#hes such a pathetic little worm of a man | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pseudowho · 2 months

Text

Calamus et Gladius

(help me find the Higuruma artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)

Stolen from a foreign army to participate in the Culling Game, speaking little to no Japanese with just a rifle for self-defence, the reader partakes in a bittersweet dance of death and love, with Higuruma Hiromi.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, enemies to lovers, murder, use of firearms, the desperate smut of two traumatised people who fall hopelessly in love.

This is long, but I make no apologies, because the payoff is worth it.

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You were used to violence. You were used to senseless bloodshed. Used to rains of bullets, flinging shrapnel, your ears ringing with explosions and screams.

Yet, it was your own screams that rang through you, as an enormous gavel split the earth where you had just stood.

Your entire unit was dead, almost fifty men and women lured into Tokyo Colony One, and you scrabbled back on grazed hands, kicking feet, as this ink-haired monster stepped slowly through the rubble and gore, black eyes fixed on you with the rage and fervour of a justified killer.

He appeared to hesitate only briefly as your face crumpled up at him in tearful rage and despair, desperation. You did not move to grab the rifle on your back; a threat of retaliation would be your downfall.

Despite being the only one of your unit who had had something new, something alien awakened within them, you had developed no fantastical technique. You had no mystical weapon. You had no roiling blue flames engulfing your fists. You had only the ability to sense others like you, and the horrifying stop-motion beasts that now sullied your sight. It was enough, at least, to hide.

"Please-- please--" you begged, the last attempt of a cornered woman. Your back pressed against the wall, the wide street around you a no-man's land of rubble, overturned cars and bloody splatters. The man's hand tightened on his gavel, his other raising to swipe flicks of black fringe off his forehead. He frowned, stopping. You noticed his distinctive hooked nose, crinkling in disgust.

"English," he offered, thickly accented, neither a question or a statement. You gulped, nodding with urgency, any dialogue an opportunity to re-establish his humanity.

"Innocent," you insisted, hands raised in front of you, disarming, "I'm innocent." That word, the man seemed to recognise, and he blew air through his nose, snorting in mirth.

"Innocent?" He asked, sarcastic.

He knelt down in front of you, his eyes still offering no mercy, but he spoke to you so conversationally. He reached one long finger out, tapping the rifle on your back, coming back round to stroke you teasingly along the side of your cheek, holding it so tenderly. His words washed over you, meaningless, until you caught one you could understand as he stood up.

"...sorry." His arm raised, the head of the gavel blocking out the sun, and you took your chance.

Your hand darted, and you flung a handful of brick dust into his eyes as he spat, staggered, cursing. You brought the butt of your rifle round to slam into the side of his head, and although he barely faltered, you ran for your life, darting down alleys, your heart bursting in your ears.

You heard no footsteps chasing you. He could have...but he didn't.

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Just one easy kill.

The others had all gone down so hard, Hiromi thought, stepping into his swing, barely missing the foreign woman, the gavel making a buckled crater in the tarmac instead. Hiromi tsked, annoyed, kissing his teeth. Watching her squirm on the floor to save her life, a worm from a bird, Hiromi's gut churned-- ugly.

Murder was so easy. The power to beat scum at their own game was intoxicating. Hiromi stepped after her, so far removed from his old self. His usual self? He wasn't sure.

His keen eyes built the woman's character, hawkish and unforgiving. Young...naive. Soldier...killer. No Japanese...lazy. Pleading...pathetic. Not fighting...coward. By the time she began to beg Hiromi, she was already barely human in his eyes. Swiping his hair upwards, and tightening his grip for the deathblow, he spat, "English."

She caught his eye, and Hiromi felt the barest seed of guilt in the back of his mind, an itch he could not scratch. She had nodded at him, tears brimming in her eyes, hands raised in placation.

"Innocent," the woman had insisted, "...innocent." Bile rose in Hiromi's throat at the familiar word, and the audacity she had to use it for herself, as if she wasn't rolling in the same pigshit as the rest of them. Hiromi's lip curled, smirking as he rubbed his nose with the side of one long finger.

"Innocent?" He stabbed. Hiromi knelt, talking at you as if you understood.

"What's that? You're the good guy, are you?" He mocked, reaching out to tap the rifle on your back, feeling you flinch beneath him, "Is it this, that makes you innocent, hmm?" He brought his hand to your cheek, stroking it with the blade of his finger, swiping away the tears that had cut a track through the dust and grime, "Or this pretty face, hmmm? Are those big, teary eyes what make you innocent? Don't make me laugh. You're scum, just like the rest of us. And natural law is at play here." He cupped your cheek once, squeezing it with the barest of sincerities in his apology as he stood.

"Sorry," Hiromi offered, lifting his gavel and feeling power churn through him, just and righteous as your executioner.

Hiromi cursed as he felt a spray of grit flung into his face, immediately disarmed by the sordid pain of sand in his eyes, further disorientated by the ear-ringing slam of something into the side of his head. He staggered, faltering.

"Oooh, you piece of shit," Hiromi cooed, vicious, spitting with venom, vision completely obscured as he tried in vain to clear his eyes. He felt you disappear, and he leaned against the wall, laughing despite himself at having been bested. He smiled, the barest tinge of admiration for your tenacity threading through him.

"Alright," Hiromi sniffed, rubbing his nose again as his vision began to clear, "catch you later, I suppose."

Hiromi tried to forget you. He tried to forget his humanity, but each life he took made him sicker, infected by this game.

Every time he closed his eyes, to sleep in some strange home-less, love-less bed, your eyes met his, impeaching him.

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Resources soon ran thin, for one who held no territory. You had your army pack, and rationed out your meagre foodstuffs, always hungry, always on-edge. You had never fought alone, in war.

You had managed to develop quite the skill at hiding, and concealed yourself, cloaked in plain sight, from even the most powerful of those left in the game. Every day that the stragglers were picked off, the stakes ran higher. Every explosive battle you ran from, dodging the falling debris thrown by titans, you felt your inherent value as an easy kill increasing.

You thought of the hook-nosed man who had let you go. Despite his willingness to kill you, you craved human contact, and found warmth in the memory of the heat of his gaze, his hand on your face, desperately trying to translate the words he had spoken to you as he caressed your cheek.

One dewy dawn, you had taken position on a sheltered rooftop, giving you equal measures concealment and oversight. With your rifle drawn, flat on your belly, you felt the ebbs and wanes of a familiar power draw closer. Curiously, it made your belly clench, eager to see the man who could have chased you, but didn't. You were itching to know why. Itching to behold him again.

Your heart leapt as he stepped into the street, at least four stories below you. Even from this distance, you could see the intensity of his furrowed brow, the noble bearing of his shoulders beneath a great black overcoat. His tie hung, dishevelled, loose-knotted. He was hunting.

He paused, tiptoed on a breath...before rolling, gracefully dodging as a knife of Cursed energy ricocheted through the street, splitting it. You gasped, your eye moving away from your rifle lens, watching in awe as he took to battle with another man. While he seemed to hold his own, he appeared distracted, and was buffeted, winded by an almighty hit, knocked onto his back, elbows on the ground.

A strange panic overtook you as your hook-nosed man's assailant bore down on him, power surging, preparing to murder--

-- a gunshot. A brittle, echoing bang. The assailant's head snapped forwards, and he fell, killed instantly, face first on the ground in front of your hook-nosed man.

He panted, his face sprayed with blood. With a few owlish blinks, his eyes tracked upwards. You held your breath, adrenaline coursing through you. As the man stood, eyes fixed on you (in rage? murderous intent? thanks?), you jolted to life and took aim on him.

He did not raise his hands. There was no standoff, as he made no move to save his own life. In the moment that he accepted his death for the attempt he had made on yours, something in you both softened, seeing each other as you saw no others. A gentle impasse. The intimacy of differentiation.

It took everything you had in you to break eye contact, and run.

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Hiromi mulled beneath the shaky warning of your rifle.

You were afraid, he thought as he gazed up at you, so sickeningly grateful for having been chosen by you. The mist of his opponent's blood drifting through the sunrise, picked Hiromi out as somehow preferable, in your mind.

And, why should you not be afraid? He saw you beneath him, again, your eyes soft and begging him for mercy. You had been defenceless and entirely in his palm. He had been relieved, he recalled, that he could kill someone easily. The begging made you passive. Hiromi could have vomitted, sickened by himself.

He stood, arms raised slightly to his sides, his profile illuminated by sweet morning sun, waiting for death to take his hand.

Hiromi felt embraced by your eyes. Wanted. Some companionship, in death...until you refused him his end. The red string between you both seemed to snap as you broke eye contact and ran.

Alone, as the sun broke above the skyline, Hiromi whispered; "Thank you."

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There was no way out. Starving and desperate, days had passed since you had saved your hook-nosed man, and you had crept through haunted streets to a convenience store, unusually well-stocked with food and drink.

You bit your tongue for your own stupidity at having walked into such an obvious trap. No amount of being able to hide one's Cursed energy could compensate for being seen walking into the shop. Crouching now, behind shelves of ramen, tears trembled on your lashes, an aching lump in your throat.

You heard a mocking voice, cooing at you, laughing at you, and you blushed with indignant tearful injustice, not needing language to know when you were being assaulted for your sex. You were afraid of death. You were more afraid of being used beforehand.

With nowhere to hide, and no grit to throw, you tipped your head back and thought of those black embering eyes, holding you in his gaze.

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"Are you hungry?" The voice chirped, teasing, mean, "Come out, baby. I've got something here in my pocket you can taste." A filthy laugh. Slow, easy footsteps. Willing to rape you before he killed you. Hiromi felt himself burn with fury, ready to wring this man's neck with his own two hands.

Hiromi walked the streets easily, now. His power had come on in leaps and bounds, and he both trusted in his own abilities, and feared nothing of death. Not since you had held his life in your hands, and thrown it straight back in his face.

He was a disordered eater at the best of times, but, a sudden faintness from hunger sent him seeking food. Hiromi knew some dirty little spider had built a web at an abandoned store, and did not fear a man who sought to ensnare the desperate.

Let him try me, thought Hiromi as he approached, lit by the sickly orange glow of streetlights, and see where it gets him.

Just a few steps from the entrance, Hiromi paused mid-step, his heart hiccuping in his chest. It was you. Inside the store, your Cursed energy faltering and so overwhelmed by that of the spider. Hiromi's lips parted, to call for you, a hand in the dark. He stopped, gritting his teeth. No-- this would not do, he thought, as he began a hunt of his own.

The spider was so obviously distracted by excitement, thrilled to find a woman in his dirty little trap. He had found you, by the time Hiromi reached you, in time to see you flung, body smashing against the counter, curling and coughing. Hiromi stepped behind the spider, seething, overburdened with terrible strength.

You had looked up in time to see your hook-nosed man wind an arm round your assailant's neck, throttling him, dragging him backwards out of the store. The hook-nosed man's face was twisted, ugly with rage...and for what? For you?

If your Cursed-energy had been no match for that of your assailant, his was dwarfed by that of your rescuer. Still coughing, doubled over on your hands and knees, you crawled to the entrance, watching the streetlights flicker above your hook-nosed man as he choked the life out of your assailant, merciless in his conviction.

You knelt there, drinking in his profile, in that sickly orange glow. His sharply squared jaw. His black overcoat, shrouding him like Death itself. Panting and cursing as his arms shook, your assailant fighting weakly beneath him. Choking the life out of a man, a murder most intimate. For you. Killing, with his bare hands-- for you.

Time hung in suspended animation in these small hours. Your rescuer sighed, the tension releasing from his shoulders as he knelt back on his haunches. He appeared devoid of guilt, at having carried out his sentencing. Slowly, as if fearful of what he would see in your eyes, he turned to you, kneeling in the doorway of the shop.

Your eyes met. You studied each other in silence. He had a way of making you transparent. You had a way of making him exposed. His panting slowed, palms flush to his thighs, offering you a cautious smile, as your eyes glimmered in the dark.

"English," he spoke, by way of greeting.

"Nose," you returned. He frowned, uncertain.

"N..?"

You reached up to stroke your nose, and repeated, with a smile; "Nose."

His hand reached up to mirror yours, realising, and he burst into laughter, rich and genuine. You blushed, burying your face in your hands as he continued to laugh. He wiped his eyes, fingering the hook in his nose again, looking at you with those deep embering eyes that wholly undressed you.

"Nose," he repeated, chuckling, "Subarashī." Your bit your lip in mirth, looking anywhere but at him as he tried to catch your eye again, mischief twinkling in his.

Hiromi stood, stretching his shoulders back with a husky groan, tipping his neck from side to side. He stepped over to you, and you felt, ridiculously, so teenagerish as the odd duality of your hook-nosed man made your belly twist. You saw a long-fingered hand enter your line of sight. You looked at it questioningly. The fingers wiggled in invitation.

With a shaking hand, you took his. He pulled you up and smiled at you, swinging your hand briefly in his before releasing it, waiting for you to step into the shop before he followed. You browsed for food, as if Saturday-Night-Snack-Hunting as a couple, in safe silence.

Shivering as the adrenaline wore off, your stomach clenched with terrified nausea to hear explosions, shouts, drawing ever nearer in the street outside. Your hook-nosed man looked up, hangdog eyes wide, flicking from you, to the street, and back again. He gritted his teeth, bundling packets of food into the pockets of his overcoat.

You found yourself manhandled, his heavy coat suddenly on you. Your rescuer's hands moved deftly, smoothing the coat across your shoulders, searching for words, irritated by his intelligence in one language and his stupidity in another.

"Cold-- hungry-- go," Hiromi pressed in broken English, spinning you as you protested, urging you through the back door. You turned in the doorway, your eyes begging him to...what? To go with you? There was no time, no time--

Hiromi materialised his gavel, and crouched, snarling at you: "GO!" He roared, steeped in regret as you sprinted away, guarding your life like a child.

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Your hook-nosed man began to leave you breadcrumbs; tickets to safe havens, food, shelter, beds. You felt the vestiges of his Cursed-energy wherever you followed his trail, haunted by the path of devastation he left to build you sanctuaries.

Your dialogue budded, and combined with his notes and signs, you began to learn more about him. His notes, secreted away in scrawled English, street signs flipped to point in alternate directions, and crude maps drawn on dust-caked windows, all added colour and life to him.

Hiromi took a little joy, his cold heart popping to life, at the little hearts you drew in the dust; signs of acknowledgement, a tiny thrill.

You found yourself drawn to a bookstore, and scoured the shelves, looking for a particular something, a matching pair. You found hints of him in the pockets of the hook-nosed man's overcoat; a business card, in Japanese. A handkerchief, curiously embroidered with two gold initials-- H.H. A set of housekeys with a key-finder fob. A pair of chewed pens. You still thought of him as "Nose".

Hiromi still thought of you as "English", as he caught himself differentiating you from the others. Still steeped in this depression, this black-dog-misery and ugliness, he saw you, a light in the dark, who hid yourself to protect yourself as well as others, from needless violence.

They were all ugly...except, perhaps, for you.

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You sighed as you slipped into the hot bath, water up to your chin in the great, deep basin of this luxury hotel. You were impressed there was still a hot water supply, and you felt a gleeful coil of naughtiness, knowing you would never usually be able to afford to stay in such opulence, all marble tiles and gold taps.

Fighting for survival did not negate the fundamental craving for little joys, and you took advantage of the selection of complimentary soaps, scouring yourself free of grime with happy hums. You sang to yourself, quiet in the evening hush, just you and your languid splishing--

-- oh. A cautious approach. A familiar power. You clasped the lip of the bath, sinking your body under the water.

"...hello? Nose?" You called out. You heard the click of a lock, quick feet stepping in, locking the door behind him. A single held breath.

"...English?"

You blushed, pressing your lips to your knuckles, white from how tightly you gripped the bath. Hiromi's cheeks prickled faintly, hearing soft splashes from the bathroom, seeing your clothes discarded over the bed, your rifle leaning against it. You cleared your throat, wanting to talk, not knowing where to start.

"Mhm." Hiromi smiled at your little squeak, sitting with a groan and creaking knees, his back against the wall beside the bathroom door. Separated by this thin wall, he reached a hand around the doorway behind him. You giggled to see his long fingered hand offer you a jaunty wave.

"Konbanwa, English," he offered. He jolted to feel your little hand, warm and wet, squeeze his. His thumb grazed over your knuckles, smooth, examining, probing in a way that made your belly tight. You reluctantly released his fingers, humming in thought as you reached out of the bath into your backpack, searching for something.

Momentarily, Hiromi felt something gently tap the side of his head around the bathroom door, and he giggled, a noise which made you paddle your feet in delight. He reached up, taking a Japanese-English dictionary and phrasebook from your hand.

"Ahhhhh!" Hiromi hummed, genuinely thrilled, "Yoi aidea." He skimmed through the book, hunting again, and you paused, listening.

"Good idea!" He stated, confident, and he squirmed to hear you laugh at his janky pronunciation. Hiromi wanted so dearly to see you, to know you were uninjured, and instead scoured his little book again.

"Hurt?" He asked you. You softened, responding automatically.

"Ah...no, I'm...hmm," you flipped through your own book, "...uhm...daijōbu desu?"

Hiromi hummed, satisfied. You talked this way, for some time, gently brushing the outskirts of each others' language and personality. Hiromi corrected you. You corrected him. The bath grew cold. The light began to die behind the windows, casting you both in deep shadow and amber glow.

At some point, in the conversation, your hands had trailed together again. Hiromi now leaned sideways against the wall, his cheek pressed against it, eyes closed as his fingertips grazed the inside of your wrist.

You lay in the bath, shivering, feeling your heartbeat between your legs from such an innocent, intimate touch-- except, it did not feel innocent in intent. Perhaps, that was what made you squirm.

"Stay safe," Hiromi whispered to you, his fingers drawing circles on your palm, his next word crumpling your face with barely restrained tears, "Afraid."

Hiromi bit his lip in anguish, eyes squeezed shut to see you in his mind's eye, so desperately touch-starved as you pressed a kiss to his palm. He felt your lips remain, nose ghosting against his pulse. He imagined those lips on his own, and he was filled with an anxious need to taste you, to lift you from the bath, wrap you up in the bed and his arms, safe.

Fully distracted by thoughts of you and your sweet cries beneath his body, Hiromi almost missed you holding out your book to him, pressed open at the start-- and a name, your name, written neatly on the page. You offered this, all the while wanting to step to him from the bath, and offer him the feel of those clever fingers, examining the rest of your body.

"Oh..." Hiromi whispered, reverent, squeezing your hand as he swiped his thumb over the faint imprint of your written name, repeating it aloud slowly. Hearing him speak your name, almost had you climbing out of the bath and into his lap. You closed your eyes, imagining him crying it out as he peaked, buried deeply inside you. You burned with the urgent need to know him.

Just a few seconds later, Hiromi's hand reached round the corner, offering his own book back to you, with his own name written in your own alphabet, jolted and square.

"Higuruma...Hiromi?" He hummed, happily.

"Hiromi," you repeated, and he hummed again, delighted by your name on his lips. You tucked your dictionary away, thrilled, reaching for a towel.

"It suits you. I love it." Hiromi understood just one word you had uttered, and it sent joy creeping down his spine. He pressed his forehead against the wall.

Pull yourself together, Hiromi, he thought, it's just loneliness and desperation. Nothing else. No amount of logic and self-chastisement stopped his mouth from moving independently of his mind, as he flicked through your dictionary, imbued with your name.

"Bed. Stay. Please." Silence. Hiromi pressed the corner of the dictionary to his head, cursing himself under his breath. Idiot, pathetic little moron, stupid--

"Yes."

Hiromi's stomach swooped, missing a step, hearing you climb out of the bath. You steeled yourself, blushing furiously, to wrap a towel around yourself and pad out to the bedroom. Hiromi turned his back to you, but not before seeing the graceful curve of your leg, the wet cleavage of your breasts, the towel barely skimming the tops of your thighs. He breathed slowly, clawing back his self-control as you dressed behind him.

A long, slow whistle, belonging to neither of you, broke the silence, and your blood ran with ice water.

Voices spoke, Hiromi spitting threats, in this language that still gatekept against your understanding.

You jacked sideways, still topless, seizing your rifle as Hiromi demolished the doorway with a single wide swing of his gavel. You heard laughter from the corridor, and you hurriedly pulled your top and Hiromi's overcoat on, fixing your rifle on your shoulder to take aim.

Hiromi backed up to you, wrapping one arm behind himself and around you, fingers splayed against the small of your back. You understood none of the venom spat between Hiromi and this hidden assailant.

Your nerves on a knife-edge, you sensed movement behind the shattered brickwork of the doorway, and fired, a deafening blow in this enclosed space. A spray of blood and an enraged shout through the drifting plaster-cloud saw you hit your mark, and Hiromi exclaimed, shocked and delighted, squeezing your waist.

"I've seen better shots than that from her, bastard" Hiromi warned, "and if you think she's easy prey, you've got both of us to take down."

"Hiromi," you gasped, hyperventilating, "Hiromi-- Hiromi--"

Silence through the room; Hiromi's ears rang. He pocketed your dictionary, and grasped your cheeks, eyes fixed to yours and wordlessly reassuring you as he turned you towards him from the doorway. You felt your heart bounding in your chest, hands loosening on your rifle as you drank him in, breathed the same air, panting, together--

--it was all too fast. Hiromi's eyes fixing behind you. His panicked shout. Being thrown sideways onto the bed, a glassy smash, a scream that may have been your own--

Hiromi and your hunter plummeted in an outward spray of glass, two inky blots fading into the night.

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You had searched so desperately. Nothing could assure you Hiromi was still alive. There were no breadcrumbs left in the dust; nil but blood, and so much of it, beneath the shattered hotel window, so many stories up.

You had run your hands through it, clotted with the rubble, needing to feel him within the grisly spill-- alas. Too many residuals passed over this land. Too many battles fought, too many lives spent and saved, for clairvoyance to be what repaired your fractured heart.

You steeled yourself. Adversity goaded you to try harder. To do better. You took to the hunt yourself. You amassed points from potshots, hidden in curious places to execute nasty little opportunists who sought dominion over the weak.

While you had had no experience of the Kogane-- the odd, winged shikigami which acted as an interface between the players and the game-- in your passive state, they now became regular visitors, updating you of your points total. You had assumed they could not speak your language-- you were wrong.

Witnessing, from afar, one day, another player asking Kogane a question, your stomach rolled with nausea and hope as you called the black-tailed beast to you.

"Kogane?" The creature appeared with a pop. Your mouth opened, and closed, faltering over your words.

"Kogane, is-- is Hiromi Higuruma a player in the game?"

Silence-- and an answer; "Higuruma Hiromi is a player in the game--"

All of the air left your lungs in an enormous gasp, a heaving cry of relief as you doubled over, your hands cupped over your mouth and nose, tears streaming down around your fingers, before the Kogane had even finished giving its report.

"Thank you-- th--thank you, Kogane," you sobbed, blinded by your own tears. This tiny demon, to whom manners meant nothing, hung impassively. It disappeared with a pop as you spun away, cloaked with conviction.

You turned on a pinhead, cocking your rifle ready, and stalked off through the ruins; all of your steeling wisped away like ashes, your heart on the battlefield, knowing your vulnerability was out there, alive.

You decided now, with a smile at the thought of those beetle-black eyes, to hunt not for business, but for pleasure.

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Hiromi felt the damp all the way to his bones, in these heavy, wet clothes, made heavier still by the excruciating weight of his crimes. The theatre door swung closed behind him, and he leaned his back against the wall, crouching, the palms of his heels pressing so hard into his eyes that he was blinded by lights.

He had fallen beyond salvation, and it gnawed at the rotten wood of him, eating him alive. Feeling his brain judder, his tie too tight, the walls too close, the silence too deafening, Hiromi tried to collect himself. He pressed his palms to his thighs and breathed; in through his nose one two three four five and out through his mouth one two three four five.

Feeling his heart rate slow, full of equal parts light and dark, Hiromi called out into the gloom, straightening slowly.

"Kogane." The creature appeared with a pop, waiting, patient. Hiromi spoke your name, and then, hesitant--

"...is she a player in the game?" A heartbeat. Two. Three.

"Confirmed--"

Hiromi did not hear the rest, buckling to his haunches with a primal cry of gratitude, and a few moments of dry sobs as his fingers raked through his hair. Chest heaving, he breathed again, one two three four five, one two three four five.

In the space taken for one breath, Hiromi decided not to find you. You, who had always chosen not to fight. You, whose pleading eyes still haunted him. You could not be sullied by his rot.

Hiromi stepped out into the night, a porcelain man checkered with cracks, seeking only to rebuild a world worthy of you.

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He's here.

Climbing the stairs, fine piano music rang distant, its notes bittersweet, cherries in kirsch. Your feet carried you unbidden and you ascended, the notes becoming sweeter, feeling him, closer, playing this Siren's song.

Stepping into the doorway of the skyline bar, he must have felt your approach. The lights were low, refracted through a hundred hanging glasses, a hundred under-lit bottles of vim and vigour. The room sprawled out in an expansive, long C-shape, and your heart stuttered to see Hiromi at the end, pale fingers moving across the piano, white-shirt-shoulders burdened by the weight of his song.

You felt him build in the music as you approached, each note demanding more of him, and more and more and more and more--

There was only the briefest hitch in the music, barely perceptible, as you slid onto the bench beside Hiromi. He did not look up, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes pressed tightly shut.

Consumed by the need to feel his skin on yours, you reached out, your hand ghosting over his. In a flash, Hiromi's hand darted up to grab yours, fingers tangled, as his other hand continued to move, playing this bisected song. A few moments passed, this way, with Hiromi pressing his lips and nose to your knuckles, his face contorted, conflicted-- pained.

"Go," he whispered, breath fanning over your hand, "bad."

"I...I don't--...bad?" You turned towards him, to hold him, and he jerked, twitching away from you, and you felt your heart tug along with him.

"No. Me. I...am bad." You shook your head, more and more fervent as Hiromi twisted away from you, quietly cursing, husky, tortured. He tried to release your hand, and you refused, plaiting your fingers in his, steadfast in a way that filled him with an animalistic urge to appreciate you.

You turned from him, your other hand resting upon the high keys, pressing gentle, uncertain notes. Overwhelmed by your closeness, and your insistent faith in him, Hiromi softened to watch your profile, backlit from the liquid glow of the bar. Your small hand, moving softly over the keys. Your heart beating like butterfly wings in your throat.

"No. Not bad. Lost. Lonely. Sabishī."

Every moment of belief you handed him, pulled Hiromi closer to the light. Swallowing thickly, he brought your joined hands to the keys, laying his palm over the back of yours, overlaying your fingers with his own. He pressed, soft insistent touches, on your fingers, guiding them to play. You felt your belly coil with odd pleasure, captivated by Hiromi's hands, all at once gentle and rough, smart and instinctual--

"Hiromi--"

"No. Stop." Hiromi tensed, his voice rough, fraying alongside his self-control. His hand shook over your own, the notes stopping now. Heat burst through you, certain he felt it too, this dangerous need, and his name forced its way out of you again, a challenge.

"Hiro--"

Hiromi spat venom again, growling and cursing as he stood, lifting you by the waist, sitting you upon the keys with a spray of notes, his arms shaking as they pressed beside you, trapping you in. Nose to nose, his breath on your lips, his face twisted with fury and need, Hiromi whispered to you.

"Stop. My name--" Hiromi shook, on his last thread, half a step away from using you--

When your hand snaked to his tie, tugging him closer, your other hand sinking into the back of his hair, Hiromi snapped.

His lips pressed to yours, hot and hungry, his body closing the rest of the distance to be flush between your thighs. Your mouth opened to him, feeling his urgency as he drank down your stolen breath, one hand tilting your head back to consume you, the other dragging through the plush rolls of your belly and hips.

Every kiss was hot and anguished, punctuated by Hiromi's low rolling voice, not needing language to feel the fervour and vice on his lips-- "--won't be gentle-- I'm sorry I-- I can't--"

You insisted your understanding on him the only way you knew how; fingers working his tie off and draping it round your own neck, locking your legs around him to press his aching cock against your core, undoing his shirt in a desperate flurry, all notes and fingers and tongues and moans.

You tasted rum in his mouth, all spice and brown sugar, and his hand wandered to your throat, feeling your pulse there before tilting you backwards, arched against the hood of the piano. With your head rested back, he spoke to you, shirt now unbuttoned to his navel, cock straining against the material below a trail of black hair.

"--making a mistake to let a monster put his mouth on you, English-- let's see what sounds you can make." Your khaki t-shirt was pulled off over your head, where Hiromi let it catch around your hands, twisting it to bind you. Hiromi kept you gripped this way, leaning over you, caging you in as he gripped the cups of your bra between his teeth, yanking them down to free your breasts.

Hiromi shuddered and moaned, feeling a drop of pre-cum soak into his boxers, as he flattened his tongue over your nipple, rolling, tasting, pulling you between his lips, nuzzling from side to side like an animal. You mewled, jutting your hips involuntarily, and Hiromi pressed back, pleasuring you with rough, sharp thrusts against your clothed pussy.

Hiromi leaned back, releasing your nipple with a hard suck, gazing down at where he fucked himself against you, mesmerised by the way you shivered and humped against his cock. Unabashed, his words falling over you like strange-eyed constellations, Hiromi fucked you with his voice--

"--cum like this, and I'll give you my fingers...cum like that, and I'll give you my tongue-- fuck, I'll eat you alive, you fucking goddess--"

As Hiromi spoke, all twisted rage and growls, his hips slammed into you, spurred on by your squeaks and whimpers, gripping the fat of your hips to ram your core against him. The pleasure was brutal, all harsh fabric friction and Hiromi's unrestrained adoration, and you tried to hold yourself together as you were dragged to orgasm, your frantic hands pressing disjointed chords on the keys beneath you.

Hiromi wanted to, needed to cum like this, with you, knowing he'd be able to continue fucking you after until he collapsed in your arms from exhaustion. Pausing only briefly to reach into his boxers, and angle his angry, throbbing cock upwards so the bulbous tip pressed between his waistband and belly, Hiromi's eyes rolled back in unadulterated ecstasy as he continued to fuck you against him.

You were both close, having been unfinished even by yourselves for weeks, and Hiromi's eyes burned into yours, feral with the need for you to finish with him, feeling your thighs tense around him as you babbled, fully understanding your meaning behind the nonsense--

"--gonna cum-- please-- Hiromi-- harder--"

You pressed back against the piano, arching with a high-pitched cry as hot pleasure burst through you, from your deeply aching clit outwards, crackling through your fingers, all white-hot sparks and embers. Watching you convulse against him, angling his hips to rut his trapped cock tip, feeling his thighs and belly set alight with the force of his orgasm, his hands planted either side of you, back twitching as he came with a bark.

Still riding the last waves of your orgasm, you watched him in fascination. The sight of Hiromi's cum spurting in long, white ropes onto his navel and yours, his agonised, fractured gasps, had you humping against the underside of his cock again, dragging out your peak to hear him whimper, cock twitching against your core. Your hand drifted to his belly, stroking the cum between your fingertips in a blissful haze, squeezing a thumb under the foreskin of his exposed cockhead, stroking his slit with his own lubrication.

Hiromi convulsed and growled at you, clasping your hand against him, dopey and shaking as you drank his reaction from his eyes, thumb still circling his cockhead, slippery with his seed.

"St--st--aaaaahhh..." You shushed Hiromi's weak cries, grazing your tongue over his lips, delighted as he twitched in your hand, weak little spurts of cum oozing onto your fingers. Hiromi let you continue like this, for a few seconds, before wrenching your hand away, plaiting your fingers into his own and nuzzling into you furiously. His heart leapt to hear you giggle as he bit into you, still to desperate, everything still not enough to take away this pain and this filth and this misery--

His other hand wandered down, stroking down the rolls of your belly, pinching, nails grazing, digging in all the way to your belt, undoing it with military efficiency. Not bothering to undo the button, he yanked down the zip instead, giving him enough room to manoeuvre his hand between your skin and the fabric, shucking your underwear aside to cup the wet heat of your pussy in one long hand.

Dipping his hand out to collect the cum off your belly, he thrust his hand back inside against your pussy again, teeth gritted and bared as he drank down your reactions now. He was satisfied to see the playful glint in your eyes flicker, your eyebrows raised in shock and overstimulation, teeth sinking into your lip as he rubbed your clit roughly, cum-sticky fingers rubbing broad strokes side to side across it.

"--two can play at that game, sweetheart...feels good? More? Harder?" Hiromi pressed you, in these words you didn't understand, and laughed, darkly satisfied as you wiggled beneath his hands, one hand resting lightly on your throat as you tried in vain to scoot away from him, your breath releasing in airy whimpers.

"No answer?" Hiromi moved his fingers faster, harder, your pussy squelching with your mixed cum inside your trousers, feeling you writhe beneath them, "I'll decide for you then."

Hiromi urged your orgasm to build, faster and harder this time, teeth gritted as he dragged you to the edge, growling into you as his tongue flicked roughly over your nipple--

"--come on-- know you can do it-- I'll go as hard as you like, come on, good girl--ah, there-- good girrrrllll..." Hiromi softened his movements, fingers undulating against your pussy as he pulled another orgasm from you, moving one finger from your throat to dip into your mouth, shuddering as you sucked it around your cries and whimpers.

Hiromi felt his cock beginning to stir to life again, and he committed you to memory like this, draped over the piano, wet breasts heaving, his seed dripping down your belly, eyes glazed, body supple.

Another word, that he did know in English, slipped from him, as he dropped to his knees before you, worshiping at this otherworldly alter in the moonlight; "Beautiful."

You blushed, voice catching in your throat as Hiromi smiled up at you, soft and captive in his sincerity as he unbuttoned your trousers, easing them, with your underwear, gently to your ankles, and off. Feeling suddenly so exposed, so flawed, you squeezed your eyes shut. You felt Hiromi grip your ankle with such tenderness, pressing a long, languid kiss to the delicate bones on the inside.

"English," Hiromi called, beckoning you back to him. You shook your head, blushing, eyes still closed, and he insisted. "English, please--" your eyes opened, uncertain, and Hiromi hummed in satisfaction as he began to kiss his way up your inner legs, "--beautiful."

Sighing and leaning back, one arm over your eyes, your heart bursting with the oddity of having fallen in love like this, you felt safe behind your language barrier as you spoke without a filter; "Oh, Nose. I love you. I really do."

Hiromi paused, stunned and ecstatic, his lips still on your inner thigh. He shocked you both, at how quickly his grasp of your language had come along; "And I love you, English." Hiromi chuckled with genuine glee as you clapped your hands over your face, mortified. Hiromi nuzzled into you, wickedly playful, but soon overtaken by this violent urge again--

"And...I love--" you squealed as you felt Hiromi force your thighs apart, sinking his tongue and nose quickly between your folds, groaning as he tasted the heady mix of his and your cum around your clit. His cock, almost fully hard again, throbbed, tightening his waistband as the blood rushed to it again. Hiromi reached down, releasing his cock with a sigh.

He took his time, lifting your thighs over his shoulders as he lapped at you, dipping his tongue into your entrance, tasting you, teasing you. You leaned, watching him again, and he looked up at you, hooded eyes burning as he nuzzled his nose against your clit, and held his own cock in his hand, stroking slowly. You felt jolts of voyeuristic pleasure, watching him masturbate himself to the taste of you.

"I...I like that," you whispered to him, your hand moving down to graze your nails against his scalp. You watched Hiromi like pornography as he shuddered, his cock leaping in his hand, your eyes fixed intently on his hand gliding up and down his length as you felt your pleasure beginning to crescendo yet again.

"More, I--" you moved your hand in the air as if you were the one stroking Hiromi's cock, mimicking faster movements, "--faster, Hiromi." Hiromi hummed in understanding, groaning sandy little groans into your pussy now as his hand sped up, jacking himself off harder, feeling your pussy clench around nothing beneath his tongue as you watched him, your keening cries getting higher and higher until--

-- you came again, trembling with the fluttering soft pleasure of your third orgasm, thighs clamping around Hiromi's head as he sucked your clit gently between his lips. Hiromi panted, gripping the base of his cock, delaying his high, fingers wet with more pre-cum, desperate to drag you to the floor and finish using you.

Pulling his mouth away, his hands trembling on your thighs, Hiromi's face was unreadable as he looked at the floor. Standing, dishevelled and sweating, looking up at you with feral hunger, his cock still twitching in his hand, you could see the barest vestiges of Hiromi pleading you for permission, with those exquisite dark eyes--

All it took from you was a nod. Hiromi pounced, wiry arms deceptively strong as he lifted you, legs locked around his waist, nose nuzzling against yours, teeth nipping your lips with a rumble. Hiromi whispered his mother tongue against your mouth, reaching out one hand for his overcoat, and tossing it into the floor, before laying you on your front, sinking his teeth into your shoulder blade with bruising force.

"--you're beautiful, and you're good, and I don't deserve you-- fuck, I need you now, I--I need--"

Hiromi panted above you, barely restraining himself from slamming into you immediately as he looped an arm round your neck and chest, pulling you up and forcing your back to arch. Ghosting his nose over your ear, he whispered your name, making you shiver and squirm, certain you'd break unless you felt him inside you soon.

"Ready, English?" You trembled, nodding, head tipped back as his cock grazed against your slippery folds. One hand cupped your arse, stroking softly, before slapping, Hiromi captivated by its plush jiggle against his fingers, how you cried out, how your skin flushed so deliciously.

Not holding back, Hiromi slammed into you, one forearm planted to the floor while the other restrained you against him, cupping your breasts in one squeezing hand. He shook, cursing, his teeth in your shoulder, as he felt the tip of his cock kiss your gummy walls, feeling your pussy clench around him in shock.

Prone, hands clawing at his overcoat, Hiromi felt enormous inside you, so swollen and plush after waiting to be filled for so long. You whimpered, resting your head sideways against his clutching bicep, feeling the muscle tense and jump as he rammed into you at a relentless pace, still speaking husky reassurances to you in his native tongue.

"--rest, just-- keep still and let me hold you, I-- I can't slow down anymore--"

Feeling simultaneously used and protected, caged in like this for him to chase his own pleasure, your breath came in ragged gasps, both hands now clutching the forearm across your neck and chest, head swimming with the instinctively blissful fullness of his cock, tightly sleeved within you. You felt your belly jolt from the force of Hiromi's thrusts, and pressed up towards him, proud to hear him moan in response.

Hiromi fucked you with abandon, needing this release, needing to shed his sin and worthlessness, his heart leaping to feel you fall apart beneath him. His hips began to stutter, strength abandoning him as his orgasm approached, moaning deep breaking moans in your ear, nipping, holding your neck in his teeth.

His legs buckling beneath him, Hiromi cried out in bliss, his arm shaking around you, hips flush against your arse, cock twitching long, hot spurts of cum inside your walls, feeling you pulse around him, sucking him in. You revelled in the glorious feeling of him twitching deep inside you, your belly hot and clenching as his seed seeped out between your clenched thighs. Hiromi lay above you, panting, pressing soft kisses into your hair, using his arm to roll you sideways with him, covering you both with his overcoat.

With his arm beneath your head, the other lazily stroking the curve of your waist and hips, Hiromi laughed lazily behind you.

"You love me, English, hmm?" Hiromi laughed again as you clapped your hands to your face.

"Stop, Hiromi, stop--" you cried, blushing all the way to your toes as he squeezed you closer, "-- or I will shoot you." Hiromi lifted his head, peering mulishly at you, one eyebrow raised. You scowled, pointing to your gun, and then at him, and he gasped in mock horror.

"Ara ara," he rumbled, teasing you in alien words, "so violent when you're meant to be happy."

You remembered these sweet small hours the most, after the horrors that came. You remembered lying in each others' arms, sticky and teasing. You remembered sneaking to the bathrooms, splashing each other at the sinks as you cleaned up as best as you could. You remembered laughing as Hiromi cursed, trying to clean the residual cum off your clothes. You remembered Hiromi calling for you, afraid, anxious, before you ducked back up from behind the bar, your arms full of snacks and drinks. You remembered lying beneath the piano, gazing out across the city, flicking peanuts at each other, sharing slow, lazy kisses. You remembered naively seeing a future between you, a happy life with none of this unthinkable chaos.

It was your fault, you cursed yourself, vomiting and wracked with sobs, staggering away from the devastation. If you had been able to develop your power, and pose a real threat, Hiromi wouldn't have been burdened with such a liability.

Lost in each other again, nose to nose beneath the piano, your instincts had kicked in just fast enough to kick Hiromi away, saving his life as the floor between you both split with dreadful electricity. A strange-haired, wild-eyed boy burst through the room on a voltage, bottles smashing, the floor splitting, your rifle disappearing into the chasm as Hiromi shouted for you, urging you, ordering you-- you were sure, to move, to run, to save yourself and leave him.

You could do none of them, your military training meaning nothing to this god. You could do nothing when Hiromi stepped into his path, defending you, fighting tooth and nail. You could do nothing as the floors split beneath him, dragging them down in lightning flashes, horrifying rumbles. You had fled from the collapse, leaping flights of stairs one at a time, possessed by some strange force. You had not felt Hiromi again. Powerful though he was, you could not see how he could walk out of such a fight alive.

Putting all the dregs of your energy into hiding, refusing to let Hiromi's sacrifice be in vain, you cried yourself to sleep, nose in Hiromi's overcoat, his cum still cooling between your thighs.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Each day merged into the next. Time had lost meaning. While you had the urge to fight before loving Hiromi, to have loved and lost him broke you and the future you may have had. The battleground was no place for someone such as yourself now. You cursed the injustice of it all.

Cold, dirty and exhausted, your head rested sideways against an industrial bin, praying the rain would wipe your soul clean.

You had translated his business card, with your little dictionary--

Lawyer. Higuruma Hiromi, Criminal Defence Lawyer.

Knowing this detail of his life, a sweet overlay of understanding dawned upon you, his character suddenly so understandable, his anguish shooting through you like knives, and all too late, too late--

"...English?"

Your head jerked up, to the end of the alleyway. Silhouetted, dripping in the rain, bleeding and bruised but impossibly alive--

Your face crumpled, pressed into your wet sleeves, shaking. Slow splashing footsteps approached you, Hiromi kneeling in front of you, a hand coming out to graze through your hair.

He opened your dictionary, dusty and bloodstained, before flicking to a dog-eared page;

"Found you."

#jjk #higuruma hiromi #higuruma smut #higuruma angst #higuruma fluff #higuruma hiromi x reader #jjk hiromi #hiromi higuruma x reader #hiromi x reader #higuruma hiromi smut #higuruma #higuruma x reader #higuruma fanart

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privitivium · 3 months

Note

!!!!! PATHETIC COLLEGE TEACHER DILF

yes !! have this thing about a pathetic professor divorcee who's a dad who's so needy he cant help himself!! have this thing while i write two other posts that will be posted tonight !!! Yayyy!!

prof w amab reader

cw;; teacher/student relationship... jerking him off while degrading him edited;;!!!

he was unable to contain himself,,, a little embarrassing to admit as a grown man lusting after one of his pupils... he's disgusted with himself, really. but... he's the one who searches for you as you leave with the crowds, not able to find you... a little downtrodden, thinking that you were that eager to leave - until the ghost of fingertips dancing along his arm breaks him from his train of disgusting thoughts - you. you... you! he says your name breathlessly, looking in-between the last people leaving and you... grinning smugly at him... he felt giddy.

ㅡ"please... uh.. please.. touch me..?" he felt a little awwkard begging you... but it looked so good on him! you almost wanted to ask him to get on his knees... next time. no worries, because there will obviously be a next time. he's just so damn needy... this guy is... really lame. you cant help but scoff, groping at his crotch without warning - a smirk worming it's way on your lips glossy with his saliva-

"you're such a messy kisser, you know that..." you huff, tonguing your lips as you faintly mold your hand along his hardening cock, "hey, no wonder your wife left you..." you joke, unable to contain yourself... it's partially his own fault, he never stopped you from bullying him before... you had a faint inkling that he actually enjoys it. it's obvious with the way his lips part with a little gasp escaping his lips and he jerks into your hand.

ㅡ"i left her..!" he corrects with a choked up voice - nearly whining as he tries to press his face in the crook of your neck, "why's that?" you hum, despite knowing the reason.. "it completely slipped my mind... was she not good enough for you? her hand not good enough?" you grunt, grinning cruelly while sliding your hand dirty with his fluids along his prick - watching in glee as he makes a mess all over his damn dressy jeans. "n-no.. no..." he trembles as he meekly answers you - god, so painfully aching to kiss you and to cumㅡlower intestines coiling signifying he was just about to bust in your hand - a soft noise leaving his lips, sounding like am injured animal as your hand leaves his leaky aching prick - please be good to him.

#ocs =͟͟͞͞★#x male reader #male reader #top male reader #x top male reader #dom male reader #x dom male reader #cw teacher / student

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starlit-mansion · 2 years

Text

You would think that as a wi//iam aft0n enjoyer, i would enjoy poor edward even a little bit since broadly there's some similarities but every time i see his nasty little mug on the fl loading screen, i want to punt him into next week

#masked serial killers i respect: will and erik #masked serial killers i do not respect: THIS FUCKING BITCH #really it's just that the narrative in general AND writing in particular treat clara SAUR badly #and the fact that you can just. choose to side with her enemies........ it's bad. it's not on.#i know that everyone who likes that character like him in a 'he may be a pathetic little worm but he's MY manic nighmare goblin man' way #but it's not for me luv

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gremlingottoosilly · 5 months

Text

Please, Stand by [dark!Ghost x fem!Reader x dark!Soap]

You woke up in your captor's apartment. Turns out, getting out of the grasp of two trained special forces soldiers isn't exactly an easy task.

TW and tags: non-con to dub-con, size difference, power imbalance, fingering, hurt/comfort(but it comes from the ones who hurt you), yandere, dark!141, possessive 141, obsessive 141, kidnapping. AO3

Simon never slept this well on leave.

Always something happening – Soap breathing too loudly in their fucking bed, nightmares getting too wild even with as many meds as he could possibly take, neighbors behaving as if he wouldn’t be able to bloody shoot ‘em all and get away with it – he never enjoyed sitting at this place without a purpose, as much as he enjoyed not having to buy the whole space for himself. Johnny was really making things stir up a little around here – but it wasn’t enough. Never.

Ghost found himself dumbfounded this exact morning, though – he gave up the space in the bedroom for you and Soap, knowing that the Scotsman has a much smoother way with women, and they don’t want to scare you too much. Poor thing, you’re already terrified of them – this won’t do, they aren’t monsters. A bit forceful, yes, but men in this position don’t exactly have much time for courting – and it's not like you’d agree to relationships with four of them at the exact same time if you really had a choice. Just means they have to take the choice away from you. Hell, he even thought of preparing your breakfast in bed – something that he never thought of doing. You were so good for him, for Soap, so nice and obedient, he almost forgot it was all because of the alcohol – not because you really wanted them so badly. Ghost isn’t a stranger to hookups and dates at random pubs where he could afford to not take his mask off – but it’s the first time he liked a girl so much. The first time he really wanted to just take you and… *** You woke up somewhere around noon. The aftermath of your hangover still lingered in the fog in your head as you were desperately trying to cling to consciousness. You wanted to throw up. You wanted to curl down and cry. You wanted to…

Ah, you’re finally awake. Good for you.

The first thing that you feel is nausea. You already threw up at night, it’s evident by the stale taste of bile in your mouth – but you still feel like turning your stomach upside down and shaking it a little.

The second thing you feel is a heavy hand on your waist. It’s muscly, hairy, covered in scars and burn marks – you don’t think that a man with hands like this would be at your taste for one-night stands. You don’t think you ever had a hookup session with a random person you didn’t even know, but whoever is clinging to your body like you’re a teddy bear has another opinion about acting all lovey-dovey with their playthings for the night. You try to worm your way out of the grasp, but the guy only tightens it.

— Don’t move, lassie. I knew how ye feel.

You seriously doubt that.

— Where am I?

Your voice is raspy, in desperate need of water. You don’t want to beg them for this, so you just bite your lips, hoping your voice doesn’t sound too pathetic. You’d kill for a bottle of water right now.

— In yer home.

— This is not…

— It will be, hen. Dinnae havta worry ‘bout that okay?

Guy – Soap, you remember, heard when the other guy, the second guy, was talking to him. Like you weren’t even fucking there like you didn’t have a say in the situation. You feel a trail of sloppy kisses landing on your neck, and your shoulders – damp skin is sweaty under the touches. You feel sluggish like you usually do on a hungover – like you usually do after a really nice girl's night out.

Soreness between your legs makes you choke on your tears. You don’t want to cry, not in the presence of your captors. Not when all the memories you have is how soft they tried to be. How much did your alcohol-dazed mind like it. The thrill of them knowing all of your special buttons without you ever having to ask – you hate them, you want to hate them, you need to hate them. But you’re thirsty, hungry, your head hurts, you feel like shit, and they still didn’t beat you yet.

The survival instinct comes to life when you hear the door opening.

You struggle out of his grasp – thankfully, the guy is sleepy, he didn’t put up much of a fight. You manage to get out and fall on the fluffy carpet, surprisingly nice for a place where two rough looking bachelors are living. You don’t have enough time to think about the texture of the carpet, as you scramble on your feet and run.

Fuck this, fuck everything, fuck trying to be soft and obedient – they don’t care about showing their faces and names to you, that you can just run to the police. Probably means they are going to kill you right after the cuddling session – and you’d rather be traumatised than dead. You think. Probably. Maybe.

In your struggle, you didn’t even think of thinking that if the door is opening, it means that someone will be standing on the other side – or the apartment is extremely haunted.

It wasn’t extremely haunted. Your cheek is flattened against a broad chest. A pair of hands that smell of tobacco and leather are forcing you into this perverse version of a hug, leaving you without any chance of getting out. All of your attempts at screaming are left with nothing but weird bubbly sounds as you struggle to breathe. You don’t want to panic, but, hell, you feel like you’re going to fucking die.

Price had just seen the most beautiful woman of his life.

With tears running down her cheeks, messy makeup, and even messier hair. She is wearing Soap’s T-shirt, which isn’t ideal, but no one is perfect, and even the prettiest girl out there has her flaws. She is crying and panicking, and she looks so bloody fantastic with her arse showing every time she tries to wiggle her way out of his grasp, and he doesn’t want to behave too brutally, but he wants to see the marks from his fingers grasping her wrists. He knew he saw you yesterday, fucked you yesterday. Held your hair as you were throwing up and forcing yourself to stop fucking vomiting all over the place – but you’re even prettier now, in the dim morning sun. Crying and struggling in his grasp, he can’t wait to share you with others – he knows Kyle would love fucking that tight arse of yours. Price would get a kick out of making you his stupid girl.

And they, well, they will always have a special treatment reserved just for you. Gosh, you’re beautiful. Ghost knows why they had to take you.

— Quiet, luv. Quiet. Calm down. — Let me…fuck you, let me go! You push at his chest, and the only thing he feels is the way his dick starts throbbing in his pants again. Gods, you’re fucking beautiful – much, much prettier than any girl he fucked through his life. So feisty once you’re sober, he knows how much fun you’re having in store for them once you’ve regained at least part of your strengths. — I will fuck you. Later.

— No! — Now, if you insist on yelling so much. He gently forces you closer, his hand slipping to cup your arse. You feel divine in his arms – he doesn’t know how Soap manages to steady himself and not fuck you right in the car. He did make you suck his dick, but it obviously wasn’t enough – and won’t be, with how much you struggle now when the alcohol finally wears off. Ghost gives your ass a little squeeze, then – a few slaps, just to make sure you’re nice and obedient for them. You obviously haven’t worn panties under Johnny’s shirt, easy access doing easy accessing, and so when he finally managed to slip his fingers in your cunt, he was pleased to find out it was soaked. — You’re wet, luv. Can’t get more ready than this.

You whimper in his chest, still terrified. He supposed you should be – he is wearing the mask, not wanting to scare you with his scars and intense gaze. Skull balaclava isn’t doing a good job at making you calmer, but…well, he can try to think about something. Soap had already shown you his face, and it’s not like you’re going anywhere. They would catch you faster than you could run to the local authorities – as much as you would love to think otherwise. Prey aren’t known for their wits, after all. — Pl…please, just let me go. Please? I won’t…

— Won’t tell anyone?

— Yes! Please, I…I need to work. I have a shift in the… — You went to a pub before your shift?

You sob, your little excuses clearly aren’t working. Ghost brushes his rough fingers among your folds, the stimulation on your pussy making you shiver. He knows you’re sore, his dick isn’t exactly tiny – you need some more orgasms to calm down, maybe get you nice and relaxed for them. If he knows his sergeant, he already got a word out to the rest of the team – and although Ghost really, really wants to just take you with them and share you as their little duo, Gaz and Captain deserve to have something nice too. Deserve to have someone nice.

Ghost pulls his fingers out as soon as your whimpers turn into moans. He wants you nice and wet, but he needs you to beg for it. To recognize that the only way you’ll get anything around here is through obedience and behaving like a cute kitten, they decided to scoop from the streets. Not exactly a subtle look, but he can spell it out for you later. Make their shared dumb girl just a bit less dim. Maybe teach you a few manners – you don’t start a conversation with your captors from curses, for example.

— Please. I…I have a family.

Uh-oh.

Tough shit, Ghost thinks.

It would have worked in Private Riley – before he got into captivity himself before he got almost killed. Before he has lost everything he ever loved – and before he found a family in people who have the wondrous ability to enable his worst and best traits at the same fucking time. If you were a bit less weak, a bit more resilient if you didn’t cry as much and reminded him of himself in the past – who knows, you could have pulled at his heartstrings.

But Lieutenant Ryley wants a girl to warm up his bed, and the beds of his comrades – and he knows you would do just perfect. So, he scoops you in his arms, like a disobedient kitten, and puts you in a place where, as he knows, all misery dies and the place where he is crawling every time he falls a bit down.

He pushes you back to Soap’s bed.

You cry even more when two beefy hands force you into a tight hug – Johnny is still half-asleep, and his growly sleepy voice makes your hair stand at ends. You hate them, you despise them, you feel like you’re going to fucking die rather than fall asleep in their embrace again, but Soap kisses your neck and whispers something in your ear – something accented, deep, no doubt dirty. Something that makes you whimper again and again, something that…god, you feel like a slut.

You rub your thighs together, trying to chase the heat away, but you only feel warmer. It never gets easier, you suppose – never gets just palatable enough.

— Simon scared ye, bonnie?

Johnny smiles when you only whimper, your desire to feel the warmth of another person making you fall right into the guy. It’s not something you’re proud of – Jesus Fucking Christ, you just snuggle with your kidnapper – but you need something to just feel…normal. Like hugs after a really good hookup. Like you just found someone to date and to kiss and to be in a proper relationship with.

You whimper instead of answering, and you hear the Scot chuckling again, his grip on you getting tighter. He is like a koala – and you feel pretty…fine in his grasp. You’re too scared to get feisty because you already tried, and it just returns you to point A. The starting dot. The first page of your miserable journey opens with a tight hug and the smell of breakfast cooking. Burning. Cursing through a thick English accent, you could hear something in the kitchen getting absolutely blasted – in a negative sense.

— I’m not scared of you.

He laughs again. You can smell something burning, and you hope that the second guy – the scary guy – will set the entire apartment on fire and kill everyone inside, including you.

— Ye shouldn’t be. We will take care of ye.

— I will run as soon as I can.

— Lt could break your legs. I could break your legs.

You sob again, but Soap doesn’t rush to comfort you. You need to get this through your skull – you’re not resisting them without consequences. You’re not running away without them catching and punishing you. You will not as much as step out of this bed without their permission – even if they’d have to haul you to the bathroom themselves while you’re kicking and screaming. You deserve to get knocked down a peg about the subject of you actually having rights – and you deserve to be calmed down later, once they think you have been punished enough. — I just want to go home.

— Cannae do that, lassie.

— Are you going to kill me?

— Not if yer obedient.

You hear the sound of something hitting a glass bowl. Then – gulps of liquid are poured into the same bowl. The burning have stopped, making you think that whatever the skull guy tried to cook, is getting thrown out of the balcony now – you almost smile trying to picture the burly man in a cute apron, desperately begging for the eggs to stop burning and turning into a crisp. You could cook for yourself, but…well, they probably won’t let you use the knife.

— Are you going to rape me again?

You are pulled into a much closer hug. Johnny’s dick poking at your ass, making you shiver in his hold – making you try to get out as fast as possible and failing miserably. You have suggested that the guy was a part of something illegal – maybe a mafia reinforcer, the dweller of those weird candy shops that were opened throughout the country, but you caught a glimpse of some camouflage in the dresser when Simon was taking off his clothes…they are in the military. Maybe, it’s even worse than you initially thought – no way anyone will believe you over them. No way you will win a fight against them.

— We weren’t raping ye, bonnie, Just…taking what ye really needed.

You came harder under them than you ever did under any of your boyfriends or from your fingers. You feel pathetic because his eyes are innocent and cute, and you don’t want to make them hurt you again. You don’t answer.

— We’ll take care of ye. Just keep yer arse in place and don’t resist, aye?

You can’t do anything but nod. Don’t want to do anything but nodding.

He smiles at your neck again. Kisses you again. Ray of shivers run down your tummy.

Ghost showed up in the bedroom again, holding a bowl of honey cereal. You are hungry – you need something to soak up the alcohol, and you’d want something greasy and terrible, or maybe a soup and tea later – but the cereals are better than whatever was slowly getting burned on the stove.

They could drug you – then again, it feels like you’d prefer being unconscious anyway.

— Price will be there in an hour. Got his call.

The Scot being you, curses under his breath, his hands finally letting you go. You took the bowl and started to eat, as quickly as you could.

A hand slips over your waist, steadying you.

— We’ll make her presentable, aye?

You don’t want to be presentable, but something in their voices are telling that you don’t have a choice.

#cod #cod x reader #yandere cod #yandere ghost #yandere soap #soap x reader #ghost x reader #dark ghost #simon ghost riley #soap #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #141 x reader #yandere #male yandere #yandere male

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greensimp · 1 year

Text

Gyutaro x Reader:

He nearly kills you. Regrets it immediately.

______________________________________________________________

Canon!Gyutaro x gn!Reader

WC: 1.9k

Warnings: violence, angst, threats of violence, vulgar language

______________________________________________________________

You scoff and glare up at your partner with annoyance.

“Gyutaro, it’s not a big deal!”

The demon you’re arguing with stands above you, a frustrated scowl painting his features. Bringing a hand up to the side of his face, he growled and began scratching at himself.

“Yes it is, damnit! Do you realize how fucking dangerous that was?! What if I wasn’t around to get you away from there?!”

You balled your fists and stomped your foot childishly, indignation evident in your stance.

“I didn’t need your help! I was fine on my own! I’ve survived on my own a lot longer that I’ve had you around!”

Anger bubbled up in Gyutaro’s chest at your infuriating naivety. This wasn’t some stroll you took a little way outside of Yoshiwara. The little stunt you pulled tonight could have ended your life.

What did you do?

You left his territory entirely. The only reason he knew about it was because he spotted you speaking to an unfamiliar man from the shadows hours before. It wasn’t unlike you to socialize with strangers, but Gyutaro knew from the start that something about him wasn’t “genuine.”

So he stalked you. He stalked you until that man led you so far away from the Kyogoku house that only the quiet noises of the forest could be heard.

What the hell were you thinking?

If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. This lowly demon was luring you to his feeding grounds. Gyutaro could read the overzealous and smug confidence all over the worm’s face. Despite smelling him and Daki’s scent, he thought he could pick off a couple humans for himself.

Unfortunately for this little bug, he couldn’t have chosen a worse human to prey upon.

When it was apparent that the demon was about to make its move, it turned around and froze, practically pissing himself as the kanji-filled eyes of Upper Moon Six bored down upon him from behind the human he lured. You were confused at first before turning around to see what he was so scared of.

Oh.

“Goin’ somewhere? Y’know, its rude to be taking off with other people’s things, cretin.”

The pathetic demon tried to shake his hands in front of him and scurry away.

“I-I’m so s-sorry sir, I d-didn’t know this one w-was y-“

He couldn’t even finish his sentence before a hand wrapped itself around his mouth and jaw, crushing it in painfully.

“I don’t recall asking for your pathetic apology, whelp.”

Neither you or the demon saw Gyutaro move. It was like he was behind you one moment, then crushing the demon’s face the next.

He was pissed. Blindingly so.

You winced as a disgusting cracking sound reverberated through the forest. Gyutaro had drove the demon’s head so far into the ground that it made a crater. It wouldn’t be regenerating from that by sunrise.

Your legs felt weak as you stared at the blood. Then, Gyutaro rose to his feet and turned to you, his normal scowl now clearly on edge and splattered with blood.

“We’re going home. Now.”

…

You may have survived all this time, but you also had your beauty and luck on your side. Gyutaro had neither. He wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t born yesterday. You’re too comfortable with the knowledge of demons existing. You’re not cautious enough.

The room became deadly silent.

His scratching and growling ceased, with the only sounds being the ever-hastening blood rushing through your ears.

Your nerves were on edge, Gyutaro’s sudden silence freaking you out more than his display of anger earlier.

“Gyutaro…?”

He didn’t reply right away, only slowly and deliberately lowering his arm to his side.

You furrowed your brows and huffed.

“Oh, so now I’m getting the silent treatment?”

You were about to continue provoking him until you saw the veins and flesh under the skin of his forearms begin to writhe and pulse. You took a step back, now suddenly nervous.

“H-hey, what’re you doing?”

“I don’t think you understand how much danger you’re in right now.”

Two growths began emerging from Gyutaro’s hands.

“W-what do you mean?!”

Another step back, but this time, Gyutaro mirrored you with a step forward.

“You think this a world where you can just walk around and trust anyone you meet? There are things out there. Things much scarier than me. And you think you can just throw yourself out there for them to take you from me?”

The writhing flesh in his hands now took the distinct shape of... sickles?

The weight of the situation now dawned on you. Your eyes slowly widened in raw fear as he took another firm step your way. Your breath faltered, your fight or flight response automatically causing you to freeze, despite wanting to run.

His vision was blurred with rage, he didn’t care that you were terrified of him in that moment. The only thing going through his mind was that he needed to instill the fear of demons in you that you needed. You needed to know that things like him are hiding a side of themselves that only doomed humans ever get to see.

He loves you too much to let you die.

You finally gained control of your legs (barely). Of course, the second you tried to stumble backwards, you slipped and fell straight on your ass. Still, you desperately scoot yourself back, whimpering and breathing heavily as he menacingly stepped closer to you.

“I-I’m sorry Gyu! P-please don’t hurt me!”

Your pleas didn’t get though to him. He was in fight mode. His only instinct being to protect the people he loves. It just so happened that his instincts were being a bit counterproductive.

You squeaked when your back hit the wall.

Your pupils dilated and tears fell from your eyes. You barely recognized the monster in front of you. It was like the gentle giant you fell in love with traded bodies with a pure evil.

Whatever point he wanted to get across to you, it worked.

Oh. It worked.

A razor sharp point prodded at you under your chin tauntingly. A sickening, wretched giggle came from his throat.

You felt your heart jump in your throat as you stared death in the eyes.

“Do you understand, now? Do you fear, death? I bet you do, love.”

Laughter followed his taunts as he pressed the blade deeper.

“BROTHER! WHAT’RE YOU DOING?!”

A feminine voice practically screeched from the doorway.

As if someone flipped a switch, Gyutaro’s tunnel vision cleared. The fog of anger and spite dissipated into painful clarity.

His sickening grin fell instantly, confusion flooding his mind as to why you were looking at him like a cornered animal.

Then, his stomach practically dropped to the floor when he realized what he was holding to your throat.

He jerked his sickle back and trembled, his eyes widening in horror at what he’d done to you.

If he had broken your skin… it would have certainly cut your life short. The poison that laces his blades is thousands of times more potent than the deadliest snakes of the world.

You brought a hand to your throat and sobbed, falling to your side.

He just stared at his sickle and shook, stepping away from you.

He didn’t even notice Daki darting past him to get to you.

“Why did you do that, brother?!”

His eyes snapped to his sister’s scathing glare.

“I-I-“

Another step back.

He almost killed you.

He’s pathetic.

He’s worthless.

He doesn’t deserve you.

You’re scared of him now.

You got what you wanted, Gyutaro. Now they’re scared of you.

Now they hate you.

Before Daki could yell at him again, he darted out of the room.

…

Even Daki couldn’t find Gyutaro for hours. She’s never seen her brother shaken up this bad and she had no idea what to do. When you told what happened, she sort of flipped at your stupidity, too. Although not as… murder-y. She understood why Gyutaro would be cross with you, but she was still surprised that he’s go so far as to traumatize you. She knew better than anyone that he’d never even dream of killing you.

She brought you some food and water before setting out into the night to find Gyutaro again, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Now that you’d calmed down, the hurt finally sunk in. Why would he do this? Did he really love you? If Daki hadn’t interrupted… would he have truly done it.

His maniacal laughter played in your mind like a broken record, causing you to cringe and shiver. The mouth that had uttered such sweet words to you… used to taunt you. To make you feel like prey.

A small creak in the doorway caused you to jump in your skin. You were still very on edge.

And the figure in it did not help to calm you.

Gyutaro’s face was shrouded in shadow, his mouth in a pursed frown.

The air grew thick with tension as he just stood there.

Then, he took a small step in, which had you involuntarily jump backwards in fear.

Your reaction to his presence made his chest feel tight. Guilt practically strangled him by the neck. He wanted you to be afraid of demons… not him.

But he is a demon.

A pathetic, filthy demon.

When he took another step into the room, something caught your eye that made your breath hitch.

In the light of the oil lamps in your room, a faint sheen of wetness trailed down Gyutaro’s cheek.

Was…

Was he crying?

You’d never seen him so much as sniffle, let alone cry.

You finally feel the guilt oozing from him, your stomach sinking.

Before you could speak, he collapsed to his knees and stared at you through misty eyes. You noticed a slight tremble in them.

“I- I’m so sorry-“

He’s pathetic.

He took a deep, shaky breath and let out the most sorrowful wail you’ve ever heard from a creature. He hunched over, bringing his hands to the sides of face and digging his nails into the skin.

“FORGIVE ME”

Pathetic. Worthless.

You just stared in complete awe at the heaving man in front of you. The display of vulnerability had your heart in a vice grip, whatever apprehension you held for Gyutaro fleeing your conscious like a gust of wind.

He was a broken man.

He was at your mercy.

He was groveling to you.

A pair of arms squeezing his head paused his crying. The warmth of your embrace came as an utter shock.

“I understand, Gyutaro. And… I do fear death.”

You echoed his words from earlier in a wobbly tone.

You fluttered your eyes shut and squeezed him to your chest.

“I’m scared of demons. That much is true.”

A single tear fell from your eye and you hiccuped.

“But…”

Memories of Gyutaro holding you in his arms during a firework display, memories him lovingly petting your hair as you snuggle into him, memories of him making love to you, all flowed through your head.

What you saw earlier wasn’t your Gyutaro.

“I could never stay afraid of you.”

Gyutaro’s breath hitched as your words pierced his heart.

He really didn’t deserve you.

Here you are, just forgiving him after he tried to kill you only hours before.

He sobbed and squeezed his eyes shut before wrapping his arms around your waist and nuzzling his head into your stomach.

He didn’t deserve you.

But somehow…

He still has you.

And he’s never letting go.

#gyutaro x reader #gyutaro shabana #fanfiction #gyutaro #one shot #angst #kny fanfic #12 kizuki #daki demon slayer #gyutaro demon slayer #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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exhaslo · 6 months

Text

Puzzle Pieces Ch.5

(Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader)

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4

Warning: Eventual Smut so Minors DNI, mentions of abuse, blood, murder, language, fluff, bullying, mentions of sex

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You could feel how hot your cheeks were still. Ever since you had kissed Miguel's cheek, you couldn't stop thinking about him. He was so nice to you and such a gentlemen. Honestly, all you saw were green flags coming from him. You really wanted to keep seeing him and talking to him and just, enjoying how you felt around him.

You were currently at work, wrapping some meat for a custom order. It was strange. Immediately after your first date with Miguel, your work load got easier. You didn't feel as stressed or tired anymore that you were actually able to eat normally again.

"The usual?" Your supervisor asked.

Your ears perked up, turning your head. There was Miguel, whispering something before a bunch of men entered the third freezer. You watched as Miguel slowly walked by you, his hand swiftly patting your head.

Oh, you loved it when he did that. Miguel had started to pat your head every now and then. It was a small token of affection, but it made your body feel all warm and fuzzy inside. You thought it was silly, but you wanted Miguel to keep showing you such small affection like that.

"Clock out when I finish," Miguel whispered.

Your ears perked up and just nodded to his request. Once he entered the freezer, you scurried to your supervisor and informed him of your early leaving. Your supervisor just agreed with ease and let you finish your work.

----------

Miguel just drank in every loving look you gave him. It felt like you were so close to being his, but Miguel hasn't even kissed you yet. He was still warming you up to be his little wife. Miguel needed to know how comfortable you were with his part of his life.

Sitting against his chair, Miguel watched as his men took care of another Goblin Society member. He hummed towards the man's screams, still recalling your adorable expression to his head pats. Honestly, how innocent could someone be?

"Miguel, he isn't talking." Peter whispered. Miguel lazily glanced towards the pathetic man,

"Hobie, do whatever."

"Aye, finally."

Miguel leaned back, not interested in this anymore. He already had a long night dealing with Alchemax work, only to wake up to this fool snooping around his base. Miguel just needed his dose of stress reliever, aka you.

Once the screams finally stopped, Miguel inhaled deeply. He stood up and walked towards the body then faced his men. Taking a look at his watch, Miguel grunted lowly.

"Tighten security. The fact that such a worm like this attempted to sneak around is pathetic." He spat then turned towards Ben, "You and Jessica go to the port and check the shipment. I don't want anymore surprises."

With a wave of his hand, Miguel left the freezer first. He walked through the maze of boxes and exited. The hallway where the freezers were was empty as usual. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Miguel walked down the hallway, towards the deli.

You were looking better. It had only been two weeks since your first date, but things were changing for you for the better. Miguel made sure to have a word with the supermarket. He was going to take care of you little by little. You were deserving of his affection.

He on the other hand, did not deserve yours, but Miguel was sure as shit going to take it.

Making eye contact with you, Miguel watched as you hurried to clock out and get your stuff. Miguel was a greedy man. He always took what he wanted. That or it just happened to land on his lap, just like you did.

"S-Sorry, d-did I make you wait long?" You asked.

Miguel patted your head, enjoying the look you gave him. If only he knew it was this easy to win your heart. Miguel would have done this from the start.

"As promised, you get to pick the place for our date," Miguel said with a warm smile, walking you out of the supermarket.

"I-I saw there is this H-Halloween event in Central P-Park. P-Pumpkins, apple p-picking and some o-other stuff. C-Can we go there?" You asked him. Miguel helped you into the car,

"I'm not going to say no if it's where you want to go,"

"R-Really?!"

Watching you smile brightly, Miguel couldn't help but give in. If you wanted something, he was going to give it to you. Call it love, but Miguel was falling for you hard. His little bunny deserved everything, especially if you were going to be his.

-------

You squealed lowly as you and Miguel arrived at the event. Practically jumping in place, you grabbed Miguel's hand, wanting to look around. This was something new and actually fun. You hadn't had a chance to leave your apartment to do anything like this.

"Wah, look at those!" You whispered, spotting some stands that sold desserts.

Miguel just watched you, keeping his composure as he followed your every whim. Right now, he was outside his territory. Buying you a cupcake, Miguel watched as you stayed close to him, nibbling happily on the treat.

You couldn't stop smiling as you munched on your cupcake. For once, you actually went somewhere that you wanted to go. Not only that, but Miguel was treating you like his girlfriend. Following you around and getting you treats. It was making your heart flutter. Gripping his sleeve, you tried to hide your face as you kept enjoying your treat.

Miguel kept his arm was wrapped around you waist, keeping an eye out. Some of his men were around to keep guard, but Miguel still had to be careful. After all, everything worked out when he took care of it himself.

Miguel's goal was to have the whole city of Nueva York under his command. He was almost there, but there were still some small gangs and enemies who tried to stand in his way. Miguel wasn't going to let those scum win. Not when he was so close to being in charge of everything.

"Mhm~ Sure you don't want one?" You asked. Miguel leaned down towards you, his forehead against yours,

"If you let me lick off your crumbs," He whispered, watching your face turn bright red.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he wiped some frosting off you lip and proceeded to lick it off his finger. You squeaked and hid your face in your sleeve, while he scrunched up in disgust. Miguel was never a fan of sweets, but he'll do anything for you.

"W-Want....Want to pick out a p-pumpkin?" You asked lowly. Miguel played with you hair in response,

"Sure,"

You threw away your wrapper, still holding onto Miguel's hand. Your heart was racing since Miguel was the one who asked you to hold onto him at all times. You were feeling embarrassed. These dates were making you want Miguel more and more.

You were just scared.

Scared of another Eddie. You gave yourself the better of the doubt, wanting to believe Miguel to be different. So far, he sure did feel different, but deep down...You were still terrified of him turning around and turning into another Eddie.

Stopping at the pumpkin patch, you curiously looked around, wanting to distract your mind. You were having a good time with Miguel. It was best to avoid thinking about the past. Once you found the perfect pumpkin, you cheered quietly. You wanted to try and make your own pumpkin desserts. Give them to Miguel as a gift for taking good care of you. Picking up the pumpkin, you smiled and showed Miguel.

Right as you did, an explosion happened.

Miguel immediately grabbed you, pulling you into his embrace as he signaled his men to check it out. Miguel cussed lowly as he recognized the laughter to be Goblin's and his crew. Holding your head in place, Miguel swiftly picked you up and took you back to his car.

"M-Miguel," You whimpered, shaking as you still held your pumpkin.

"My driver will take you home. Text me when you arrive."

"W-Wait," You whimpered, putting your pumpkin down and hugging Miguel's waist, "P-Please...Please don't go."

"I have to," Miguel stroked your cheek and placed a firm kiss against your forehead, "Text me when you get home, mi amor. (my love)"

Your lips quivered as the car drove off. You watched as Miguel pulled out a gun and ran back to where the explosion was. Tears rolled down your cheek as you trembled in fear. You just wanted him to hold you a bit longer and tell you that everything was okay.

That's all you wanted.

---------

Miguel cussed in Spanish, angry that his date got ruined. Things were moving along quite nicely. Miguel actually felt like you were ready for him to kiss you. But, of course, like everything else good in his life, something had to happen.

"Take them down,"

----------

After a few hours of endless shooting and fighting, the Goblin and his crew ended up giving up. Well, Miguel got his hands dirty and beat the living shit out of the Green Goblin himself. Once the cops showed up, Miguel and his Spiders disappeared from the scene, leaving nothing but their webs of destruction.

Riding with Peter, Miguel finally looked at his phone and saw your text. He grunted lowly, recalling your tears before he parted. In an annoyed and demanding tone, Miguel told Peter to drop him off at your place.

It was a surprise, but Peter happily agreed. Teasing Miguel about finally finding love and whatnot. Miguel tuned him out since he knew that Peter was just going to show him more pictures of Mayday, his child.

"Peter, why don't you do something productive instead?"

----------

You whimpered lowly as you took the batch of pumpkin cupcakes out of the oven. You were still waiting for Miguel to text you back. It had been hours since you've heard from him. Five hours to be exact and you only knew that because it took you four hours to boil the pumpkin for the puree.

Placing the cookies down to cool, you gasp as you heard your door bell. Quickly, you rushed over and glanced at the peep hole. Seeing Miguel, you opened the door and tackled him in a tight hug. Tears rolling down your cheeks as you cried softly.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)." Miguel whispered as he wrapped his arms around you, bringing you back inside.

"I-I was s-so s-s-scared! M-Miguel, p-please..." You whimpered into his chest, then gasped moving away, "S-Sorry! I-I'm getting your shirt d-"

"I don't care about my clothes," Miguel shut the door and pulled you back into his embrace, "How are you? No lingering pain from that explosion earlier?"

This a new. Your eyes widen as tears rolled down your cheeks as Miguel observed you. He was worried about you. Asking about how you were doing. No one had ever asked if you were ever doing okay. Shaking, you gripped Miguel's sleeves and hugged him again.

"Thank you," You whispered. Miguel sighed as he stroked your hair,

"Sit down, Mi pequeño conejito (my little bunny). I need to talk to you,"

You slowly followed Miguel to your couch, rubbing your eyes. You sat beside him, noticing the furrow in his brows. This was the most annoyed you ever seen him. You played with your sleeves, worried about what this could be about.

"I need you to know about what else I do, aside from being a CEO at Alchemax."

Miguel glanced at you, watching you fidget in your seat. He scoffed lowly, wondering what you were nervous about now. Gripping his hands, Miguel tried to hold this out as longer. It was always a risk telling someone about his mafia business. He had to secure their silence before revealing his secret.

But how could he do that to you?

You could have gotten injured today because of the Goblin's bullshit. Miguel wanted to protect those he cherished. His mafia group was made to protect the innocent, despite how it seems. Fixing his posture, Miguel turned towards you.

"(Y/N), what do you know about the mafia?" He asked, making eye contact with you. You flinched,

"Um...I've watched...the G-Godfather."

"Dios Mio. (My God). Alright, my fault there, I set the bar too low," He said with a grin, "How do you feel about underworld business?"

"Hm...Not sure...what you mean,"

"(Y/N), is there anything you know about the criminal world?" Miguel asked, honestly wondering your innocence. You shook your head,

"N-Not really, just that...it's bad stuff. Um, I-I was always told...t-to keep my nose down...a-and not...not know about anyone."

Miguel raised you chin, his thumb trailing your cheek. His eyes motioned you to come closer, to which you did. Miguel could see the curiosity in your eyes. The anticipation you had the closer to got to him. Miguel kept his hand against your cheek, his body turning to face yours.

"How would you feel if I was one of those bad people?" Miguel whispered, his other hand bringing you waist closer to him.

"Y-You're not...bad to me," You whispered.

"Oh, but I am,"

Miguel's smirk grew wider as he sat you on his lap, his lips drawing closer to yours. Once he had you secured, Miguel stole your lips in a deep kiss. Your lips were soft and your grip was light. It was strange, but Miguel felt a connection.

--------

You trembled slightly as you drew closer to Miguel. Your body was getting hotter as your heart raced faster. Once you were on his lap, you resisted a whimper. His touch was so soft and warm. He was gentle as he stole your lips with a kiss.

You felt weak as Miguel kissed you. His kisses were deep, rough, but somehow kind. His hand held your head while his other held your waist. You could feel your body heating up. Parting your lips for air, you whimpered lowly as Miguel took the opportunity to slide his tongue inside your mouth.

Another whimper escaped your throat as you gripped onto Miguel's shirt. As if he understood, Miguel broke the kiss, letting you catch your breathe.

"Sorry, got carried away there," Miguel whispered, holding your waist still. You shook your head,

"I-It's fine...I enjoyed it." You admitted shyly.

Miguel raised a brow as you stopped shaking. He raised his hand to your cheek again, watching you nuzzle into his palm. He smiled, finally giving into what Peter said. Miguel pulled you into a hug, letting you rest against him as he stared at your shitty cieling.

You belonged to him now. Miguel was going to hold off telling you about his mafia business. As much as he wanted to inform you now, Miguel had to make sure you were secured with him before saying anything. It will take some time though.

"Miguel," You whispered, slowly falling asleep, "I...made you...some pumpkin cookies,"

"I'll make sure to try them," Miguel hummed.

Once you fell asleep, Miguel inhaled deeply. You smelled delicious, probably from your soap. Miguel rubbed your back, his eyes glancing at the rim of your shirt. He wanted to see what you were hiding, but he knew that you needed to tell him.

That and he might lose his temper if there was something he did not want to see.

"Best not to think of that. Let me just enjoy this moment."

Closing his own eyes, Miguel decided to rest. He was comfortable with having you in his arms. This was a first and defiantly, not the last.

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