuck out of the port—he blinked away, writing up his own reports on the incident last night.

The air was so thick you could be lost in it like a forest full of mist. It simmered; burned—then cooled to a degree of freezing before starting back up again. No words, no acknowledgements.

Brown drifts back to your blank face as your fingers stop over your laptop’s keys, a small tremor, and then get back to it. Gaz bites his lip and closes his eyes harshly, shaking his head once.

He had to stop feeling guilty for the truth. You needed to hear what he said, no matter how blunt. It was the truth, after all.

But the truth didn’t stop his heart from hurting when you reverted to a state of waking nothingness with little desire to eat or move beyond the shuffle of your body.

Gaz sighs and tells himself it’s not his problem anymore—in a little bit he’d be gone if Laswell approved him for transfer. Back with One-Four-One. Working with people who trust him and his judgment.

It was for the best.

You stare at the ‘enter password’ screen on your laptop with a chill on your neck, blind to all else as you wrack your brain for answers.

The USB from your father’s office was password protected. Ten tries before it got locked out. You’d gone through five already.

Staring hard, Gaz keeps distracting you.

He was sitting in the living room with you, on the opposite couch as well as on the opposite end—as far as he could be with still being near. Being in this state and feeling the tension in the air made you lightheaded with anxiety.

It’s as if every urge to speak or breathe near him dissipates; your face a perpetual furnace, blood on fire.

Focus, you have to tell yourself, but it only makes it worse. Eyes dig into the screen as the two words blend into one another, taunting.

You can hear his breath, the scratch of his pen as it travels over paper—if the circumstances had been different, it would have been the picture of quiet companionship.

A pity you both were the way you are.

The shame was urging you to apologize, to rectify what you’d done; pride was taking that shame by the throat. But you were faced with the reality that you couldn’t go back to living alone like you had before, because this silence was enough to make you go insane.

You missed his voice, and you’d only been without it for a short while. Kyle’s smirk and his cheeky quips. You both hated it and longed for something to grapple to.

It was true, you admitted, hands over the keys, you’d grown used to him. It was disgusting.

About to chance another possible password—your parent’s anniversary halfway typed in—the front door rings.

Immediately, everything that had seemingly already been still, halts.

Freezing, you stare at the laptop and let the echo spread across the mansion, the high ding of the rarely used object. Your eyes slowly rise to stare at the living room opening, blinking, and for a moment any thought of Kyle and the argument; the hatred at your stubbornness and pride, utterly ceases to exist.

With a twitch of your fingers, you close your laptop in what seems like hours, the tiny sound it makes when it lays flat making your ear perk.

Gaz’s head is already swiveled, body wound up. He sends a quick glance your way before standing and reaching for the X12 in his waistband. Your eyes catch the glint of his watch and you look away with a frown, lids narrowed with hesitation.

Tell him you’re sorry. You know you are.

Standing to follow, Kyle sends a hard look your way. Your feet stall.

Both of you seem surprised by that.

The Sergeant’s eyes widened for a second, hand on his weapon loosening and pulse up-ticking. So much expressed with absolutely no words to be muttered aloud. You take a deep breath and lick your lips, not able to speak over a raspy grunt of, “Kyle…I-I—”

The doorbell rings again, longer this time.

You snap your mouth shut.

Kyle looks you up and down, but his feet only hesitate a moment longer. He turns his head away quickly and carefully leaves the living room.

Running a hand over your neck, you close your eyes and contort your face into an image of confused pain, an inner hatred at…everything. You’d messed up. Badly.

And you were afraid of your own fear. Afraid of your sudden unease at Gaz’s absence and his angry silence. Afraid because, deep down, you knew his outburst last night was nothing but the truth.

Sighing, you sit back down and lean into the cushions with a growing headache. You wanted more coffee, your stomach rolled with hunger, and you were cold.

You hated being like this.

“...Sweetheart?” your head whips up to a familiar face in the grand double doorway, breath getting taken in with a big inhale.

A woman dressed in a nice shirt and dress pants stands with a hefty designer purse over her shoulder, face open and soft, blinking through the wetness at the corners which you stare at in pause.

Gaz comes in behind her with another man, tall and blond with a mustache—your mother’s guard, because that was who the woman was after all...your mother. Home. The Sergeant looks over at you and places his gun back with a small sigh.

You clear your throat, standing before you shuffle your feet.

“Hey, Ma,” you glance to the side, itching at your arm. “How’ve you—”

You’re slammed into a tight hug and you flinch violently into it, sharp noise escaping your lungs and Kyle takes a quick step forward in alarm. The blond guard sends him a look of confusion, but the Brit stares at you and feels his lips thin.

“Oh, my God!” Your mom exclaims in utter relief, sagging to you and placing a hand firmly on the back of your head. “I was so worried, I-I saw the news about the shooting but I wasn’t able to get in contact with you.”

Your body is moved back and forth and you awkwardly place your hand on the small of her back. You stare at the far wall like a stuffed animal. Your mother was never a hugger, but maybe Gaz’s expression in the kitchen had been true. People change.

Three years.

“Christ, you have no idea how much I wanted to call you. Are you alright, talk to me.” The meat of your arms is taken and you’re maneuvered back so your matriarch—and last remaining family member—can look you in the eyes.

You quickly move your head to the side.

“I’m fine, Mom,” licking your lips, you shrug. “Glad you’re back…How was overseas?”

She sighs, looking at you in concern, and brushes past your question.

“You look sick,” your chin is taken and moved to the side, and another hand is taken and placed on your head. “And you’re running hot—when’s the last time you slept?”

Hot? You’ve never felt more cold.

“Mom,” taking a small step back, you whisper out a meaningful utterance.

“Okay, okay,” she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I know, I’m a worrier...But, how have things held up? I feel like we haven’t been able to speak in lifetimes.”

We haven’t. Who’s fault was that?

Gaz tilts his head at the interaction, seeing your uncomfortable stiffness and your mother’s open and obvious love. This wasn’t how you described her at all, but then again, your mum’s actions weren’t the same either.

“How’s it been?” Alex asks, his arms crossed as the two women speak in low tones a few feet away. Your body is seen shifting and hands flexing. “Heard some stuff, everything goin’ smooth over here?”

“Wouldn’t call it smooth, Mate,” Kyle utters. “Recon you had it better than I have.”

“Ah,” the CIA Officer shrugs. “Gonna be honest, the Old Lady’s pretty easy—most I had to do was ask for her tea with extra sugar while on the plane.”

He sends over a twitch of his lips, a raised eyebrow. But the expression shifts to serious moments later.

“Word is the boys overseas haven't got any leads, they’re stuck in the dirt with this.” Kyle grits his teeth.

“Nothing?”

“Nada.”

“Fuckin’ hell. That’s bollocks—how well are those two hidden?” Alex moves his fingers from their hold on his biceps, moving them up in a show of ‘no clue.’

He draws out his words with a huff. “It’s going to push out this timeline even farther than it already is, is what I’m tryin’ to say.”

“There any good news?” Gaz watches you as your feet realign, hands going to hide inside your sweatshirt pocket. A bobbing to your throat makes his shoulders turn in.

What is your problem? the Sergeant hums to himself. It's just her mum—Christ. Ease off it. Alex’s eyes narrow in question when he notices the hatted man’s attention is half on you and half on the conversation.

“...Not any worthwhile.”

“They’re expecting us to just wait? We can’t stay in a single bloody location forever, it makes a bigger target.” A brown gaze doesn’t stray from you as he says this.

“Not much we can do, Garrick. VIPs take priority.”

Kyle shakes his head in disapproval. “For now, we might have something here—some new intel. Have to look into it.”

Alex perks, his arms falling to his sides. “How’d you come by that?”

“Long story.” Gaz sighs deeply and the blond chuckles, giving a half-shrug.

“Fair enough.” Alex nods to you and Kyle tenses. “It have to do with her?”

“...Longer story.” That gets a few grunted laughs, and the Sergeant smirks lightly, feeling a bit better to have someone he knows to talk to.

Across the way, you explain everything the best you can to your mother in small sentences and stuttering words. Her hands don’t leave you; studying you deeply at every mico-expression.

“Well,” she takes a deep breath. “I think I’ll make us some tea, hm? Start cleaning up the estate when I get settled. I understand it’s a lot of work, but let’s at least open the curtains.”

She laughs and it fills you with dead. Clean up? She didn’t really expect to mess with everything right? Your mother kisses your cheek.

“I’ll be right back—be sure to introduce yourself to Alex. And do try to be respectful.” Her fingers pinch your skin and you thin your lips. “Smile, Dear. No foul language. A-and let’s try to get some sleep tonight, okay? School can wait.”

“Right. Yeah, I know.” She nods and smiles brightly, before telling you how happy she is to see you again. Your mother walks out and slips past Alex and Gaz.

Two sets of eyes level on your form.

You waste no time snatching up your laptop and quickly walking to the separate set of doors, ignoring the confused looks before entering the hallway and breathing heavily.

This should be a good thing—having your mother back. Hell, you should be relieved she’s still alive after everything that went down.

So why did it feel like everything was going to change? Three years and you’d had it under control, your routine, the fitful nights, you’d managed—not well, but you had. Now all of that was gone; stripped away like some meaningless cloth.

It wasn’t meaningless to you.

The house was the way it was—like you in many senses. You lived with the covered furniture, and the curtains over with windows with a glance and nothing more. That was your normal.

She’s going to change everything. She’s just come back and she’s going to wreck it.

It wasn’t fair to her to be like this, but it wasn’t fair to you to have disappeared when you needed a mom more than anyone.

“Oh, God,” you cover your mouth with your hand and try to push away the footsteps that follow behind you, the nearly vacant press of shoes.

Of course, he wouldn’t even allow you to have five minutes to gather yourself.

Gaz doesn’t utter a sound as he follows at your heels, staring into the back of your head. You briefly wonder where the ‘Alex’ fellow went, but find you don’t even care. Your mother was here after all. She’d take care of it.

She’d take care of everything.

You glare painfully at the hardwood ahead of you and hold your laptop tighter, wishing you had your father’s journal—something that belonged to him. But Gaz had already stashed it away, probably locked it up from you.

And you can’t find it in yourself to be angry, which makes you annoyed.

That annoyance stays, just as the guard at your side does, even one day later. You don’t speak anymore, you don’t quip and dig; he doesn’t respond or smirk—no jokes taken in stride where yours are blunt and his whitty.

Everything changes overnight.

Gaz had seen your body completely turn to stone on the stares when you’d come down and glanced at the furniture open to the air, no sheets or coverings. Things were dusted and set on display; even taken from storage and laid out in expensive finery. He’d darted his vision down at you and tightened his lips, again saying to himself that it won’t be his problem for much longer.

Yet, when he’d clocked your very-much real panic at the sight of the open curtains, he’d nearly put a hand on your shoulder and squeezed, having to restrain himself.

You didn’t take it well.

“Honey!” Your mother calls down from the foyer, holding her phone in her hand. “Lovely, just who I was looking for. Do you think we should change the colors from navy to green, or to violet?”

You stare in horror, hands clenched into fists near the banister.

“I-” your voice stutters. “Why are you changing the navy?”

“Well…it’s a bit dated, don’t you think?” Gaz’s face pulls. “Let’s, I don’t know, mix it up a little!” She laughs, flicking some dust from the coffee table near the old fireplace. “We’re back together—it’s time to move on.”

And still, to his shock, you say nothing, the fight sucked out of you. You bite your tongue and hold it all in as he spares you wide brown eyes. A sound of confusion bounces from Kyle’s throat.

If it were anyone else you’d be down their ear by now—barking about the history and the memories.

For a moment he’s left as you slowly start back down the steps, back straight and neck tense, blinking at your spine.

He almost speaks to you.

Almost, but not quite.

As you seem to sink into a hole of mute acceptance you begin to close up even more—what little you’d opened up to Gaz was shuttering closed with a great shaky slam.

“Hey,” Alex is leaning against the wall as a loyal hound would, keeping an eye on the ground floor. When he sees you he stands up straighter. “We weren’t properly introduced—Alex Keller, I’m glad to hear you’re—”

You stride past and grasp at the single straw to your name—the USB. You’d still had no luck with it yet. Only two tries left. It was weighing on your soul more than your mother’s insistence on eating meals at the family table.

“...alright…”

Alex passes a look to Gaz and the Sergeant only shakes his head over his shoulder and quickly moves.

The blond is left with lightly parted lips and quickly blinking eyes—hand barely outstretched in failed greeting.

You end up in the library, hurriedly messing with the books under your name and piling them on the table out of instinct. Call you possessive, but no way was your mother touching anything that directly belonged to you.

You own the estate now, you remind yourself, just tell her to stop.

You only grab books faster—especially the ones that your father read. Maybe there was something of importance there; he liked to highlight and annotate important sections and quoted things often.

A sequence of numbers or a code? A phrase? Who knew at this point, but you needed to do something. Keep you occupied.

Keep you from thinking about the silent man who watches you from the side of his eye near the door.

The silent treatment—you weren’t new to it.

Just didn’t expect it from a soldier in his mid to late twenties.

Huffing, you drop more books onto the table and tidy them, brushing off dust in your form of cleaning with a slap of your hand. When you’re done, the large objects are piled high in front of you and relatively dusted.

Breathing stiffly, you try to push back the weight on your lungs before brushing off the heat on your cheeks as Gaz watches, head tilted and face tight.

If he’s anything as stubborn as you, he’ll be keeping this up for—

“What’s the question, then?”

You immediately wind up like a jack-in-the-box, eyes daring to connect with Kyle’s. Twitching, you settle instead on his scar; studying the darkness. It’s a minute before you respond, and when you do, it’s nearly silent.

Brows moved with apprehension.

“Kyle?” You ask, sticking your hands into your pockets. You’d left your coin back in your room. A frown mixes with a grimace.

It’s hard to admit how his voice made your heart lurch.

Gaz clears his throat, feet shifting, but his voice is still hard and monotone. “Your question. You cleaned the books off.”

“I help you clean, and when I say we take a break, I have to answer one question of your choice.”

Your bargain. A bit skewed, yeah, but apparently it counted.

“...I don’t have one,” you admit lowly, not a hostile thorn heard. Vision sliding, you look down at your objects. Apologize. Grunting, you grasp a few of the books, moving forward with them in your arms.

Kyle lets you slide past, moving his shoulder until you’re not about to bump into it. In the bright light of the open curtains, he stares after and closes his eyes; breathing in through heavy lungs.

Re-assignment couldn’t come soon enough. If not for his sanity, then for yours.

Kyle fiddles with his watch and fixes his cap once before continuing after you, a very large hole of something in his chest that can’t be filled.

By how he wishes for your sarcastic comments and your fiery spite right about now, staring with growing worry at your hunched shoulders, he dreads what that something could be.

Tonight he’d take a look at your father’s laptop and journal—too busy yesterday with paperwork and reports; getting through red tape and trying to get into contact with Price.

He hadn’t told you, but there had been a break-in at the museum the same night you had snuck out. Same section. Same box bearing your father’s name ripped open and thrown to the ground. Five minutes after his team had cleared it.

Five minutes after you’d left with the items in your dust-coated hands and bloody nose. Your wide, fake-innocent, eyes over the corner of that roof.

Someone was playing games.

And they were getting closer.

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