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mypoisonedvine · 1 year

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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 (part one) | neil lewis x reader

title comes from the song you already know by bombay bicycle club

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you've been best friends with neil basically your entire life, and secretly in love with him almost as long. will you ever find the courage to tell him the truth?

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10k

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | smut, angst, pining/unrequited love - 18+ only

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | alcohol consumption, 'kid' as a petname, reader being kind of a femcel, jonathan being kind of mvp??

Neil had asked you to make sure the Thriller section was alphabetized; sometimes you thought he was just giving you tasks to look busy, but then again, you could probably use it since the employees of Gumshoe Video never looked very busy. You spent most of the day on the couches, watching whatever old bizarre gem Neil put on— sometimes you thought he only had employees other than himself so that he could pay people to sit here and watch this stuff with him.

But, the point is, you were sorting tapes. Because everyone needs their VHS thriller movies to be in perfect alphabetical order.

There actually was a customer in the store, for once, so it was better not to be on the couch anyhow. You hadn’t really noticed him when he came in, but as he wandered around the shelves, he seemed to drift towards you.

You tried to ignore him when he stopped right beside you— and kneeling to look at the lowest shelf, he towered over you— but when you stood up he got your attention.

"Need any help, sweetheart?" he asked, leaning in a little too close. "I'm kind of a movie buff."

He had a frat guy kind of look about him— polo, boat shoes, quaffed blonde hair. He could be good-looking, you thought, if he didn’t dress like a discount Abercrombie model… and if he didn’t hit on random women at the video store. "I actually work here," you corrected, barely looking up from your task. This is why we need uniforms instead of just dressing up to promote specials…

"Oh, really?" he smirked. "What made you wanna work in a place like this?"

"My best friend owns the place," you explained, "and I'm, you know… kind of a movie buff."

"Right," he said, not seeming convinced. "You like Kubrick?"

You rolled your eyes so hard you almost choked: Wow, what a deep cut. But you kept a straight-ish face when you looked at him. "Yeah, he's pretty good. Don't care for how he treats his actors, but he was certainly a visionary."

"What are your top five favorite Kubrick movies?"

You knew this guy was a tool, but you were still a bit shocked that he actually had the gall to quiz you. "Excuse me?" you scoffed incredulously.

"Can you even name five?" he asked, looking horribly proud of himself, and you straightened up as you glared at him.

"You're heterosexual, right?" you asked him, getting a confused nod. "Can you name five women you've made come?"

Neil watched the guy storm out, Lucien cringed a bit from behind the register— and Jonathan, not seeming as if he had been paying attention at all, kept laying across the couch and tossing a ball up in the air to catch and throw again.

“Okay, that’s gotta be the third this week,” Lucien groaned. “What are you saying to these guys?”

“Nothing worse than what they’re saying to me,” you assured with a frustrated, sarcastic smile.

“Listen, don’t get me wrong,” Neil began, “that guy totally deserved it— but maybe, you know… work on your demeanor with customers?”

“Wow,” you scoffed as you crossed your arms, “do you think I should smile more, too?”

“Wha— no!” Neil denied.

“Yes,” Lucien said at the same time, though he changed his answer with an awkward cough and mumble when you both shot him a look. “No, no— you’re good— you smile too much, even…”

“I don’t mean it like that,” Neil promised. “But I think half the guys that come here are just coming here to see you! Nobody even rents movies anymore.” He groaned a little, dropping his shoulders defeatedly. “Can’t you… tell them you’ll go out with them if they rent something?”

“What?!” you squeaked. “No!”

“Sales would double,” Lucien nodded.

“No,” you said again. “I’m not letting you pimp me out to sell tapes, Neil.”

“I just mean— maybe you don’t really go out with them,” he suggested. “Just… allude to the fact that you’re only interested in guys who…”

He trailed off as he searched around the shelves for a bit, smiling when he snagged a copy of The Maltese Falcon.

“— in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” he grinned, “you know— for example. Then they rent it to impress you and we make a few bucks.”

“I am only interested in guys who like The Maltese Falcon,” you frowned, snatching the tape away and shoving it back on the shelf. “But that’s not the point.”

“Maybe you have to be more straightforward, you know,” Jonathan butted in as he sat up, “guys are dumb.”

“Yeah!” Neil agreed a little too easily.

“Just say something about how a massive VHS collection turns you on,” Lucien suggested, and you glared at him.

“Jesus!” you protested, but Neil tried to soothe you a bit.

"C'mon, kid, can't you just… flirt a little? Get our sales up?"

He'd started calling you kid since you two watched Casablanca together— which was especially stupid as you were both twelve at the time. At first you complained because he shouldn't be calling you kid with you both being kids; then you complained because neither of you were kids; and then you gave up. You still punched Lucien for trying to call you that once… you only barely let Neil get away with it anyways.

But you let Neil get away with a lot. It was a side effect of being secretly, but massively, in love with him.

It had been an issue since middle school— that was when the two of you became such good friends. Technically, you’d known each other since first grade (where you had shared your crayons, a true test of friendship at the time), and you’d sort of had a crush on him as early as elementary school (mainly because he was the only boy you could stand at the time), but it all kicked into high gear in seventh grade. That was when you became inseparable, when you got in trouble together, when you stayed up all night watching movies, when you went through all of life’s ups and downs together: you even went to prom together, platonically of course.

As for your feelings, you’d managed to hide them this long and still be his best friend, even when it sometimes felt like letting him stomp all over your heart without even trying. Honestly, the only thing harder than being in love with Neil was trying not to be in love with Neil: you adored his sense of humor, his generosity, his sensitivity— and he’d been there for you through the things you couldn’t have imagined surviving alone. That kinda stuff bonds you to somebody… and when that somebody has the most gorgeous eyes you’ve ever seen, it’s hard not to fall in love.

“Maybe I would flirt if I knew how,” you offered. “But I’m not exactly, you know, flirty.”

“How hard could it be?” Jonathan interjected. “Just, you know—”

You stared in quiet disbelief as Jonathan attempted to push his chest together with his arms. It wasn’t quite working, of course, and the rest of you watched on as he fumbled around trying to force some cleavage. “You look like an idiot,” you finally informed him after letting him do it for a minute.

“But is he wrong?” Lucien wondered.

“So, what, you guys really think that if I just went up to customers and—” you pushed your breasts together with your arms, accentuating them significantly in your tank top.

“That would work,” all three men asserted in unison before you could even finish.

“I fucking hate you guys,” you grumbled under your breath as you walked to the back, deciding to take your break in Neil’s office until these guys got their act together.

You never stayed gone for long, though— as idiotic as they could be, your friends were certainly charming. They won you back with a promise to let you pick what tape to put on, and the four of you ended up laying on the couches watching Roman Holiday.

When the movie was almost over, you rested your head on Neil’s shoulder; you guys did stuff like that, it was normal for you, but it always made your heart skip anyways.

This time, you were all hanging out at Jonathan’s primary workplace: the club. In fact, it was a much larger crowd than just you and the guys— plenty of your local friends and loyal supporters of Gumshoe Video, all sitting around a big table while someone’s mediocre cover band took the stage.

"So, uh, me and Denise broke up," Neil said suddenly, going back in for another swig of beer right after.

The others offered their mild shock and half-hearted condolences, but you knew it was going to happen— he'd told you before he did it. You tried to tell him that paying off a waiter to spill water on her was a weird way to prove what he already knew, but you couldn't disagree with his conclusion. She was definitely difficult, and shockingly judgemental for someone who managed to date a video store owner for this long.

“No, it’s fine, it’s fine,” he promised, “I don’t think anybody’s too surprised, right?”

There was an awkward hesitation among the group as they wondered if they should lie, or just fess up now that he was obviously accurate. You broke the silence to suggest someone go get another round of drinks for the table, and even though that was pretty much a one-man job, nearly everyone agreed and quickly shuffled off— leaving just you, Neil, and Lucien.

“I guess tonight’s your chance to meet somebody new, don’t you think?” Lucien suggested. “Get over Denise, you know.”

“I think I’m already over Denise,” Neil decided.

“And if I told you that girl back there,” Lucien returned, pointing with the hand still holding his drink, “has been looking over here at you for the past ten minutes?”

You glanced where Lucien was pointing as well, seeing a girl in a denim mini skirt and massive hoop earrings settle her eyes on Neil before looking away quickly with a lip-gloss lacquered smile.

“I think I need some help getting over Denise,” Neil agreed suddenly, patting Lucien on the back before he left the table.

You wanted to pout, but you were used to this— he was good-looking, he got a lot of attention from women in places like this… it usually didn’t work out for him, though. Certainly not never, probably more often than most guys, but… definitely not every time.

You tried not to look over too much, you didn’t want to get caught spying or, even worse, looking a little jealous— but you noticed that every time you looked over at them, Neil was talking. That was his problem, see: he never fucking shuts up. Guys, girls, anybody who will listen— if you admit to not knowing about his favorite fifty-year-old spaghetti western or the most recent pre-Code horror comedy he watched, he’ll gladly blab to you about it for ages. The first time you glanced at them, you saw her giving him doe eyes, laughing at something he said— and the last time, those eyes had glazed over and her laugh seemed more nervous and confused; you smirked to yourself. He’s still Neil…

“So, um,” you struck up a conversation with Lucien, “what about you? Anybody here catching your eye?”

“That’s actually the perfect descriptor of my type,” he replied. “Anybody.”

You snorted. “Then you should go, you know, talk to anybody?”

He shrugged and frowned a bit, and it was a simple movement but you understood completely.

The band started to play a new song, something upbeat and energetic, and you smiled. “Wanna dance with me?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m drunk enough for that—” Lucien began to protest, but a minute later you were dragging him up by the stage. Neither of you were actually any good at dancing, mainly you were just kind of jumping and flailing around together, but it was fun and that was the point.

Eventually, more of your friends wandered in to join you; when the song ended, everyone clapped and cheered, the band bowing in gratitude. You only stole one more look over at Neil and his conversation partner, watching her interrupt his rant with a hand on his shoulder: your throat felt a little dry. You just hoped what she was saying was more like hey, my friends are leaving, I’ve gotta go and not hey, wanna come over to my place so you can keep explaining German expressionism to me?

Your heart dropped when he reached for her— what if he kissed her now? What if he wrapped her up under his arm and they walked out together? What if you had to spend the whole night thinking about him having sex with her?

“Hey, we should ask them if they know any Strokes songs!” Lucien suggested, tugging on your arm to get your attention, but your mind was elsewhere.

“Uh huh, yeah,” you mumbled blankly, and he frowned at you.

“What’s going on?” he asked, trying to look for what you were seeing; but Neil wasn’t reaching for her, he was lifting his hand to wave goodbye as she left. You beamed, even though you did feel a little bad when you saw Neil’s shoulders sink— it’s not that you wanted him to be alone forever, you were just relieved that you might have a few more moments to breathe before he got with somebody again.

“Nothing, sorry,” you answered Lucien, giving him your attention again. “What’d you say?”

“We should ask the band if they—”

And immediately, Lucien lost your focus as you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at Neil again— he was already looking at you, seeing you all on the dancefloor. You waved for him to join you, and he smiled as he made his way towards the stage. A new song began, even louder than the last, and you could blame that for not hearing Lucien’s question for the second time in a row.

Although he danced with you all for a few moments, Neil draped his arms over your and Lucien’s shoulders, nearly yelling to be heard over the music.

“You guys are coming over tonight for a movie, right?” he presumed. “Jonathan’s working ‘til late so he’s out, but—”

“Sorry, I’ve gotta be up early,” Lucien explained, “my brother and his wife are visiting, remember? We’re getting brunch and—”

“Whatever, party pooper,” Neil frowned, before suddenly smiling at you. “Guess it’s just me and you, huh, kid?”

You tried not to sigh too noticeably through your smile. “Yeah, me and you…” you agreed.

As you groggily blinked your eyes open, you found Neil staring at you, his face uncomfortably close to yours, with a big smile. “Mornin’, kid,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

You yelped and nearly jumped out of your skin while he laughed. “Jesus Christ, Neil!” you shouted, kicking off the blanket on you— and then you began to process where you were and why. “God,” you groaned as you held your head in your hands, while Neil kept laughing at you, “did I fall asleep on the couch again?”

It was sort of a rhetorical question— obviously you had, it would be much stranger if you woke up on the video store couch without having fallen asleep there. “Yeah,” he said, standing up and sighing a bit, “but you didn’t miss that much of the movie.”

“What happened at the end?” you asked, stretching your legs and snatching the blanket off the floor to fold up; Neil must have put it on you after you dozed off.

“No, we can finish it later,” he decided, walking up to the register, and you groaned.

“Seriously? Not even falling asleep gets me out of finishing The Man Who Laughs?”

He smiled a little as he started prepping the store for open. “Nope,” he said proudly, popping his lips on the p sound.

“It’s not that I didn’t like it,” you assured, getting up and trying to ignore the soreness in your back from sleeping on a ratty old sofa all night— you remembered helping Neil carry this thing from where he found it on the side of the road. Considering you knew where it came from, it was a wonder you ever sat on it, let alone slept on it… but this happened relatively often. Sometimes it almost felt like you slept easier here or at Neil’s apartment than your own.

You stood up and stretched your arms, sparing a glance over at him.

“Can I run home and change?” you asked, and he frowned.

“We open in ten minutes,” he noticed, “you won’t be back in time.”

“Yes, and who will serve the clamoring crowds that await our open outside?” you rolled your eyes, gesturing out the storefront to the abandoned sidewalk. “You can handle it on your own.”

“Just go to my place,” he shrugged, “it’s closer. And I think you left some jeans there anyway.”

Right— you’d borrowed a pair of his sweats to get comfy for a movie night, and forgot to take the jeans back when you left. You yourself had one of Neil’s short-sleeve button-ups at your place, when you’d both changed there for a costume party, but you let him believe it was just lost… it was too late to tell him now that you had it, ‘cause then he might ask why you kept it so long and then he might, somehow, deduce that you had been cuddling it at night from time to time…

“Right, okay,” you nodded, “but I still need a shirt.”

“Just borrow one of mine,” he said, like it was no big deal at all and didn’t make your heart skip.

For a second you wondered if you should protest— if he was still dating Denise, you probably would’ve said something. But you decided not to say anything, in case he changed his mind; you nearly bolted out of the store and down the two blocks to his apartment.

Your jeans were on the dresser, draped haphazardly in their same just-peeled-off shape you must have left them in last week. You grumbled to yourself a little about how he could’ve folded them for you so they wouldn’t be wrinkled… but then again, all his jeans were wrinkled, so he clearly didn’t know any better.

And now the fun part: picking a shirt. You smiled to yourself as you opened the drawer, perusing through t-shirts with old movie posters and semi-witty slogans… cute, sure, but those were pretty similar to what you already wore.

But the button-downs? Those were quintessential Neil, and you'd be wasting an opportunity if you didn't put one of those on.

You felt a little giddy as you opened the next drawer down and found them all folded. The first one you saw had light blue and white stripes, so you snatched it up and slipped it on.

The fit was definitely off, but you let yourself indulge in a fantasy for a moment: waking up here, in Neil's bed… in Neil's arms. You'd slip on his shirt while you went to find some breakfast, and he'd hum something about how pretty you look in his clothes, and you'd end up tangled in the sheets again not too much later.

Sighing to yourself, you buttoned the last button, leaving the two at the top undone so you didn't look too formal, and headed back to the store for opening.

Neil stared at you for a second when you walked in— at the shirt, specifically. You waited for him to say something, but he didn't. "What, should I not wear this one?" you asked, looking down at it as well, and he shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine— sorry," he mumbled, "just start sorting out last night's returns, please."

You definitely got a much stronger reaction from Jonathan, as soon as he walked in the door.

(Why was he here when he wasn't even working today? Who knows— he was just always here somehow.)

“Hey! You look even more like a lesbian than usual,” Jonathan greeted with a peppy fake-smile as he approached you, and you smirked a bit.

“Don’t blame me, it’s his shirt,” you nodded towards Neil.

“See, I told you you dress like a— wait,” Jonathan stopped mid-insult, looking back at you, then at Neil again, then at you; he pointed his fingers at each of you, crossing them back and forth. “Did… you two…?”

You narrowed your eyes, waiting for him to explain what he meant.

“Did you guys hook up?!” Jonathan accused, wide-eyed.

You felt your face getting warm, and you stammered out your denial; Neil started waving his hands in disagreement as well, but Jonathan was already on a roll.

“Oh my god!” he yelped. “The one time I miss movie night here and it gets freaky! Should’ve known better than to leave you two lovebirds alone—”

“Jonathan, we didn’t—” you choked.

“It’s not— it wasn’t—” Neil butted in. “She just borrowed my shirt! ‘Cause she— because—”

“I mean, we’ve kinda all been waiting for this to happen— but I never really thought it would,” Jonathan steamrolled along. “Well, yeah, I guess I thought it would, I just—”

“Wait wait wait, what?” Neil shook his head, stepping up closer to the two of you. “What does that mean?”

Finally, he seemed to get Jonathan’s attention, who began to nervously backtrack as both of you stared at him. “W-well, I just mean—” he started.

“And who’s ‘we all’?” Neil noticed. “This isn’t just you, thinking this?”

“I… I mean,” Jonathan scoffed, “you know— just, just some people… we thought that maybe… that since you two are so close, that you might—”

“Wow,” Neil chuckled, crossing his arms in disappointment. “You know, that’s so reductive. For a bunch of progressive, free-thinking hipsters—” he waved his hands as he said it in a mocking way— “you’re really just, like… like… you know, not! ‘Cause apparently men and women can’t really be friends?”

“No, come on, not like that,” Jonathan denied, “of course we can—”

“I mean, you’re her friend, you’re both single,” Neil noticed, gesturing between the two of you, “why don’t you two, just, you know… hook up!”

You cringed a little as Jonathan tugged at his collar nervously. “Well, I—”

“Come on, why not?” Neil went on, smiling at the suggestion even though he was clearly unamused. “I mean, she’s nice, she’s pretty, she’s got a vagina— why don’t you hit on her?”

“Hey, come on, Neil,” Jonathan sighed, “I’m well aware she’s got a vagina—”

“So what’s the problem?” Neil insisted. “Clearly you can’t just be friends with someone with a vagina—”

“I would really prefer if we didn’t talk about my vagina anymore,” you mumbled nervously.

“— how come you never hit on her, Jonny?” Neil pressed, backing him into a corner metaphorically— but also somewhat literally, he was leaning in and Jonathan was pressing his back more and more against the shelves.

“You really want me to answer that?” Jonathan replied, almost threatening. That made you furrow your brow a bit. It seemed like a rhetorical question, Neil trying to prove a point, but you didn’t expect Jonathan to have a literal answer.

“Yeah, sure,” Neil decided, “enlighten us.”

Neil glanced at you, like you were just as gung-ho about this interrogation, but you were feeling a little sick. You understood the spirit of Neil’s argument— and technically, you agreed with him— but it still stung to see him so incensed at the suggestion of you two together. You were trying not to take it personally, it wasn’t like he was disgusted by you or anything… he even said just now that you were pretty, and he’d told you that before, but… it still bothered you a little, for reasons you couldn’t quite describe and that you were sure were illogical.

“I never hit on her,” Jonathan answered, lowering his voice, “because I… I figured it would piss you off.”

That seemed to surprise you both, maybe for different reasons; you bit your lip to suppress a smile. Did Jonathan really think Neil was that protective over you? “Why would it piss me off?” Neil wondered, but he sounded a little defensive— defensive in a caught-red-handed sort of way.

“I… I don’t know,” Jonathan shrugged. “That’s just the vibe I got, okay? That she’s sorta… off-limits.”

Neil hesitated. “Well… she’s not,” he decided. “You’re grown-ups. Whatever you wanna do is none of my business— as long as you’re not being, you know, creepy or an asshole.”

“Of course,” Jonathan agreed, most of the tension settling as Neil backed up a step.

“Okay, well, ask her out then,” Neil instructed firmly.

“I didn’t say I wanted to!” Jonathan sputtered.

“Neil, Jesus!” you complained simultaneously, and he seemed to relent, shrugging as he walked back to the register.

“Sorry, sorry,” he dismissed, “just letting you know it’s… fine with me!”

You rolled your eyes a bit and looked back at Jonathan. “Sorry,” you offered him quietly, “he’s… I don’t know. He gets weird about that.”

“Oh really?” Jonathan scoffed sarcastically. “Didn’t notice.”

“The real reason you shouldn’t be hitting on me is because we’re coworkers, by the way,” you reminded him.

“Hey, I only work here part-time,” Jonathan noticed, “so I think that means it’s cool as long as we only go out part-time.”

You snorted, but he seemed to get nervous.

“You know I’m kidding, right?” he added quickly, and you nodded with a laugh.

"You know, I was thinking— we don't have many events at the store these days,” Neil mumbled around a bite of pretzel, watching you play your turn at Skee Ball. Normally he would put coins in the machine beside yours and try to beat your score, but the other machine was out of order and you decided to take a relay race approach. “What if we did, like, I don’t know… maybe a double feature for a couple bucks?”

“Neil, we show movies every night,” you sighed, “and we invite everybody, and ninety-nine percent of the time it’s just some combination of me, you, Jonathan, and Lucien.”

“Yeah, but this time we could do movies that more people like— a little easier to watch,” he suggested, “something that would get new people in the store.”

“New people don’t wanna sit on a musty old couch with strangers,” you reminded him, and he nodded as he chewed and swallowed his next bite.

“You’re right,” he agreed, holding the pretzel out towards you. “Wanna bite?”

You were trying to get through your skee balls pretty quick, so you just leaned your head over and chomped down on the end of one of the twists while he held it for you. You hummed in appreciation— it was pretty good, fresher than the last one you guys got here.

Visits to the arcade used to be your thing, back in high school (aside from watching movies, but that was a given). Then you slowed down with the trips, feeling a little old and out of place surrounded by kids— but the problem was, this place wasn’t filled with kids anymore. It hadn’t changed much at all since you were both in high school, and that was exactly the issue: it was old, run-down, a bit grimey… kids weren’t coming to arcades anymore anyways, they were all on the Internet apparently. So, while you and Neil sort of appreciated having the place to yourself, it also broke your heart knowing your old haunt couldn’t hold itself together forever… you two visited not just to recapture some old childhood joys, but to try to do your part to keep the business afloat.

You pretended to like being here— because you really did want to support the place, and Neil wanted to keep coming back— but it actually made you pretty fucking sad. Surrounded by all the neon, the noisy pinball machines, the Dig Dug machine that had a fifty-fifty chance of stealing your quarters, the photobooth (you still had some strips from that thing pinned to your wall, some so old that they’d faded from the sunlight that came in your window each day); it all felt sort of eerie now. You would’ve never known all those years ago how little this place would change, even though you never expected it to— you would’ve never known how little anything would change. Neil was still by your side, but still so far away… if you could talk to that fourteen-year-old girl now, you would warn her that no amount of time spent running around this place and playing Street Fighter was going to make Neil love her, or you.

But here you were anyways. “Woo!” you cheered when your final score came through: 50,765. “Beat that!”

Neil set the pretzel down on the bar-height table (on a pile of napkins, don’t worry, neither of you trusted those tables that much) and brushed the salt off his hands with a scoff. “Oh please, I can beat that with my eyes closed,” he assured as you crossed your arms.

As he put his quarters in and stepped up to the game, you smiled wide. “Alright, if you say so.”

You came up behind him and covered his eyes with your hands, making him jump and then laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Just keeping you honest,” you giggled, holding on tight even when he tried to move his head around so that he could see.

He did his best, usually struggling to even find where the balls were coming down more than rolling them decently— but after the first three went in the gutter without even scoring, you knew he didn’t stand a chance. He did score a few times, but when the buzzer went off and he lifted your hands from his eyes, he laughed at the pitiful 1,150 on the board.

“Ohh, that’s too bad,” you winced, “guess you’re just full of it.”

Still holding your hands away from his face, he spun around and twirled under your arms like you were dancing for a moment; it ended with him face-to-face with you, swinging your hands back and forth a bit to force you to twist with him slightly. “Wanna play Street Fighter next?” he suggested quickly. “I know I can beat you at that.”

The giddy joy of the moment dropped and shattered; if you thought about it too much, you probably could’ve cried right then. As pathetic, yet oddly aesthetically pleasing, as it would be to cry in an arcade, you swallowed down the emotion and smiled back at him. “Yeah, okay,” you agreed.

You’d been a little antsy all day— Neil seemed to notice, asking a couple times if you were okay, but you just nodded and shrugged it off. He had a sense for when you were lying; but that’s the thing, you weren’t lying, really. You just weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you should say anything. And yet, you felt a little guilty not telling him everything that was going on with you— not just guilty, but plain weird. Because you usually did tell him everything— except, you know, the thing— but you didn’t know if you should talk about this. Not that you couldn’t— but should you?

So you were sort of gnawing on your lip most of the day, keeping yourself busy with tallying late fees behind the desk, trying to keep conversation light and meaningless: thankfully, in that regard, Jonathan and Lucien made it pretty easy.

“Okay: fuck, marry, kill,” Jonathan began, “Dracula, the Mummy, and the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

“Dude, I can’t answer that,” Lucien refused.

“Okay, then Neil, what would you do?” Jonathan changed his target.

“Um, well,” Neil pondered, “I think I’d have to kill Dracula— spare the world from that evil, you know— and I guess I’d marry the Mummy—”

“Freud would like to have a word,” Lucien butted in.

“And I’d fuck the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” he concluded, “out of morbid curiosity.”

You snorted, but didn’t look up from your clipboard. “You come up with one that Lucien will do,” Jonathan challenged Neil.

“Alright, uhh, let’s see…” Neil stalled as he thought, looking up at the ceiling and stroking his chin dramatically. “Fuck, marry, kill: Sarah Connor, Ripley, and Trinity from Matrix.”

“Okay, see, that’s a real challenge,” Lucien affirmed. “If I marry Trinity, do I have to live in the post-apocalyptic wasteland or can she live here?”

“You’d have to live in the Matrix,” Jonathan announced, like it was obvious.

“Hm,” Lucien pondered, “do I know it’s a false reality? Does she know?”

“She knows, you don’t,” Neil decided.

“Is she gonna tell me? What if she has another guy on the side in the real world?”

“Okay, you’re overthinking this,” Jonathan groaned.

“And is this the Sarah Connor that’s already had John? ‘Cause if not, I can’t kill her, or the human revolution stands no chance— but if she has him, I can’t marry her, ‘cause I’m not ready to be a stepfather—”

“You’re useless,” Jonathan informed him flatly.

“Well, it’s easy then,” you offered, still tallying fees on the printed table. “You fuck Connor, marry Ripley and kill Trinity.”

“Yeah, I guess that works,” Lucien shrugged.

“If you’re so good at this game, you should play,” Jonathan decided. You looked up from your work for once, finding Lucien looking excited at the idea and Neil looking a little nervous but intrigued.

“I’ve got one for you,” Lucien decided, looking concerningly smug. “Fuck, marry, kill: the three of us.”

Jonathan let out a giddy ‘ooh’ and Neil raised his eyebrows. “Oh— I don’t know— that’s too weird,” you shook your head, “it’s different, you’re real—”

“Wait, wait,” Neil interrupted, “now I wanna know.”

You froze for a second, wondering if you should double down on not participating, or if you should tell him the first thing that popped in your head: am I allowed to do all three to you?

Instead, you set the clipboard down and crossed your legs, and the men seemed to straighten up as they prepared for your answer. “Alright,” you said, looking at them for a lingering moment before sighing. “I think I’d fuck Jonathan, and then kill myself.”

“Yes,” Jonathan hissed, shaking his fist triumphantly.

“Dude, really?” Lucien snapped at him. “That didn’t sound like a compliment to me.”

“Don’t care, I stopped listening after ‘fuck Jonathan’,” he replied. “Alright, Neil, you’re gonna have to make good on that ‘she’s not off-limits’ promise you made to me—”

But Neil wasn’t listening to Jonathan, he was still looking at you. “Wait— you wouldn’t marry me?” Neil interrupted, putting a hand on the desk and leaning in a bit closer— he looked half-amused and half-offended, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Um…” you started to wonder how to defend yourself from that. What did he expect you to say? Yes, I’d marry you, I’ve actually been planning our wedding since junior year.

“Hold on,” Lucien stopped you, “if she fucks you and marries you, that means I’m getting killed!”

“Yeah, so?” Jonathan smirked.

“What, you don’t think I’m marriage material?” Neil laughed… but he didn’t seem like he was really joking, per se. He didn’t seem serious either, of course, but you decided to take his question seriously since he’d dared to ask it twice.

“Well,” you mumbled, “no. I don’t.”

Then he seemed a bit more serious, adjusting his posture a bit. “Why not?”

“I mean… you’re my best friend,” you reminded him, “but… you’re not reliable.”

He nodded, pursing his lips together.

“You’re not ready for marriage,” you continued. “I mean, I think you’re just as sure of that as I am.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“And honestly? You’re a great friend and all, but… if you were my husband, I don’t think I could really… you know, trust you…”

The silence seemed a little heavy— all the men were sort of frozen for a second, you wondered if you should wave your arm around to make sure time hadn’t stopped. But they did move, Neil first in fact, as he stopped leaning on the counter and nodded a little.

“I’m just surprised that you didn’t fuck Dracula,” Jonathan said to Neil in an attempt to cut the tension, “considering your massive man-crush on Bela Lugosi.”

“Hey, that reminds me, tonight’s movie is Bela Lugosi Meets a Brooklyn Gorilla,” Neil announced, apparently shaking off whatever odd energy he’d picked up just before, “you in?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jonathan nodded, “should I bring drinks?”

“Uhh, yeah, why not?” Neil agreed.

“Is a six-pack enough?”

"Uh, maybe…” Neil considered, turning over his shoulder to look at you. “Kid, how many beers are you gonna want?”

You swallowed nervously. “Um, I… well, I’m not coming. I’ve got a date, actually.”

Of course it was just assumed that you would be there; you felt a little guilty admitting you wouldn’t, to the point that you almost considered just skipping said date and staying to avoid the awkwardness.

“Hey, great!” Jonathan said proudly, throwing his arms out wide.

“A date, huh?” Neil noticed, looking happily surprised. “Sorry, I— I didn’t know— you didn’t say anything—”

“No, it’s cool,” you shook your head, “it’s kind of a last minute thing… you know how they’re showing Rope at the Palace tonight? I met this, um, this guy the other day and we got to talking, and I asked him if he’d wanna come with me.”

“Rope, wow, that’s a great first date movie,” Neil nodded approvingly, “that sounds perfect.”

“Yeah— he hasn’t seen it, actually,” you admitted, smiling nervously, “so I guess how much he likes it will kinda be a good judge of if he’s worth going out again, right?”

Jonathan nodded approvingly, but Neil seemed skeptical. "Well, the showing isn't until nine— you can at least hang out until the movie starts, right?"

"I've gotta get home and get changed!" you explained

"You can't wear that to a date?" Lucien wondered.

"No!" you scoffed, looking down at your ripped jeans and Dracula t-shirt. "Besides, I have this whole plan of what I'm gonna wear— remember when we did Bonnie and Clyde for Halloween?"

Neil was Bonnie and you were Clyde, in fact; he looked shockingly good in that blood-red lipstick, you tried to convince him to wear it again but he insisted it was a one-night-only situation.

"I figure if I wear my Clyde suit, I'll look kinda like James Stewart!"

"You're doing drag on a first date?" Lucien pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, lighten up, I'm just dressing up for the movie— I'll still, you know, try to look pretty," you assured. "What, I don't look good in a suit? 'Cause I got a lot of compliments on Halloween—"

"No, hey, go for it," Jonathan decided, "it's festive!"

"I think it's cool," Neil agreed. "Have fun, alright? And if he creeps you out or something, call the store number and I'll come get you."

"I'm not really worried about—"

"You know? Just call the store when you get home," Neil decided, "so I'll know you didn't get murdered."

"Dude, chill," you groaned. "We're going to the movies, not, I don't know… hiking off-trail in the middle of the night."

You never agreed to call, but you did him one better: you ended up coming back to the video store afterwards, a bit over two hours later. Of course, the guys were still on the couch— apparently the movie was over but they were watching anime (undoubtedly something Jonathan had brought as a palate cleanser after the movie).

They all looked over at you when you came in the front door and the little bell rang; they seemed excited to see you, and presumably to interrogate you about the date. You sighed, knowing you couldn't have expected anything else, but you'd come here hoping they'd let you watch something with them so you could stop thinking about the date.

“How’d it go, hot stuff?” Jonathan purred, and you rolled your eyes as Lucien wolf-whistled.

“Oh yeah, it was awesome, best first date ever— I’m at his place having sex with him right now,” you frowned as you tossed your purse down onto the couch, and Lucien chuckled while Neil looked a little defeated.

“Not that great, huh?” Neil noticed.

“Was he a creep?” Jonathan assumed.

“Did he think the movie was bad?” Lucien pressed.

“No, no, he was great,” you sighed, “he loved the movie. We talked about it for a bit afterwards and he seemed to really understand it.”

“Okay! That’s good, right?” Jonathan said optimistically.

“Yeah— so good that I asked him when we could do this again,” you recalled, “and he said that he didn’t wanna lead me on and he wasn’t interested in seeing me.”

“What?!” Jonathan yelped, while Neil winced a little.

“He said I was really cool and funny and easy to talk to,” you explained, “but that he didn’t feel any chemistry.”

“Chemistry?” Lucien repeated, confused.

“He means he’s not attracted to me,” you clarified.

“What?” Jonathan scoffed again. “Why not?”

“I don’t know!” you whined, but you did know. “I think I’m just, like, friend material. I’m just ‘one of the guys’, you know? Not somebody you actually wanna be with.”

“But isn’t that what every guy wants? To date somebody who’s just ‘one of the guys’?” Lucien noticed, and then paused when everyone gave him an inquisitive look. “That sounded way less gay in my head. You get what I mean, right?”

“As much as I would love to never let you live that down,” Jonathan smirked, “you’re not wrong— like, a chick who can hang. That’s the best.”

“Well, here I am! Hanging!” you snapped. “Where’s my harem of suitors just desperate to date one of the guys?!”

“I mean, you are wearing a suit…” Neil noticed, getting a little defensive when you groaned and dropped your head back. “No, no, you look cool! I mean, you look really great. I’m not sure what he wasn’t seeing.”

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend!" Jonathan suggested. "And he was gonna cheat but he chickened out."

"Maybe he's intimidated by strong women," Lucien added, sounding more like he was quoting a Cosmo than actually thinking that.

"Respectfully, guys aren't that complicated," you assured. "If he wanted me, he would. He doesn't. It's not that deep."

Neil looked away when you said that.

"Well, come take a seat on the losers couch," Jonathan offered, but Neil sitting next to him frowned.

"You think I'm a loser?" Neil protested.

"No, I was talking about that couch," Jonathan said as he pointed to the other one which Lucien was on.

"I'm not even offended," Lucien decided, patting the spot next to him. "I'd rather be a loser with you than a winner with anybody else."

You smiled and plopped down next to him, pulling your legs up on the old sofa and finding the best angle to see the TV from. "Okay, catch me up," you requested, bracing for the barrage of borderline nonsensical exposition about whatever obscure anime Jonathan was forcing on the group this time.

Since the store closed at eight on Tuesdays, you and Neil decided to go out for a late dinner after locking up— the nearest place you usually walked to was a little hole-in-the-wall dishing out Thai fusion, and even though there were open tables inside, you took your paper boxes outside to eat together on a bench.

You each sat up on it with your legs crossed, facing each other, while he poked at his fried rice with his fork and you stirred your noodles with the chopsticks.

“The Palace is still doing their Hitchcock screenings on Sundays,” you recalled, “I think the next one is Rear Window. We could make Lucien man the store and go see it together?”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” he smiled. “But we gotta sneak in the candy, that place is getting so overpriced…”

“Well, that’s a given,” you laughed. “When I went on my date there I had Sour Patch Kids in my bag, but I was kinda craving Reese’s by the time the movie started..."

"That guy sounded like an ass, by the way," Neil announced with a frown.

"Oh, no, it's fine," you dismissed. "He was really nice, even when he blew me off, and I… I guess I wasn’t really expecting it to go anywhere, anyways.”

“Really?” Neil scoffed. “Then why’d you ask him out?”

Just in case. “I… I guess I’m trying to put myself out there more?”

“Huh? You’re trying to put out more?” Neil joked.

You rolled your eyes and unfolded your legs to kick him playfully. “You know what I mean,” you groaned.

“Yeah, yeah,” he admitted, “and I support it. It’s sort of insane that you’re still single.”

“Wow, thanks for the pep talk,” you rolled your eyes before shoving a thick swirl of spicy-sweet noodles in your mouth.

“No! I mean, like, I can’t believe you’re single,” he clarified, and you smiled somewhat awkwardly while chewing your mouthful. “You’re smart and fun and cool and pretty—”

Thanks to the food in your mouth, you didn’t have to worry about coming up with a way to respond to that, so you just shrugged.

“Seriously!” he insisted. “I mean, guys hit on you at the store— I wish somebody who actually deserved your attention would walk in that place.”

The guy I want is already there every day. Swallowing, you finally got a chance to talk to him again. “Thanks,” you sighed, “it’s fine, though. I mean, I’ve been single this long— I think I’ll survive.”

“Keep waiting for the right one, okay?” he encouraged, and your heart swelled.

“I will,” you promised, sounding more wistful than you meant to.

After a brief lull in the conversation, he cleared his throat and continued. “Hey, um, while we’re on the topic of Sunday, about the whole fuck-marry-kill thing—”

“I’m sorry,” you offered right away, “I shouldn’t have answered that. I wasn’t being serious, obviously.”

“No, I wanted to apologize,” he returned, “I shouldn’t have pressed you on your answer. It was funny. And it wasn’t like you could say you were gonna kill one of us.”

You snorted. “Yeah, that one was probably the worst of the three.”

“But I shouldn’t have asked you about what you would’ve done to me,” he shook his head, “I was making it weird. So, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you assured. “Did you really expect me to say I would marry you?”

“No,” he admitted, “I thought you’d say you’d fuck me, marry Lucien and kill Jonathan.”

“What?” you scoffed, though you were still smiling. “Why?”

“Well, Lucien would definitely make the best husband of the three of us,” he explained, “and Jonathan was the only one who wouldn’t have gotten butthurt about you saying you’d kill him. He probably would’ve just asked you to give him a nice send-off, y’know…”

You nodded in agreement, wondering if he was going to address the obviously missing third piece of all this… he sure was staring down into his empty fried rice container with intense focus…

“And, you know, as for me,” he began sort of thinly, “I, um… I guess I just figured, you know, you’re the most comfortable with me.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, “obviously, but maybe that would make it worse? Like, at least with Jonathan, I know that if we ever did hook up or something, it probably wouldn’t mess up our friendship. ‘Cause we’re friendly and all, but it’s not so serious. But with you…”

“Uh huh, well, that’s why it’s good it’s just a game,” Neil finished for you, chucking his trash in the nearest can. “Don’t have to worry about any of that stuff. Least of all you and I being married. Talk about a disaster.”

You choked on your throat. “Yeah. No kidding…”

“Well, anyways,” he sighed, standing up from the bench and stretching for a moment, “wanna come over and see if the game’s still on?”

“Oh, um, I’m just gonna go back to my place,” you decided, throwing away the last couple bites of your food on account of your suddenly-lost appetite. “Kinda thinking I should get my sleep schedule in order.”

“That’s good,” he nodded, “I respect that. Have a good night, then, kid.”

“Yeah, you too,” you breathed, waving as he turned and walked off into the night, tucking his hands into his jean pockets.

You looked down at your lap, taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes for a second. Did he have to be so sweet just to cut you down like that? Could he have even known how it would hurt you to say that?

It’s not even like he was wrong, but you were dying to ask him why he was so sure that you and him together would be so bad. What was wrong with you that he still couldn’t see you that way?

Not interested in this repetitive thought cycle anymore, and being very familiar with where it leads, you got up and started to walk down the street. You didn’t turn to go to your apartment, though; you kept going until you heard live music— scratchy, whiny guitars and throbbing bass drums— seeping out of the club. You just needed to be somewhere familiar that wasn’t the video store or home; and, this place conveniently also had liquor.

You slipped inside— hit by a wave of sound as you entered— and took a seat at the bar, half-listening to the band that was playing, pretending to be focused at all on what was going on in the outside world rather than just spiraling into your own thoughts inside your head.

“Hey,” Jonathan nodded at you from the other side of the bar, and you nodded back. He instantly started looking for Neil— of course he would— and you deflated a bit. “You here alone?” he noticed.

“Yeah,” you shrugged.

“Wow,” he smirked, “it’s like when Peter Pan’s shadow escaped.”

You should’ve probably been offended by that, but it wasn’t worth denying— and you were more interested in getting liquored up than justifying that you did, in fact, have a life outside of Neil.

And, actually, Peter Pan was a pretty good way to describe Neil, too. Fear of commitment, leader of freaks and outcasts, daydreamer… all he needed was some green tights. “What are you drinking tonight?” Jonathan finally asked.

“What pairs well with feeling completely unattractive and unlovable?” you sighed.

“Well, that would be my drink of choice: whiskey,” he smiled, setting a bottle down in front of you. “I’ll do a shot with you.”

He poured you both a shot, and you timed it to shoot it back together; he, obviously, took it better than you, and you cringed from the acidic flavor. "Jesus, people really drink this on purpose?" you grumbled.

"Yeah, give it a few minutes," he assured, "it's gonna numb all those stupid emotions."

"I don't have a few minutes," you sighed, "do you have anything more fast-acting?"

"Yeah— a second shot," he joked, but you nodded in agreement. "Okay, shit, you're not messing around tonight."

"Nope," you agreed, watching him pour just one shot this time. "You're not doing it with me?"

"I need to pace myself, I'm here 'til two," he explained.

He slid it to you and you contemplated it for a moment, before forcing yourself to get it down as quickly as possible to avoid the burn. You still grimaced, but recovered quickly.

"Is it working yet?" he wondered.

"I guess," you answered half-heartedly.

“Well, you could always gush to the bartender about all your problems?” he offered, but you just shrugged it off. “Come on, you wouldn’t be the first tonight. And since I know you, I might actually be able to help.”

“I don’t think you can help with this one,” you assured. “This problem has been going on longer than you’ve been around.”

“Oh?” he pressed. “Let me guess… boy troubles?”

“Isn’t it always?” you scoffed, irritated that he saw through you that quickly— apparently your reputation of being horrible with men preceded you.

“But this is just one boy,” he presumed. “One boy who… conspicuously isn’t here tonight…”

“Is it that obvious?” you wondered with a whine, dropping your head in your hand.

“Well, if you weren’t having any issues with him, you’d be with him,” Jonathan guessed— and it wasn’t bad logic.

“But, like, does everyone know?” you wondered. “Does everyone but him know that I’m in love with him? Oh god, Jonathan, you don’t think he knows, do you?”

“Wait— love?” he repeated, and you swallowed thickly as you realized the whiskey had already gotten you to say too much. “You… you’re…”

“Okay, so I guess not everyone knows,” you mumbled.

“No, yeah, I think you managed to keep that under wraps,” he assured with a nod, eyes getting wider. “Sheesh. No, I had no clue. Now it’s even weirder that you guys aren’t together.”

“Well, he doesn’t love me,” you explained flatly.

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, god no— I mean, he tells me he loves me,” you corrected, “but he doesn’t mean— we just say that, you know, like at the end of phone calls or when one of us is sad. It’s not, like… we never meant it that way.”

“Right, okay,” Jonathan nodded as he wiped a glass— the way bartenders do when they’re listening to people— but he didn’t seem to understand entirely. “So, you’re not his type?”

“I don’t think I know what his type is,” you scoffed. “I haven’t really noticed a pattern, have you?”

“You’d have to have a few more data points to really draw any connection between them,” Jonathan laughed.

“Yeah, fair,” you smiled, “he’s only had… I don’t know, maybe four girlfriends since I’ve known him? One in high school, for a month— then Eva, they weren’t even really serious, just dating for a while. And then, uh—”

“Tanisha,” he remembered.

“Right! I liked her,” you hummed.

“What happened to her again?” he wondered.

“Got back with her ex,” you recalled.

“Wow, that blows,” Jonathan sighed.

“She told me before she told him,” you admitted. “She wanted me to tell him for her, actually, but I… I couldn’t do that to him. But I came over right after, you know, and we ate ice cream from the tub and watched movies ‘til we fell asleep.”

Jonathan made a sort of face, one you couldn’t quite interpret, and you tilted your head as he seemed to mumble to himself.

“What?” you wondered.

“Nothing, it’s just… he’s kind of an idiot,” Jonathan decided. “I don’t think he gets how lucky he is.”

You wrinkled your brows together, laughing a bit. “What do you mean?”

“Look, I’m not saying he’s, like, legally obligated to fall in love with you just because you guys get along so well,” he clarified, “even if that’s what Neil accused me of thinking— I really do think it’s fine for men and women to just be friends.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m just saying… like, how do you have someone who cares about you that much, and you end up dating fucking Denise for almost a year?!”

“Well, nobody knows how he ended up with Denise,” you coughed. “That was a fucking disaster.”

“I mean, not to be crass, but, uh,” he stumbled a little over his words, “I’m surprised that you coming over after that breakup didn’t turn into a rebound, at least.”

“After eating that much ice cream?” you laughed. “That would’ve been awful.”

“But really, though,” he insisted. “I have a hard time believing the thought didn’t even cross his mind…”

“I can’t really be sure that it didn’t,” you admitted, “I’m just saying, nothing happened.”

“I guess he’s just known you too long to go for it with you,” Jonathan shrugged.

“It’s not just that— you know Neil, he’s kind of an adrenaline junkie,” you rolled your eyes, “or at least he thinks he is. He wants adventure, I guess— and he always talks about us doing spontaneous stuff but it never happens— and I’m just too familiar. Too comfortable.”

“Yeah, he does kinda have something against stability,” Jonathan agreed, “do you think it’s a divorced parents thing?”

“I don’t know, I stopped analyzing that a long time ago,” you groaned, “and I told myself I would stop trying to be what I thought he wanted, but I think I keep doing it.”

“Well, I know you know him better than anybody,” Jonathan countered, “but I know guys, and that guy… there’s no way he thinks of you as just a friend.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because he was fucking lying when he said it wouldn’t piss him off if we hooked up,” he insisted.

“You really won’t let that go, will you?” you grinned.

“Did you see his face? He couldn’t get the image out of his head!” Jonathan assured confidently. “And then that whole ‘fuck marry kill’ thing— he started getting nervous, I think.”

“Nervous about what?”

“That something could really happen with us!”

“You really think he would care?” you frowned.

“I swear to— to Ash Williams,” he decided, “that if I walked into that fucking video store, and told him that you and I did whiskey shots and you came back to my place and we did the horizontal tango, he would beat me to death with the register.”

“You swear on Ash Williams?” you repeated with a smirk, knowing that meant more than swearing on any deity would mean.

“Him and his chainsaw hand,” Jonathan assured, putting a hand over his heart to add to the bit, and you giggled.

“Well, I don’t think Neil can pick up the register,” you decided.

“In that case, you let me know the next time you wanna get back at him for something,” he offered with a wink, and you smiled at him sympathetically.

“I know you’re trying to be nice,” you sighed, “but you don’t have to do that.”

“Hey, come on,” he frowned, “I know you’ve got this I’m insecure I’m a weirdo nobody notices me thing, but you can’t actually think it would be some kind of charity work for me to sleep with you—”

“No, I don’t mean that,” you sighed, “I know I could get laid if I wanted to—”

“But you don’t wanna get laid,” he finished for you, “you wanna be loved.”

You sighed again, even harder. “Yeah,” you nodded.

“I know,” he agreed. “And you know I love you, but—”

“But not like that,” you took your turn finishing his sentence.

His only reply was raising the bottle of whiskey with a sideways smile, a silent offer to pour another shot— for both of you this time.

“Yes, please,” you hummed, watching him fill the miniature glasses with a sigh.

part 2

#neil lewis x reader #neil lewis smut #watching the detectives #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy smut #you know... eventually #but you have to get to part two for that lol

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goldendynastys · 2 months

Text

wonderland (pt. 1) | cs

summary: Being home alone with your pets has always put you on edge, especially at night when you get extremely anxious. You thought you were over it towards the end of your parents’ vacation, but when a random stranger breaks in one night and insists on taking you with him, everything you once knew had begun to change. You knew how your story would end, you just weren’t sure if it was for the better, or the worst.

pairing: choi san x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+, MDNI | yandere, angst, fluff, eventual smut word count: 8.4k warning/tags: yandere, kidnapping, manipulation, stockholm syndrome, obsession, somewhat toxic relationship, fast burn, reader is innocent, angst, arguments between san and reader, lots of fluff, pet names, i think that is it but please let me know if i missed anything (i’m new at this), i hope you enjoy reading! <3

disclaimer: all members of Ateez are faces and name claims for this story. this is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment, or representation of real-life people. any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real life scenarios.

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chapter one, always an angel, never a god (next →)

Growing up you always tried your best to stand out. Amongst your classmates, amongst your family. You did everything to make yourself unique, to be better. You wanted to be the best, and you tried so hard to achieve that. But in reality, you knew it was impossible, because there were a lot of people who were simply better than you. And you couldn’t compete with them, it was no use. So, you continued to be yourself, in hopes it would pay off and you would finally be the best at something, no matter what it was.

This notion of wanting to be the best most likely came from your family. It wasn’t anything your parents did per say, it was more your older brother. You loved him to pieces, but it seemed like he always got the most attention and adoration from your parents. You and your family’s lives weren’t normal (even though you hated saying those words, it made you cringe). Most families had lawyers, doctors, or strong business people within their families. Your family? Well, they were the leaders of the most popular biker gangs in town, known as the Sons of Chaos. Yeah, not a typical job for most families.

Your dad had become the leader after your grandfather had retired, and your brother was next in line to take over once your dad was ready to retire, which was coming sooner than expected. Because of this, your parents focused more on him and making sure he was ready to take this on, as well as applauding him for his hardwork and dedication to the organization. Your parents still loved you and were so proud of you, but it was obvious they cared more for your brother than they did for you. You can take care of yourself just fine, your folks don’t need to worry about you. It’s your brother they gotta pay attention to so he doesn’t fuck all of this up, a member of the gang once told you when you were fourteen years old.

You assumed it was in that moment, you realized you had to stand out if you wanted your parents proud of you. You had to defy their expectations, work hard and try to be the best in whatever areas you could be.

And you did exactly that for the next nine years. You excelled in school, getting the highest grades on all of your assignments, exams, and classes. You found a small passion for tennis and excelled in that as well, even getting a scholarship for college that would cover both your tuition and dorm. When you got to college, you continued these same patterns (high grades on everything, being a great tennis player), and also got accepted to a master’s program for an additional year at no cost.

But even with all of this effort, it didn’t seem to pay off. They were proud of your accomplishments, but it was still evident that they favored your brother and focused on getting him ready to become a leader of their gang. It broke your heart that after all of this time and hardwork, they were still focused on your brother, but from another perspective, it paid off in many ways. You got high academic honors, multiple awards for tennis, and into a great master’s program. You gave yourself these amazing opportunities, opportunities that were going to help shape your future and make it bright.

Instead of letting it consume you, you let it fuel you as motivation to keep going. Someday, someone would be proud of everything you’ve done, put you first and appreciate everything about you. You were looking forward to that day, to be a goddess amongst someone instead of just being a pretty angel like everyone else.

Other than your family’s biker gang and your extracurriculars, you had lived a quiet life for as long as you could remember. Some of it was by choice, since you loved staying in bed and watching movies, but also because you were a lonely person. You had friends, friends that you adored of course, but they were always busy and never reached out to see if you wanted to go out. So, since you couldn’t go out by yourself (unless you wanted to be murdered), you were forced to stay inside.

There were days where you hated it, resenting your life and criticizing yourself so harshly for staying in. You often wondered if you would regret it later on, worried that you weren’t living your life to the fullest. But you knew that wasn’t true, there were plenty of occasions where you went out, whether that was with your family or on vacation. You realized those were more special, as opposed to going out every weekend. That gave you some peace and closure, but those negative thoughts always came back to haunt you, no matter how hard you tried to fight it.

But this weekend was different. Well, these past two weekends, actually. Your parents and your older brother were going on vacation. A trip to the mountains, to be exact. They said it was for business, given the other biker branches of Sons of Chaos operating in the country and how they needed help from time to time. When you heard your parents and brother were going for work but also taking time for themselves to relax, it made your heart happy knowing they were getting some sort of a break. Despite your strange relationship, you still loved them and wanted them to rest and live their lives.

While they were away, you were asked to watch over the house and your pets, a dog named Spuds and a cat named Pumpkin. They required minimal care, since they were on the older side, but Spuds needed a little more attention than Pumpkin. You had to make his dinner, take him on walks and out to do his business, and sleep with him at night so he wouldn't get lonely (your dad and mom did all of this when they were home). All Pumpkin needed was to be fed once a day and have her litter box changed every couple days (you already fed her, but your dad was the one to change her litter box when he was home). So, your tasks for the pets weren’t hard to do, per se, it just prevented you from doing certain things for the week.

And you didn’t mind at all. You loved your pets and would do anything for them, but you also loved your parents and would do anything for them, too. They worked extremely hard and have given you and your brother a great life, so it was the least you could do. You often felt bad that you couldn’t pay them back in monetary ways to show how much you appreciate everything they did for you, but if there was anything they needed help with or wanted you to complete for them, you would do it in a heartbeat.

You wanted to give your family this, a week away from the chaos that was their life where they didn’t have to worry about anything. It made your heart happy knowing they were going on this trip. The only thing that seemed to bother you, however, was the nighttime and falling asleep.

Like the chronic overthinker you were, you were worried that someone was going to break into your house and hurt you. You put on the television and watched Bob’s Burgers in order to help you fall asleep and make sure the house wasn’t too quiet. Still, the little creaks and sounds you heard at night made your heart jump, worried that something bad was going to happen.

Nothing ever did, however. You were able to fall asleep and wake up in the early morning to everything the way that it was the day before. You were just hyper aware of everything and wanted to make sure everything was okay. So while your thoughts were too extreme and never manifested into anything bad, you kept telling yourself that you were okay and that nothing would happen.

You had almost gotten used to it towards the end of their vacation. You still played Bob's Burgers to help you fall asleep and add noise, of course, but you were much calmer than you were earlier in the week. In fact, you were getting excited to see your family again and for everything to go back to normal. As much as you loved having the house to yourself and sleeping next to your dog every night, you were ready to not be in charge anymore and just do whatever the hell you wanted.

The day had gone by as usual; you decided to get some groceries after your dad texted you that he and your brother needed stuff from the store. You went out in the early afternoon, going on a walk with Spuds earlier to get your steps and the dog’s exercise in for the day. You got yourself some treats while you were out that you could enjoy tonight, after you ordered in from your favorite restaurant. Additionally, you had enough money to treat yourself to some books and albums you wanted (thank God you had gotten paid a few days ago), and wanted to reward yourself for taking such good care of your pets and house for the week. The sun was out and the air was warm, making it a perfect day in your book.

After having your dinner and sweet treats, you found yourself growing tired and decided to go to sleep. You were happy it was the weekend and you didn’t have to worry about waking up early for work the next day. As usual, you put on Bob’s Burgers and fell asleep around eleven-thirty, a sense of happiness within you knowing your parents and brother would be home early tomorrow.

But you were awoken in the middle of the night to Spuds barking, which was something he never did. The TV had shut off due to the timer you put it on before you fell asleep, so it couldn’t have been another dog barking on the program you were watching. No, this was something else. Something that made your stomach drop with fear.

You immediately grabbed your phone and pressed your back against the door. Spuds wanted to go out and see who was downstairs, but you tried to calm him down. “Shh! Be quiet, someone’s here and I need you to stop barking,” you whispered in hopes Spuds would listen and actually stop (he did after you gave him a small treat).

You didn’t hesitate to call the police, your gut telling you this was an emergency and you desperately needed help. Once you dialed the number, however, you noticed your phone just kept ringing, no one was answering. You noticed that your phone wasn’t connected to the wi-fi, and your connection was extremely low. Odd. That never happened; even when the wi-fi was down, you were able to use the Internet and call people just fine. Why wasn’t it working now? Were the power lines destroyed by a large tree? It made no sense, but you kept calling in hopes that it would go through.

A loud sound could be heard downstairs. Someone must’ve broken down the doors, as you could hear muffled voices stepping over the damage they did and walking into your living room. Your chest tightened and you wanted to sob, but you had to remain quiet. You couldn’t let whoever was in your house know that you were here. That way, they would leave quicker and leave you alone. You placed a hand over your mouth to quiet yourself down, breathing in slowly to calm down and pull yourself together. Hopefully, they would realize no one was home and be on their way.

It wasn’t until you heard Pumpkin meow and someone speak up that you snapped out of your thoughts. “Aw, she has a cat. How cute, hi pretty kitty,” a soft voice spoke. “Will you let her take it home with you?”

“No, I already have a cat at home that she’ll love, she doesn’t need two. They wouldn’t get along, anyways. Pip hates other cats. Hell, she doesn’t even like Gunner and Tank, and they’ve been living together for years,” another voice answered. “It might be worth it to kill this one, it doesn’t seem friendly and if it stands in the way of me getting my girl, then by all means . . .”

You didn’t even think twice before opening the door and running to the top of the stairs. “No, no, don't do it! Please don’t!” You shouted.

A chorus of chuckles responded to your pleas, and your stomach dropped. You just realized you fell for their trap. They weren’t going to kill your cat, they were just doing it to lure you out of your room. And you fell for it, like a complete idiot.

Their laughter made you realize you didn’t want to cower in your room anymore. This was your house, they had no right to be there. You wanted to see why they were here, even if it got you killed or injured in the end, and you wanted to get them the hell out before you killed them yourself. Without hesitating, you grabbed a pair of scissors from your bathroom and made your way downstairs.

You were greeted by three men, all wearing ski masks to hide their identities. Your stomach dropped once more and your nerves increased again, but you kept your grip tight on your scissors. You weren’t going to let them win.

“Ah, there you are. We were wondering when you were going to come out,” the man in the middle spoke first. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t hurt your cat. You’re gonna love the one I have at home, and she’s going to love you.”

“What the fuck do you want with me, assholes?” You spat, holding up the scissors higher. “I won’t hesitate to stab you if you come any closer and I got the cops on speed dial.”

The third person laughed at your words. He was taller than the other two, his demeanor much different compared to them as well. His voice was deep and you could picture his sinister smile under his mask so easily. You seriously considered stabbing him right then and there. “You picked a feisty one, Sannie. I like her, do you think she’d be better off with me?” He questioned.

The man in the middle, who apparently went by the name Sannie (it must be a nickname), answered his friend bitterly. “You’re funny, Mingi. But you know she’s mine, everyone does. No one touches her but me,” the man explained. “Sorry about him. Mingi here likes to flirt with any girl that breathes, including ones that are taken.”

“What the hell– what the fuck is this? Are you here to kill me, sacrifice me to the woods, what the fuck?” You shook your head in pure confusion. “I’ll call the cops, I swear to God–”

“And what will that do, baby? We know how to outrun cops, they won’t get here until the time we’re about to leave,” he teased.

You froze at the nickname, a stern look now on your face. Who the hell does this guy think he is? You take a few steps back and hold the scissors out to stop them from coming closer to you. “My mom’s jewelry isn’t here if that’s what you want. She gave it to someone to keep it safe, and they live far away from here. I don’t have anything, only two dollars and a broken record player. I got nothing, nothing that you want.”

“Oh, but you do have what I want,” the man snickered. “Come with me and we’ll leave your house alone. Everything will go untouched.”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you spat.

“Ah, but it will,” he protested. He turned to his two friends, who stood quietly and waited for instructions. “You have her family’s location, right? Send a text to Cyrus and send his men to their hotel, give them a good scare and take everything they have.”

Deep down, you knew he was bluffing. He was just doing it to get a rise out of you, he wouldn’t actually hurt your family. But you couldn’t risk it, no matter how much your brain was trying to rationalize with you. You immediately stepped closer to all of them, a look of fear and worry now on your face. “No, no, no! Please don’t, don’t bring my family into this, they haven’t done anything. Just leave them alone! Don’t hurt them, please.”

“Then do as I say,” he spoke slowly and grunted. “Come with me and everything goes untouched, including your family and pets. Deal?”

You hesitated. You could feel the tears forming in your eyes as you stared at the masked men — you hated this, how much power they had over you. Breaking into your home in the middle of the night and demanding you leave the people you’re taking care of. You wanted to stab all of them and call the police to make them go away — but you knew you couldn’t take them all in a fight. It would end up with you and your family getting hurt, and you couldn’t risk that.

A small plan came to mind. You weren’t sure how well it would work, but there was a small chance it would. Your phone could still send text messages even if the connection was bad, a SMS message. Your brother was always up at this hour, he was a night owl who loved to stay up and play video games until he got tired. If you sent him a message telling him what happened and to call the cops on your behalf, surely they would get to your house on time and save you from this mess. He could even call the other members of the Sons of Chaos and have them save you, they would be at your house in no time. If that didn’t work, then you could send your location to your brother and have him track you wherever you go. It was a longshot, but you had to try. Anything to get out of this and keep yourself safe.

“F-Fine, I’ll go with you,” you stuttered nervously. “But I need to change, it’s too cold for me to be wearing just a t-shirt. I’ll be right back.”

The man shook his head. “No, we’re going now—”

You cut him off instantly. “I need to change and you’re going to let me do so. Got it?”

The other men laughed at your comment, clearly not intimidated by your stern voice. The one you spoke to only sighed, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “Okay, sure. But you have five minutes. If you’re not back here, I’m coming up there to get you. Got it?” He mocked. You only sent him a stern look before trudging up the stairs. You instantly ran into your bedroom, your dog barking loudly while you whipped out your phone and started to text your brother. You began the message by addressing him by his name to show him how serious this was. I need you to call the cops, these men broke in and one of them is trying to kidnap me. Have them come to the house, I’m sending you my location in case they take me before the cops get here. Tell mom and dad what’s happening. See if Clay or the others can help. I love you so much.

The message wasn't sent until you sent it as an SMS message. You sighed in relief, hoping this would all be resolved within the next day or two. You closed your eyes to breathe for a moment, until you heard the muffling of shoes and voices downstairs, the sounds making you angry. “You got two minutes, Princess. Are you almost done?” The man shouted.

“Whatever!” You shouted back as you rolled your eyes. The nickname, the men, the one who wanted to kidnap you — it was all stupid. Stupid bullshit you had no idea why it was happening. You wanted to scream, but you hoped the cops would be on their way soon. You just hoped your plan would work to some extent. It didn’t have to be perfect, you just needed to be saved from whatever the hell this was.

You quickly threw on a purple long sleeve shirt and grabbed your phone, slipping it into your purse you decided to bring last minute. It had a taser and pepper stray, which would come in handy if any of them tried to hurt you. Hesitantly, you opened your bedroom door and made your way to the kitchen.

You could feel eyes burning into you as you walked downstairs. Someone whistled, which resulted in the man speaking to you hitting their chest harshly. He walked over to you and placed your hand into his, his grip strong but gentle. “You look beautiful, let's go home, it’s late and we both need to get some sleep, don’t you think?”

No words left your lips. Rather, you just remained silent as the man eagerly began to walk out of your house. Tears formed in your eyes once more as you got outside, scared to leave your home and family. You had no idea what the hell was going to happen, and the thought of never seeing them again made your heart shatter.

It didn’t take you long to reach the cars parked near the woods. One of them was a van, in which the two men entered and began the engine. They both fist-bumped the man you were with (you wanted to scream), congratulating him on “getting his girl” (whatever the fuck that meant). As the two drove off, you were thrown into the passenger seat of a nice pickup truck. The man didn’t say a word to you, he only got in and began to drive off.

You had no idea where you were going. If they were going to kill you, or worse. The fear kept creeping into your mind; you had to do something, but you felt frozen. Then, out of nowhere, you started to pull on the door handle harshly in hopes the door would open. Perhaps your brain finally came to its senses and told your muscles to do something.

“Let me go, asshole!” You told him aggressively as you continued to yank on the handle. The man only laughed, to which you sent him a pressing glare and widened your eyes. “I’m sorry? I’m fighting for my life against a stranger who kidnapped me and all you can do is laugh? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He continued to laugh and shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re just so cute when you act out, it’s just so adorable.”

This man is insane, you thought to yourself. Your jaw dropped and you immediately closed it before he could make another comment. An idea perked up in your mind and you sent a soft smile to him. “I can be extra cute, you know. Yeah, if you stop the car and let me out, I’ll act extra cute just for you. You’re going to love it.”

“Sure, baby. I’ll let you out in a few minutes,” he told you, his eyes still on the road.

You got excited. You were hopeful that he had fallen for your trap. You were starting to think that maybe he wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. That sense of optimism and hope you had was instantly crushed, however, once you realized you were pulling into a driveway. He was only going to let you out once you got here, so you wouldn’t be able to run away. Nice going, idiot, you thought to yourself.

The man had stopped his truck and jumped out to grab you. It didn’t take long before he was helping you out and walking you into the house with an arm around your waist. No matter how hard you tried to pull away, his grip remained firm. And you couldn’t fight back because of how strong he was. The muscles poking out of his t-shirt told you everything you needed to know.

The house was pretty big, with pretty windows and exterior design. A lake stood only a few feet away from the backyard, some fireflies flying over the water and area. You didn’t want to admit it, but the sight made you smile a little, but it faded away once the door opened and you were forced into the house by the man. Who knows what was on the other side.

The inside looked even prettier than the outside, which took you by surprise. You couldn’t help but stare in awe at the place, as it was the spitting image of your dream home. The furniture, the walls, the decor — it was everything you wanted in a house. For a split second, you had forgotten where you were or what was happening. It was honestly nice to just enjoy the scene in front of you, admire the house and pretend like everything was okay.

“Do you like it?” The man asked, pulling you back into reality. “I had it designed a few years ago, but added what you liked once I learned more about you. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“I hate to say it, but it is. But there is one thing I’d take out that would make it absolutely perfect. I wonder what that could be . . . oh yeah, you,” you spat, crossing your arms over your chest. “So, what? Are you going to kill me in your basement, sell me or my organs to the black market? Sacrifice me to some cult you and your friends are a part of? You mind telling me what the hell is going on here? You’ve kept me alive this long, and if I’m going to die soon, I’d at least like to know what I’m dying for. And take off your mask, I’d like to know the face of the man I’m going to haunt for all eternity once I’m dead. Plus, it’s really stupid.”

He chuckled at your words. You could picture his smug smile under his mask, and it annoyed you even more. “Nah, none of the above, actually. I brought you here for a more special reason, and it has nothing to do with you dying or being sacrificed to Satan.”

“How unfortunate,” you muttered under your breath.

He didn’t say a word about your comment. Instead, he slowly removed the ski mask off of his face and set it down on the table. You stared at him, taking in his features. He had a sharp jawline, with brown eyes and red hair. Dyed red hair, obviously. You could see his dark roots under the red. He looked intimidating, but also . . . sweet? Kind? You couldn’t tell. He had an awful demeanor, given what he just did to you. He was strong, as you noticed the muscles standing out through his shirt from beforehand. Buff, if you will. But even within that, he didn’t seem too mean. There was something about him that appeared to be gentle, which made no sense given the context of why you were in his house.

He caught you staring at him and sent you a sly smirk. “Like what you see?”

“No,” you responded quickly and rolled your eyes. “Now answer my question: what the hell do you want with me? Why am I here?”

The man only sighed and made his way closer to you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, goosebumps now evident on your neck. You gulped in fear, hoping he would stop and give you some space. “You’re here because I want you to be with me. My girlfriend, if you will. I knew the first day I saw you that you were mine. The boys kept telling me I had to give it more time to really make sure, but I didn’t agree with them. I made them help me make a plan to bring you home, and now here we are.”

“P-Plan? You had this entire thing planned, to kidnap me?” You asked. “W-What, this is so fucked up, I . . . wait, when did you see me? Because I’ve never seen you before in my life, you’re lying.”

“A few months ago, when you were working at the grocery store. You were too caught up in getting that order ready, but you gave me a soft smile, and I knew then that it was you. I did everything I could to learn more about you, and it didn’t take me long to concoct a plan to make you mine,” he explained.

You wanted to scream. Your chest was tight and you could feel your hands forming into fists. Tears began to prick in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall, you didn’t want this man to think you were weak, or that you wanted his sympathy. “So you stalked me? You just gathered all the information that you could and stalked me?”

“Well, when you put it that way—” He tried to joke, but you only scoffed. He grabbed your arms in an attempt to help you not get angry. “Hey, hey — I know it sounds bad, but I did this for a reason. The men in my line of business, it’s just how we get our girls and make them ours. It helps us ensure that they stay with us and no one will take them away. I had to do this, to make sure you were safe. You’ll understand overtime.”

The man was rubbing his thumb over your arms to help you calm down, but you yanked them back and made your way to the other side of the living room, to get as far away from him as you could. “First of all, that is wrong on so many levels, I don’t even know what to say except that you’re crazy and that is not how you treat romantic partners. Second of all, you could’ve just asked me on a date like a normal person, I would’ve said yes.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that? I’ll take you on a bunch of dates soon, Princess. It’ll be like you said and we’ll do anything you want. Anything to make my girl happy.”

“I’m all set, thanks. I’ll be getting out of here soon enough, so the dates aren’t gonna happen. Especially when you’re behind bars,” you reassured both yourself and him.

Your comment only made him laugh. “Sure, baby, sure. The cops won’t find us, I know how to outrun them and keep them off my back. You think I would just take you without thinking about the police first? They won’t know a thing, and they’ll never find you. Hell, they don’t even know what I look like, just my name. Even then, they fear me.”

“I’m not talking about the cops. My family and our friends know a thing of two about dealing with assholes like you. You’ll be lucky if they let you go in one piece, and even then you’ll be begging them to throw you in a jail cell,” you threatened. If there was one thing you knew for sure in this world, is that if you were ever in a crisis, your family and their motorcycle gang would be there in an instant to get you out. That was the only thing keeping you sane, knowing they would save you from this mess.

He couldn’t help but scoff at your comment. “Oh, really? You think the Sons of Chaos are gonna scare me into letting you go? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Princess, but I can outrun and outsmart your family and their little group. Once they figure out who I am, they’ll be scared shitless and won’t stand a chance against me and the boys. The cops fear me, they’ll fear me, everyone is scared of me. There’s no getting out of this, no matter how hard you try.”

“Yeah? And what’s your name if everyone’s so scared of you?” You joked, trying to irk the hell out of this man so he would eventually break and let you go.

“San. Choi San, if you want my full name.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. You heard that name before, a long time ago, but you couldn’t remember where. “Choi San . . . why does that sound familiar?”

“Probably heard of me on the news. The gang I’m a part of, too. Yeah, we’re on the news a lot for the shit that we do. Does the name Ateez ring a bell? Everyone says we’re dangerous and a threat to the city, but it’s a bunch of bullshit. We’re just doing what we love most. We’re strong, fast, and protect ourselves well. Where’s the harm in that?”

Your stomach dropped at the realization. You knew very well what Ateez was, they were the talk of the town for years, even now. You remember learning about them when you moved home for your master’s program, your family so horrified and disgusted with their actions. You didn’t like them, either, being extra precautious when traveling around town and when you were at school for the day. But you never thought you’d actually come face to face with one of the members; it was one of those things where you would never expect to run into them in real time, only in your imagination. To be in the house of a member was something you never expected to happen.

The room was silent as you stared at San. Your breath hitched as you felt your feet take you backwards, only a little bit. Being a member of Ateez only meant violence, danger, and you had no idea what Choi San wanted with you. You wanted to take out the can of pepper spray you brought with you. The lap in the living room seemed to be a better weapon, however. Anything to defend yourself against him in case things went terribly wrong. “Ateez? Yeah, I’ve heard of you. You’re criminals. You’re dangerous, violent, and cruel.”

“Ouch. That your opinion or what everyone else keeps telling you?” San bit back, taking a few steps closer to you, in which you kept backing up. “Whatever you think about us, it’s not true. We aren’t evil people, we work for what is ours and do whatever we need to do to get it. Yeah we’re involved in dangerous shit, but we can protect ourselves well. We know how to handle it.”

“Doesn’t negate the fact that you still work with illegal shit,” you spat, your arms now crossed over your chest.

San let out a small laugh. “Oh, and the Sons of Chaos are completely innocent? They’re not the good people you think they are,” he said, saying your name at the end of his sentence to show how serious he was being.

“That’s different. The Sons of Chaos have done some terrible things, yes, but they’ve changed. They aren’t the same people they were five years ago, my brother is changing it for the better. Unlike you and your friends, they actually care about people and don’t take them from their homes in the middle of the night,” you defended.

“Yeah, sure they have. Deny it all you want, but the Sons of Chaos are exactly the same as us. We are one in the same. You’ll see it soon enough and realize your family aren’t the perfect people you make them out to be,” San fought back, his jaw now tighter than before. Whatever you said ticked him off, perhaps at how naive you were being.

But you didn’t care. You stood by what you said — your family and the Sons of Chaos were good people, they were changing for the better. No matter what San said, you wouldn’t let him get into your head. Especially after what he did to you.

A sigh escaped your lips as you ran a hand through your hair. You slowly started to put the pieces together to try and make sense of all of this. “Is that . . . is that why I’m here? Because you saw me and thought it’d be funny to rip a random girl away from her family? To upset her family who did nothing to you, all because you can? God, why can’t I just go home?”

You were about to cry, you could feel the tears welling up again and your voice getting weaker every time you spoke. As much as you wanted to hold them back, you just let them fall because you couldn’t take it anymore. You let the tears fall as you profusely wiped them with your sleeve. The night had gotten to be too much, between being taken by a random man after he broke into your house and the possibility of never seeing your family again. Your mind couldn’t take it anymore, it had to release its emotions.

San caught onto this and immediately rushed to your side, pulling your hand away from your face and wiping your tears with his thumb. “Hey, hey,” he cooed. When you tried to pull away from him, he gently grabbed your arm and brought you closer to his chest, your arm resting against it to create some distance. “I know this is a lot, this is a big change for you and it’s very hard to hear. But like I told you, I took you because I know you’re the one for me. I want to be with you,” he explained, whispering your name to show how serious he was about this. “My pretty little housewife, I just want to love and take care of you, Princess. This will be a hard adjustment, I know, but I can make you happy, give you a life that you deserve.”

“Wait, housewife? You just said girlfriend, you never said anything about me being a housewife. Jesus Christ, I don’t even know how to cook let alone raise a baby—” You started, your chest tightening in fear.

“Too much, that’s my fault,” San cut you off. He slipped his hand into yours, still holding you in his chest. “Let's go to bed, we can talk about this more in the morning after we’ve slept, okay?”

You didn’t say anything. You remained quiet as San guided you up the stairs. The second floor was even prettier than the first, with multiple rooms lining the halls accompanied with pretty colors and paintings. He took you to the end of the hall, which you assumed was his bedroom. And it was. In the center stood a king sized bed, with a flatscreen TV mounted to the wall. Dressers, a closet, and a master bathroom were a part of the bedroom. It was a nice room, especially with how big the windows were. You liked it a lot, despite the situation you were in.

You awkwardly stood in the middle of the room while San searched through his drawers. He came back to you, handing you a large t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. “These will do for the night, I didn’t get a chance to go shopping for your clothes this week, only some basic t-shirts. We’ll get you some more this week, but for now my clothes will have to do. You can get changed out here, I’ll just change while I brush my teeth. I have one for you, too. You can just come in whenever you’re ready.”

You only nodded your head, and he was in the bathroom within seconds. You quickly tore off your clothes quickly to make sure San wouldn’t come out and see you half naked. His clothes were big, but so comfortable (though you would never admit it). As you folded your clothes, you remembered your phone was still in the back pocket. As quickly as you could, you pulled your phone out to see if your message had gone through. SMS error, the screen read. Damnit, you thought to yourself. You hoped you’d have a second of alone time so you could try sending it again, now that you were in a different location.

You hid your phone under your clothes and kicked them into a pile once you heard San open the bathroom door. Once he walked out, you traded places and began to brush your teeth quickly. You liked how the bathroom had two sinks, a big shower, and a nice bathtub. You always liked bathrooms like that, for whatever reason. They just felt fancy, elegant.

San stood over the bed by the time you had gotten out, scrolling through his phone. He immediately shut it off and walked over to you. He couldn’t help but bite his lip as he admired you (probably because you were wearing his clothes), to which you rolled your eyes. “Sorry, Princess,” he chuckled. “You just look so good in my clothes. My pretty girl. Come, let's go to sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m not sleeping in the same bed as you. I’ll just sleep on the couch downstairs with some pillows and blankets,” you shook your head.

“It wasn’t a question, you’ll be sleeping with me from now on,” he told you sternly, his jaw tightening.

“And I told you I’m not going to,” you fought back. You crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sleeping on the couch whether you like it or not, asshole.”

Before San could protest, you opened the door. Only, instead of going downstairs, you were stopped by a small cat sitting at the doorway. Once it saw you, it began to meow and rub up against your leg. You immediately fell in love with it; as much as you didn’t want to pick it up (because you weren’t sure if it liked being touched), you felt your arms reaching down and scooping it into your grasp. You immediately felt the vibrations against your hands, the cat now content with you holding it.

“Why hello there,” you cooed with a wide smile. “You are very beautiful, and very sweet. What’s your name? I absolutely adore you.”

“Her name is Pip. I rescued her from a shelter almost seven years ago—” San started to explain.

“I only asked for her name,” you cut him off, your eyes still glued to the cat. “Hi Pippie, that is such a cute name. I want to take you home with me so badly, you’d love my cat. But I guess we’re both stuck here with that thing in the corner, but we don’t have to spend time with him. Come, we’re gonna sleep downstairs on the couch.”

As you were about to leave the bedroom with Pip, San called out to you. “Wait!” he said.

You slowly turned around with the cat still in your arms. “Pip just told me she wants to go to sleep, so make it quick.”

His jaw tightened once more, the stern look from earlier was now on his face again. “The couch isn’t that comfortable to sleep on. It’s less comfortable than the bed. Sleep with me here tonight, and I’ll let Pip sleep right next to you.”

“I still don’t feel comfortable sleeping with you—”

“Pip never sleeps with me, I’ve tried so many times but she won’t budge. But with you, she might. Just sleep here with me, please,” San cut you off, his voice now tired. Clearly, he had enough of your behavior and wanted to go to sleep. You did too, but he asked for this after what he did. It was his own damn fault.

The cat kept purring against you, her head now in your neck. After thinking about this for a few minutes, you let out a sigh and groaned dramatically. “Ugh, fine. You win, I’ll sleep in your bed tonight. But I swear to God, if you try anything, I will stab you over and over again until you are dead. Got it?”

He chuckled with a smile. “You’re so cute when you act all bratty and tough.”

You rolled your eyes as you reluctantly dragged yourself to the bed. “I’m not a brat, you’re the brat,” you muttered. Once you sat down, Pip crawled out of your arms and planted herself on the end of the bed. Slowly and nervously, you laid down and pulled the covers over your body.

Without warning, San wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed your back against your chest. Your hand immediately went up to smack it. “Um, no. This is my half of the bed, you stay on your half. Did you forget about the invisible barrier that splits down the middle?”

“Really? There was? Hmm, guess I broke it,” San shrugged his shoulders. You tried to move out of his grip, but it was no use, he was much stronger than you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and placed gentle kisses on your cheek and neck. “Goodnight,” he whispered your name, placing one final kiss on your neck.

But you didn’t wish him the same. Rather, you shut your eyes and tried to fall asleep. Pip’s purring and warmth kept you calm, but other than that, your mind was on fire. A million thoughts burned through it, you didn’t know where to begin or how to make sense of it all. Your life changed in an instant. One minute, you were happy living at home with your family and enjoying your small vacation. The next minute, you were kidnapped in the middle of the night by some creep who was a part of the most dangerous gangs in the area, claiming to be in love with you and making you his “girlfriend.” You had no idea why this was happening to you, why he wanted you, out of all people.

You always cringe at yourself whenever you think of yourself like this, but you weren’t special. You wanted to smack yourself in the head at how stupid you sounded, but it was true. You weren’t. You were just like everyone else, no matter how hard you tried to be different. Everything you did, from tennis to school, was the same as everyone else. There were people who were better than you, much better, you would never be on top. There was always someone who was more talented or more skilled than you. You were never enough, no matter how hard you tried.

Even with your friends and family, you were just normal to them. You knew it was different with your family, since they focused on your brother more and wanted to get him prepared for taking over the Sons of Chaos when his time came. They constantly praised him and put all of their attention into him, so you expected them to not think of you as their favorite. Your friends were a different story, however.

Whenever you made a friend and became really close to them, you thought so highly of them. You thought they were your best friend, and that they thought the same. The one person they could go to for anything, their special friend. You always thought of your friends that way, but they never did about you. They always had someone they were closer to, someone they’d pick over you without hesitating. You’ve always wanted that, ever since you were younger and everyone seemed to not like you because you were “weird.” And everytime you thought you found that person, they never thought of you the same way.

It crushed you, but you knew that person would come into your life someday. You loved the friends you had and the memories you shared, but you just wanted a best friend. Someone who could count on you and would choose you first, and you the same. Someday you would find that person, you knew in your heart that you would.

You were used to never being enough, for anyone or anything. You had grown to accept that, and you thought you would be fine and that everything happened for a reason. But now came Choi San, a man who claimed to be “the one” for you and would put you first. Well, from what you gathered. You had no idea what he was capable of, if he was going to kill you in the middle of the night while you were asleep. But he seemed to really care for you, in his own sick and twisted way.

He certainly couldn’t be the person you kept praying about. No, this man was insane. He kidnapped you in the middle of the night, took you away from your family, most likely for good. One minute he seemed sweet, but the next, he could easily get angry and possibly hurt you badly. This couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be the person you were searching for your entire life. You deserved better, and this was a sick punishment you got for absolutely no reason. You weren’t perfect by any means, but you did not deserve this.

You were sure things would change in the coming days. You would figure out a way to get out of this hellhole and back to your normal life, even if it took some time. You were determined to be reunited with your family again, and you were going to make sure that it happened. It didn’t matter what you had to endure — as long as you could find a way out, you would do anything if it meant returning to the life you once knew and loved.

All your life, you had been an angel amongst gods and prayed one day you would become one. Now that you had that power, the ability to be seen as a god — you were starting to realize that maybe you were better off being an angel. Angels never got hurt, they cared for others but no one did the same for them. Perhaps you were better off as an angel, invisible amongst the gods where you didn’t have to worry about anyone but yourself.

Back then you had your freedom, but now you were trapped with the devil himself, and you didn’t want to be a god who would succumb to their worst nightmares just to survive. You couldn’t let yourself. And now, you would do anything to get your freedom back. Even if it meant sacrificing yourself to become an angel for as long as you lived.

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the-raven-lady · 2 months

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(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]

[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]

Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]

Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”

Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]

Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual

@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender

The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor.

The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.

The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.

Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.

You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.

What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.

You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty.

The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target.

With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it.

A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.

You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?

…Hadn’t you?

You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.

A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing.

At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.

Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”

You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.

Drip.

“About time,” a voice spits.

You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.

“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”

You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.

“How about I help with that?”

A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.

A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.”

Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.

…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.

He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”

Bait. The word is sour in the air.

“So unwilling to have fun–”

She had just been bait.

“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”

You were the game.

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—”

Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.

“You stupid bitch!”

The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror.

This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.

And wait.

…And wait.

But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.

Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t.

Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight.

Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.

Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down.

Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.

Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes.

The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.

“Get up.”

The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”

He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor.

The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.

“Clean it,” he barks.

You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.

[Part 2]

#there will be smut eventually #i did not and will not pull any punches on this one you have been WARNED #using my questionable life experience to make a good dark fic #enjoy you filthy sinners #night lord #night lords #night lord x reader #warhammer fanfic #warhammer 40k #warhammer 40000 #warhammer 30k #horus heresy #warhammer 40k x reader #wh 40k #oc: elias rushorik #raven lady writings

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sugarcoated-lame · 2 months

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this new wave of joel miller brainrot may have just given me a new fic idea 🤭

so it’s joel x pregnant widow!reader in jackson 👀

some ramblings about it below the cut 🤍

reader’s husband dies on patrol, and she finds out a few weeks later that she’s pregnant

joel and ellie move into jackson when reader is 3-4 months pregnant, no one in town really knows about her pregnancy except for tommy and maria, and the town doctor — she wants to keep it to herself for as long as she can

i’m thinking reader is going to be like the town seamstress?? and joel goes to her to patch up his jacket after he rips it one day out on patrol

joel’s seen her around town in the few weeks he’s been in jackson — always looking sad, and always alone.

he’s immediately drawn to her — her kind voice and demeanor that’s oh so sweet on the surface, but he can see the way her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, the sadness in them.

•

idk where I’m going with this or when I’m actually gonna write it, but aaaah i just had to scream about it !!!

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dreamlandcreations · 11 months

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Imagine waking up after the celebration...

Imagine waking up after the celebration with a massive hangover and embraced by not only your naked lover, Shanks, but his sort of frenemy, Mihawk - who is just as bare as you two - while all three of you are napping on the beach a little further than the rest of the crew.

You were certainly out of sight during the night but not out of earshot, given the teasing you receive from the Red Hair Pirates after you return to their camp...

• Shanks masterlist • Main Masterlist • Moodboards masterlist •

#this is gonna be a one shot eventually #sorry I'm a tease #but I have to get rid of this image for at least a little while bc I can't function #shanks #opla smut #opla shanks #opla shanks x reader #shanks opla #red haired shanks #red hair shanks #dracule mihawk #opla imagine #shanks imagine #mihawk imagine #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #mihawk x shanks #my stuff #my fics

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yarasdead · 3 months

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boxer!noah & his strength. 18+

beware of the text, a link is posted for a visual <3

boxer!noah who can easily handle your weight and fuck you while standing up, not against a wall. because he loves the way you have to rely on his strength to keep you from falling, gripping and nails digging into any part of his body, shoulders, back, hair, head, while he just fucks you like a ragdoll.

#౨ৎ yarawrites.#the boxer!noah poll is almost done and by the feedback i have a feeling it's happening #so here's a little snippet into the eventual smut we'll see between boxer!noah and journalist!reader teeheee #* boxer!noah sebastian.#noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian smut #bad omens

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fallenseaofstars · 9 months

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Argenti headcanons

🌹 Tags: Afab g/n reader, Smut/Fluff, established relationship, obsessive Argenti once again 😍, size difference kink, belly bulge, creampie, idk what else to tag 💔

🌹 A/N: sorry I tried making him as accurate to canon but he's a bit of a freak in my eyes (not in the kinky way but in the questionable way)

Argenti is a gentleman, he loves to be sensual and treat you like royalty, so naturally the aftercare is top notch! No matter how tired he is (unlikely that he's tired to begin with) he'll always make sure to clean you well, get the bed ready and pepper you with many many kisses <3 He will never leave until you're fully taken care of

Raging size difference kink. He can't quite pinpoint why exactly he's so into it but all he knows is that he can't help himself when he sees just how much smaller you are to him- believe me he has had to learn a new level of self control around you...

He's really big and absolutely loves seeing you take all him, has accidentally overstimulated you before but can you blame him? The way your pussy takes all of his cock and how his cum drips down you ... one round is not enough to please him.

Belly bulge is almost a guarantee everytime he fucks you and yes, it makes him very hard seeing how deep he fucks you

Pleasure dom but can also be sub. He absolutely loves spoiling you no matter how greedy you get, but he also enjoys being spoiled! He won't outwardly admit this however so make sure every once in a while you take good care of him, he deserves it~ ❤️

Worships you like a god(dess) regardless if he's top or bottom, it's almost embarrassing hearing his over the top compliments but he means every word! He loves spending a while just kissing your entire body, his kisses are so soft and full of love, and they linger in the areas that you're most self conscious about! To him, everything about you is beautiful, no matter what you think of yourself!

Loves it when you take the lead, he'll do whatever you ask of him like an obedient little puppy~ just kiss him a few more times and he's already head over heels for you! (Not that he already isn't though) When you ride him and threat him like a whore he cums even faster than usual. He can't decide if he prefers when you're gentle and loving or when you're mean and harsh.

Big praise kink, even when you're mean to him you should still praise him~

Into bondage as well, loves it no matter who's the one tied up! When you're the one tied up he loves to blindfold you as well and whisper to you everything that he will/is doing to you. He's very comforting when you're blindfolded but you can feel his voice go deeper than usual which makes you all the more hot for him

Now when you tie him up...he becomes a complete mess. He whines and moans, his body shaking so much that you almost feel bad for not letting him touch you, but that's just part of the fun, no? Again, cums a lot faster in this state

He cums a lot- and quickly too. You're lucky he has so much stamina since he cums way before you even come close. After you're both done the bed/wherever you fucked is very very messy- makes him a bit embarrassed but also loves seeing it as a way of claiming you as his own~

Also has a breeding kink, even if you can't have kids hes simply just obsessed with the idea of filling you up and having so many kids with you~

CW: Dub-con and cnc (roleplay kidnapping)

Overall he's very loving, no matter how you want him to fuck you he'll do it and praise you so much while doing so! You're his beloved little rose and he absolutely loves everything about you! ❤️

Although you're his priority and he wants to make sure you enjoy every second of it, he's still quite...obsessive over you- which can lead to him forgetting that this is reality and will fuck the living light out of you to the point that it's just painful- at some point he'll make sure you're okay but he's quick to go back and fucking you dumb

He's a bit addicted to roleplaying as if he kidnapped you, tying you to his bed and just fucking your pretty face drives him insane <3 You spend a lot of time before hand making clear each other's boundaries, and even while roleplaying he can't help but ask if your ok and compliments you so much

#again im sorry for writing argenti like this...i really do think hes such a sweetheart in bed but also #have yall seen how obsessed he is with idrila? no way he isnt a bit questionable when hes in love #ill write cute and romantic smut with argenti.. eventually...#have like 2 other argenti fics that is just him being an obsessive freak #but i love him like that #tho hes genuinely so caring and loving and and and oh my god i am so in love with him #im so tired tho my eyes hurt #so goodnight yall #argenti smut #hsr smut #hsr argenti smut #argenti x reader #hsr x reader #smut headcanons #actually i wanna write more for the dub-con part but i am struggling to keep my eyes open...

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starrystevie · 1 year

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18+ | modern ronance / cw: public sex | crossposted from twitter

robin has her nipples pierced. she has her nipples pierced and doesn’t wear a bra and always has on a too tight or too sheer or too short top making them obvious to those who know what to look for.

nancy knows what to look for and it drives her crazy.

they aren’t dating, they aren’t fucking but they’re dancing around being something with flirty grins and touches that could almost be considered lingering if they didn’t pull away so quickly. robin looks down at nancy with hooded eyes and she looks back with mischief in her own, promises of that something behind each of their gazes.

but every time she wears one of those goddamn shirts, nipple rings protruding enough to see the outline, to see when she’s changed from a bar bell to a ring, nancy is one know-it-all smirk away from letting robin know how she feels.

she wants to get her hands on them. wants to feel the metal under her palms. wants to rip off a too tight too sheer too short top and get her mouth on them. wants to have robin in her lap, riding her thigh so she can lick the ring into her mouth and tug on it with her teeth.

and nancy is anything but stupid. she knows that robin knows, knows that she wears those fucking shirts on purpose to see nancy barely holding herself together. she’ll make sure to stretch her arms up so the shirts go taut and tight when she knows she has nancy’s eyes on her. she’ll lean forward when she’s wearing a loose button up, enough to have so much skin on display that it has to be intentional. she’ll scratch lazily at her tit and get her nipple hard so that everything is obvious through the fabric knowing it will make nancy lose her mind.

and it does. every single goddamn time. nancy always has to go home and fuck her self on her fingers as she thinks about robin’s tits, about leaving bites and bruises on them until the rings stand out even more against her marred skin, coming hard and fast at the thought.

eventually she knows she has to do something about it. she knows she needs to tell robin that she’s not only in love with her but also in love with her perfect, perky tits and needs to see if she can fit one in her mouth, needs to flick at her nipples until she comes.

turns out, she doesn’t have to wait much longer. steve and eddie pull them out to their favorite club one night for their two month anniversary like it’s an actual day to celebrate and the girls, of course, go along. the guys are grinding against each other in the corner and robin buys nancy her usual vodka soda while she gets her own jack and coke. her shirt tonight is sinful, sheer enough that somehow the metal shines through when the club lights hit just right, loose enough to push a hand under without rucking up the fabric.

they go to the dance floor without question because that’s what they always do, robin holding nancy’s hand as she pulls her along under some guise of not wanting to lose her in the crowd even though they both know that’s not the only reason.

it doesn’t take long until they’re pressed together, nancy’s back to robin’s front. it’s what they always do but tonight it feels charged with something else. robin’s hand is on the side of nancy’s hip, loose enough to break from but tight enough to know she wants her to stay. not that nancy would want to break away from her anyway.

she’s feeling a little wild, a little daring, and maybe it’s the vodka or the way that robin’s piercings are obvious against her back. she snakes a hand up to wrap her arm around the back of robin’s neck, pulling her closer. she can feel her hot breath puffing against her skin as she leans down, following the pressure from nancy's hand.

the fingers on her hip flex and tighten, pushing them together the tiniest bit more and she can feel when robin drops her head to rest in the crook of her neck. her breath is even hotter now, closer to her bare skin than she was before, dampening her already sweat soaked skin.

nancy tangles her fingers into robin’s hair, coaxing her down to hint that she can put her lips on her skin if she wants. she can taste her if she wants. it doesn’t take long until nancy jumps when a kiss is pressed featherlight under her ear. her fingers tug on the hair between them and it’s like a green light moving all systems to go.

there’s a tongue flicking out to finally taste nancy’s skin and she pushes her hips back to grind harder against robin. there’s a hand traveling from her hip a bit closer to where she actually wants it, pressing teasingly into the lowest part of her belly, lust rushing behind her behind her bellybutton at the sensation.

nancy drops her hand from her head so she can place it on top of robin’s, pushing her fingers down so the pressure increases. she gasps at the feeling and can feel robin do something of the same, teeth scraping against her skin followed by her tongue like she's trying to sooth it. in the back of her mind, she's hoping robin will do it again.

she’s glad they know each other so well since they won’t be able to hear each other over the music. as robin’s hand goes to move lower, nancy spins in her grasp, desperate for something else. now they’re face to face, robin’s eyes hooded and dark in the low light, trained on nancy's lips, her own lips spit slick from her ministrations on her neck.

her leg slips between nancy’s as her hand comes to rest on the center her ass, pulling them close. it doesn’t take long until nancy’s pushing up on her toes as robin bends down so they can finally kiss each other for the first time. she isn’t surprised when a tongue flicks out against her lips, isn't surprised when hers comes out to meet it either.

making out with robin on the dance floor is great, heavenly, everything she could want. well, almost everything that is. her hand slides onto robin’s side just under her loose shirt. her skin is warm against nancy’s fingers, under her palm, soft in a way that makes her want to get her mouth on it.

robin surges forward and presses harder on her ass like she knows what nancy wants. needs what nancy wants. her shirt is loose enough that nancy's hand finds her tit easily. it fits perfectly in her palm just like she knew it would, heavy in that wonderful way that makes her mind go blank with desire. with their legs entwined, they both roll their hips in an obvious way to get pressure where they need it, mouths opening on moans that get drowned out by the booming bass.

robin pulls back from their kiss and keeps nancy’s bottom lip bitten between her teeth, tugging gently like a hint of what she really wants. when nancy’s finger slip up to pinch her nipple, she lets go of her lip with a hiss and thrust of her hips.

“you gotta thing for tits, wheeler? that’s so fucking hot,” robin mutters against her ear as she brings her hand around from her ass to her front.

her hand slips easily under nancy’s skirt, palm flat against her wet panties to give her something more to grind on. nancy can feel her eyes roll back and she tugs harshly on robin’s nipple causing them both to groan.

"no, i have a thing for your tits. drive me crazy with those things..."

their hands are clever and fit where they need to be and soon enough they’re both rolling their hips and breathing into each other’s mouths as they come.

nancy keeps her hand on robin’s tit, tugging and pinching to keep her squirming in her grasp, rocking her hips needily against robin's hand as she rides out her orgasm. robin gets back at her by slipping 2 fingers into her soaked through panties, sliding into nancy’s wet cunt easily and swallowing the groan she gets in return.

“we need to go,” nancy says as she stretches up to get her mouth to robin’s ear, pussy clenching around the fingers robin is slowly pumping in her. “i need you naked and on my bed immediately.”

when they get back to nancy’s, she gets to see what metal feels like against her tongue. and if she finds a surprise piercing lower down, she’ll taste that one too.

#ronance #my writing #hi woke up ***** for the girlies so have this #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #ronance drabble #ronance ficlet #modern ronance #ronance smut #eventually i will write a whole 100k of them fucking on every surface but i just don't have the time rn

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cambria-writes · 28 days

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Your resident vampire spawn is a complicated man. He terrifies you, but he also inspires something in you that you aren’t sure you have a name for. Yet.

Or: bard!reader tries her best to befriend Astarion like the caged tiger she thinks he is, and Astarion relearns that kindness doesn’t always have to have a price.

Pairing: Astarion x Bard!F!Reader Overall Rating: T, may change in later chapters Warnings: blood, gore, violence, a lot death talk, mentions of sexual assault/abuse, my spelling comes with its own warning, Canadian/British English, tags will be updated with future chapters

Chapter List

Teaser 1 Teaser 2 Chapter 1: Blow out all the candles 1 sept 2024 Chapter 2: You're too old to be so shy 9 sept 2024 Chapter 3: So I stay the night Chapter 4: But we're both in silence Chapter 5: Like we're in a crime scene

#like a fist #astarion x reader #masterlist #second person POV #no use of Y/N #vague descriptions used #Reader does have long enough hair to braid #There may eventually be smut idk yet #Currently mostly it's self indulgent #also chapter titles are lyrics from Candles by Daughter

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youresodarkbabe · 4 months

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i'm cooking (again)

plot's basically finding al's old sextapes from 2007-ish

(smut under the cut!!)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

your fingers linger on the 'play' button, and you eventually decide to give in— to see what this ancient looking camera had in store for you. and what you got was definitely unexpected.

the video took your senses one by one.

first, a faint whimper filled your ears. after that, you hear your boyfriend's voice. his accent was much thicker, you could tell this video was old. based on the date on the bottom corner of the video, you could see it was filmed around the time the boys were recording their first album. you hear alex swear, taking off the camera lense— giving you a sight to behold. alex with his hard cock in his veiny hands, you had to stop yourself from moaning when you saw it. alex rests his back against the headboard of his old bed, and swipes his thumb over the tip of his cock before prying it away from himself. he spits into his palm, you notice his dick twitch, and he grasps onto it again, stroking himself as his jaw falls slack. his free hand paws at the bedsheets before he brings it up to his body, running it over his lower stomach, then running it up his torso, fingers stuck to his nipples as if by glue— twisting, pulling, everything he could do to make himself feel good. his whines grow louder, and he triggers a third sense within you.

touch.

you find yourself slipping your hands into your sweats and past your underwear, and before you can stop yourself, your index finger runs along your folds, then circling along your clit. you moan almost in sync with alex, every circle rubbed aligned with the pump of his fist along his cock.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

full fic sometime soon 🤞

#cookie blurbs #does this count as a blurb #idc i have nothing else to tag it with #alex turner smut #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #alex turner x fem!reader #smut #cookie cooks #? i guess #fetus era smut #the car era smut #everyone thank wolfie for giving me the idea #it'll make sense eventually #youresodarkbabe

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psybrepunk · 26 days

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Testing The Sealants (Nick Valentine & F!Sole Survivor)

Summary: The sole survivor becomes exhausted with Nick's refusal to take care of himself, and decides to take it into her own hands to clean up the good ol' synth.

Wordcount: 547

Tags: Pining, Eventual Suggestive Themes

"Hey, Valentine. Are you waterproof?"

Nick looked up from the case file in his hand, automatically ashing the cigarette that was in his other. His brows knit together in momentary confusion. Then again, he knew what Nora was like. Her mind was always running a mile a minute, and he never knew what the journey to the destination might look like until he asked. "Now where did that come from?" he drawled, and sat the file aside, leaning forward on his elbows.

Nora rose from her seat across the Agency, and settled into the chair across from Nick at his desk, crossing her legs. "I asked you a question, detective. Are you waterproof?"

"So you're the one doing the interrogating around here now?" Nick smirked, drawing on his cigarette.

Not in an unfamiliar fashion, Nora completely ignored his question. "I'm not taking you to the Memory Den looking like this," she said, pointing generally at Nick and fixing him with what she hoped came across as a mock glare. "Irma will have my ass. Look at you. You have cigarette burns on your collar. There is actual dirt embedded in your neck skin. You still have someone else's blood on your shirt, and presumably the panel underneath. And I can see a coolant stain on your arm right now."

The synthetic detective grimaced. He nervously adjusted his hat with his intact hand, but in doing so was met with a sight of the deep blue stain that ran down his pallid forearm. A low grumble of frustration rumbled through his - apparently blood-stained - chest. He knew she was right. He afforded so little thought to actually caring for himself physically. The average person was so off-put by his visage either way that he hardly ever felt like it mattered - who cared if the local decrepit synth had blood on his clothes and stank of bicentennial tobacco. He was still the local decrepit synth.

But Nora was different. Even from the first moment they had met. He had never seen in her what he had seen written on a hundred faces when regarding him - the fear, the disgust, the general distaste that even the people who acted civil often couldn't quite hide. From the very beginning she had only ever treated him like a person, with curiosity rather than mistrust, and soon with a fondness that he had experienced so little of in his synthetic existence.

"Fine. No need to make a man feel good about himself," Nick growled. His metal hand drove his cigarette butt into the nearby ashtray. "To answer your question, yes I'm relatively waterproof. I've got sealants galore. Nothing really reaches the ol' circuits, at least not the ones that matter. But I get tired of trying to dry out the metal bits before they rust. So your idea better be good."

Nora waved away his concern. "I have an actual shower in my old house at Sanctuary Hills. And a blow dryer. One of those fancy ones they used to make pre-war. We'll have to ask Sturges how much water we can pump for the shower, and the blow dryer runs on a very small generator, but I imagine it'll do."

"And let me guess, there's no arguing about this with you is there?"

#nick valentine #nick valentine fallout 4 #fanfic #fanfiction #psybreposting #even tho this isnt a smut fic for once. it will have suggestive themes eventually. lots of pining

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3rinbkk · 1 year

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yoongi’s masterlist 🍊

SERIES

shoot your shot by @yoon2k

genre: smut, fluff.

love lockdown by @personasintro

genre: zombie apocalypse au, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut. summary: it started with a supposed virus all around the world. it continues with people turning into monsters who want to eat everything that’s alive.

three tangerines by @kithtaehyung

genre: brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au; angst, smut. summary: “when Yoongi told you he would be there if you needed anything, this isn’t what he had in mind”. NOTE: THIS IS MY FAVORITE FIC EEEVEEEER,, just wanted to say thank for this beautiful masterpiece <3

cyberslut by @kimnjss

genre: social media au. smut, college au, secret identity, tutoring au, slight themes of infidelity. summary: he has no idea who you are... up front, you're sweet and innocent- but in reality you're the exact opposite. running your own nsfw account, where your favorite topic is his hands.

ONE SHOTS

your yoongi by @yoongiphoria

genre: fluff and smut. NOTE: i don’t know why i can’t tag you, but i genuinely hope you see this. thanks for your work <3

don’t argue by @yoongiofmine

genre: fluff, smut, idol au, established relationship. summery: after almost six years together, yoongi asked you to move in with him. you’re done packing your whole apartment for the move, and he shows up to make sure your last night at your old place is special.

so close by @namfinessed

genre: major angst, fluff, second chance romance summary: words are not enough for people who are so close and so in love, or a fit in which yoongi loses you but will do everything in his power to win you back.

yoongi chokes you as a xmas gift by @noteguk

genre: pwp, established relationship.

next door by @personasintro

genre: fluff (?), smut. summary: your neighbor doesn’t respect your complaints about him being loud, but you don’t let it slide so easily.

first love, last love by @kithtaehyung

genre: angst, smut; opposites to lovers, high school/university au. summary: after the most pivotal moment in your life, you never thought you would ever see him again. years later, you cross paths in the last place you ever imagined him to be. was this the universe giving you a second chance? or were yo destined to repeat the same mistakes you fought hard to forget?

sweetener by @taegularities

genre: fwb/kinda enemies to lovers; fluff, smut. summary: you used to know how he sounded when you were wrapped around him, but circumstances have pulled you apart and sent you scattering in opposite directions. feelings shouldn't reappear so easily by simple words, but when you find yourselves in the same place again, this is exactly what happens.

illicit favors by @yoongiofmine

genre: fluff, tiny angst, smut, non idol au, friends to lovers. summary: when your editor tells you to re-write the chapters of your books because the sex scenes are weak, suggesting you write them from experience, what do you di when you lack any kind of sexual experiences in general? you go to your fiend and ask him for help with it.

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eddiernunson · 2 months

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Welcome!

About | Masterlist | Links | Friends <3

My name is Maddie, I've been posting for Eddie Munson for about 2 years at this point. Please feel free to message me or ask me questions <3

Minors DNI- 99% of my work has smut

Master List

Fic Rec (coming soon)

Editor (Bestie) <3

Bestieeeee <3

Eddie to my Steve <3

@oddussy420 @names-were-taken (ily)

Currently working on one fic and something I hope can blossom into a novel

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #sorry my masterlist is here and it does technically have all this i shall make this post pretty eventually i promise

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wildechildwrites · 1 day

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Run, Rabbit

König/Reader

Wordcount: 3.8k

Warnings: 18+, Violence, Injury, Smut, lightly noncon but in the way that you're fighting it but are down, König being insane

No use of Y/N

Summary: You're on a solo mission in Romania, and König goes hunting

A/N: "Oh look another predator/prey coded Konig fic how original" SHUT UP I KNOW

AO3: Run, Rabbit

18+

You’re in the forests of Romania on a solo mission, snooping around an abandoned military base that’s been the location of some suspicious activity, according to your sources. You find the ghost of the for-hire group Kortac in rat-chewed maps and files, faint footprints in layers of dust, but the trail has long gone cold, the building slowly being reclaimed by nature. The trees show no sign of the changes of autumn, but it's in the air, the late summer whisper of a chill in the breeze. You take your time picking your way along the overgrown roads, enjoying the tranquility of the forest. The extraction point is ten clicks west of your position, but you’re content with your steady pace, the sun still high in the sky, shining brightly through the thick foliage, and the hike is an easy one. Your meager findings are carefully folded in your bag of gear, your gun snug on your hip. Ten meters to your right, a red deer raises its head up, watching you warily, before bolting away into the trees. You smile to yourself and raise your face to better feel the sun.

You hear the crack of the shot and drop, but not quickly enough. Your ears ring, your shoulder burning agonizingly, like someone’s pushing a hot poker against it. You fight against the nausea and pain, willing yourself to move, scrambling into the brush for cover. The shot came from your six, and you grapple for your binoculars, trying to locate the shooter on the hill above you. You recognize the mask first, the bleached tear tracks down an executioner's hood, the hulking form of the figure wearing it unfortunately familiar. König is standing casually, seemingly unafraid of any return of fire, staring down like he can see you through the trees. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle instinctually as he begins to move, a sauntering pace down the hill like the slow lope of a wolf. You drop down again, ignoring the pain in your shoulder as you crawl through the underbrush.

Nestled low on a hill, large body half buried in the underbrush, König watches you through the scope of his rifle, toying with the idea of killing you. He recognizes you from the files he’s seen on the 141, but there was nothing left at the base for you to find, no reason to draw suspicion and attention back here. You were harmless like this, and magnetic, head tilted towards the sun, your face lit up in a wash of gold light that plays up the color of your hair. His finger brushes lightly across the trigger as he contemplates his options. He rolls his neck loose before glancing through his scope again.

You stop behind a small boulder, pressing your back to it, breathing heavily, and pull your radio off of your hip. “Bravo Six, this is Bravo Seven Four, over.”

The crackle of the radio is a relief, Price’s voice faint but firm. “Go ahead Bravo Seven Four, over.”

“Enemies one; direction east of my grid two hundred meters, injury sustained, six clicks out of extraction point, over.” You peek out from behind the rock, but can't see anything, so you continue your crawl, waiting for a response. The birds have stopped singing, a deadly quiet that warns of danger.

“Stay calm Bravo Seven Four–” Price’s voice is cut off by the sound of another bullet whizzing near you. You can’t have your radio giving away your position, and the squad is too far away to reach you before König could. You grab your radio and quickly press the button.

“Bravo Six, silence, meet at extraction, over.” You turn it off, not waiting for a response, and tuck it back into your belt. Ignoring the growing burning in your shoulder, you move as quickly through the underbrush as you can. You need to cover more ground if you’re going to make it out of here, so you weigh your options, propping yourself into a low crouch, scanning the woods behind you. You can’t see or hear anything. You inhale deeply, then break into a sprint.

The cracking of branches is faint, but König is listening for it, his rifle slung over his shoulder as he searches for you. He immediately changes directions, moving towards the noise and quickening his pace. If you want to run, he’s more than happy to indulge you, relishing the adrenaline of the chase. Your trail is clear, broken branches like a beacon beckoning him closer. He spots blood on one of the low boulders, and swipes it up on his gloved hand, smiling under the mask.

You're hyper aware of your disadvantage, the sounds of snapping branches as your pursuer draws closer, the sluggish flow of blood down your shoulder from where the bullet grazed you. Your lungs burn, head woozy as you run hard, branches scraping at your form. You risk a look over your shoulder, searching for König behind you, and your heart drops when you miss a step.

All of a sudden, you're falling, hands stretched out in front of you as you tumble down a steep hill. You hear and feel the snap of your ankle in your boot, a whimpering sob yanked from your chest as you finally land heavily in some thorn covered bushes, branches scratching your body even through the thick fabric of your uniform. You pull yourself out, ignoring the pain as thorns drag against your face, drawing blood, then scan yourself quickly, the prognosis bleak. You can't run, not with what is definitely a broken ankle, and your shoulder is still oozing freely, but you won’t go down without a fight. You drag yourself through the dirt using your good arm, stopping periodically to listen to the sounds of König moving through the trees. Your entire body burns, and you fight against the growing fatigue that’s threatening to overwhelm you, trying to hold onto your quickly waning adrenaline.

The sound of breaking branches draws nearer. He’s moving faster, heavy footfalls that make your leg muscles twitch with the urge to run. König whistles, high and loud, and you reach for your gun, cocking it as quietly as you can, turning around to face the direction of the noise, crouching low. Your heart pounds in your chest, fear creeping in, the weight of your situation crashing down on you.

“I heard you cry out,” a voice rings through the trees. There's something light in König’s tone, like this has all been a game of tag. “You can't be too far.”

Then the only sound is the breeze, rustling in the leaves. Blood from a cut on your forehead drips into your eye, and you resist the urge to wipe it away, scanning your surroundings as best you can without moving.

The unwelcome feeling of the muzzle of a gun presses against the side of your head, and your body shudders involuntarily.

“Drop your weapon, Häschen,” König murmurs. You comply immediately, tossing it at his feet, unwilling to argue with a Beretta at your temple. The large man quickly kicks your gun into the bushes. “Sit up,” he commands, and you move slowly, trying not to aggravate your broken bone.

The small shack hasn’t been used in a while, the table in the center of the room is covered in dust, and spiders have made their home in the corners, spinning silvery streamers that hang down, brushing against his helmet. König places you lightly on the small bed in the corner, stooping over uncomfortably in the low room. Your hair is full of sticks and leaves, your face scraped and bleeding. He needs to look at your shoulder, and the ankle you’d been hovering over protectively, but work comes first. You’ve thrown him off, his fingers tingling where he held you to him, the phantom pressure of your head on his chest as he carried your unconscious body through the woods haunting him even now. He grabs your gear bag, dumping it unceremoniously onto the table, pulling your medkit to the side before rifling through the papers you’d found. The information was outdated, but he shoves the papers into one of the pockets of his pants for disposal later regardless.

You knew he was large, but kneeling at his feet he feels like a goliath, towering over you, the gun held in his grip looking comically small in his giant hands. He holsters it, and you get a stupid, moronic, brilliant idea. In a quick motion, you’ve ripped your radio off of your belt, pressing down on the button and bringing it to your lips. “MAYDAY MAYDAY MAYDAY–” König slams the heel of his palm into the back of your head, and the world goes dark.

He doesn’t bother stripping you properly, just takes his knife and slices it up through the collar of your shirt, baring your shoulder to him. His eyes, unbidden, trace the line of the now exposed column of your throat, and he swallows loudly in the quiet of the room. König draws his attention back to your injury with some difficulty. He barely even grazed you, the puckered wound bleeding sluggishly, and he quietly gloats at his own aim. When he pours alcohol on it, you awaken with a hiss, throwing your arm out hard in his direction reflexively before your brain catches up with you. He deflects you easily, wrapping large fingers around your wrist, enjoying the feeling of the delicate bones, watching with silent smugness as your confusion reads clear on your face.

“Guten tag,” he says, pleasantly casual, as though you’ve run into him at the grocery store. Your head is pounding, and you’re thrown, trying to grasp your surroundings. Your shoulder is burning, and you’re suddenly aware of the air on your bare skin. You rip your hand out of his grasp, pulling yourself as far away from him on the small bed as you can manage. He tilts his head, studying you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice hard.

König gestures with the alcohol he’s holding. “I’m patching up your injuries.” His voice is low, his accent curling around the syllables of his sentences like smoke.

You blink at him, utterly disarmed. “Why,” you pause, biting your cheek as a wave of pain radiates through your ankle, “Are you patching up my injuries?”

“Would you prefer it if I left them?” He volleys back lightly, tilting his head.

You don’t say anything, staring at him with suspicion. He’s got you cornered, quite literally, and there’s no way you can get away from him with your ankle like this unless you can get your hands on a weapon. There’s a knife tucked in your boot, but you can’t exactly pull it out subtly. His beretta is on his hip, his rifle is leaning against the table, but you’d be lying to yourself if you thought you had a chance in hell of reaching either before he could.

König takes your silence for compliance and goes back to dabbing your wound with alcohol. You flinch when he places his hand on you, and he makes a dissatisfied noise in the back of his throat. “Such a nervous little rabbit.” The mask conceals his expression from you, but you can hear the frown in his voice.

“You shot me,” you respond dryly. “Doesn’t exactly foster trust.”

“Just a scratch. I could’ve killed you, if I wanted to.” He shrugs, a casual movement that’s unintentionally intimidating, your eyes on the way his shoulder muscles move beneath the layers of clothing he wears.

You spend your time with large men, the boys of your team all averaging above six feet, but König is just startlingly gigantic. You scan his torso, eyes tracing across the wide planes of his chest, lingering too long to be decent. You catch yourself and drop your gaze down to your hands. “If you don’t want to kill me, what do you want?”

“I want to know what you are doing here.” His tone is still pleasant, but interrogative. His fingers are deliberate, surprisingly gentle as he bandages your shoulder, but there’s an unspoken thread of tension in the air.

You’re much more docile when he patches up your ankle, an uneasy truce between the two of you. You sit still as he splints it, legs draped almost intimately over his lap, his large fingers curled around your injured leg, gentle pressure holding you steady as he works. He adjusts his hold, squeezing lightly on the meat of your calf, and your breathing stutters. His eyes flick to yours, something dangerous in their expression, and you hold his gaze as you deliberately drag your uninjured leg closer to you, your boot trailing across König's upper thighs intentionally. His eyes slip close at the sensation, just for a moment, and that's when you act, yanking your knife out of your boot and sinking it into his thigh and launching yourself to the floor. He lets out a snarling cry, and you scramble up, your vision going white from the pain of your ankle, but you push through it, sprinting out of the shack.

“Chasing shadows.” You respond, your voice equally mild. You know he looked through your pack and probably found the papers. You wonder if he thought it was ironic that you came sniffing after KorTac, just to run right into him. You certainly did.

You can't run properly, reduced to a hobble that's made all the more difficult by the fact that you're on uneven terrain in the quickly growing dark. You need to figure out your location and find a way to contact your team, but you’re disoriented and disarmed. You haven’t made it more than a few meters when you hear the sound of the front door slam open. You pick up the pace, trying to put as much distance between you and the very angry Austrian hot on your trail.

“Häschen,” König’s voice rings through the trees, and a trickle of fear runs through you. You duck behind a tree, pressing yourself against it firmly, trying to blend in with the darkness.

“Always trying to run away,” he snarls, shoving his body against yours. He thrusts his uninjured thigh between your legs, pinning you further, and you let out an unintentional gasp at the sudden pressure of hard muscle against your core. König instantly pulls away, his eyes shooting down to your ankle with concern, before dragging slowly up your body, his gaze accusatory.

He can hear you breathing, light and quick, and he doesn’t even try to disguise the heavy sound of his footsteps as he closes in on you. He whips around the tree you’re cowering against, and you try to bolt, but he wraps his fingers around your bicep, yanking you back, slamming his hands above your head, trapping you against the tree.

“You like this,” he says, and you shake your head desperately.

“I don’t–” he interrupts any denials you might have, deliberately grinding his thigh in between your legs. You clench your teeth against the noise it draws from your throat.

He leans impossibly closer, your noses almost brushing through the hood he wears. “Did you like the chase as well?” His voice is a husky rumble, full of heat, and you have to bite back a whine. “I liked the chase.” You realize the hard length against your stomach isn't his Beretta, and an unwanted spike of arousal shoots through you in response.

“You’re insane,” you snap, grappling for some semblance of control over the building pleasure in your core. König pulls away from you abruptly, and you flush at how wet you are, soaking through your underwear.

“How about a game, Häschen?” his voice has lost its edge, back to the pleasant tone he used in the shack, and your head spins at the sudden change. “I'll give you five minutes to run or hide, and if you can make it ten minutes without me finding you, I’ll take you to your extraction point myself, safe and sound.”

Your heart races. You don’t trust him, but there's no way you'll get another chance to get away from him. “And if I can’t?” You ask.

You know you’re fucked, but you scramble through the darkness as quickly as you can, trying to find a good place to hide. If your ankle wasn’t broken, you’d climb a tree, but you’re stuck searching for ground cover, listening with mounting paranoia to the quiet noises of the forest. You’re a celestial body pulled unwillingly into König’s orbit; collision unavoidable.

He says nothing, just purposefully presses his hard cock against your center. Traitorous want flows through you.

You hear him coming, branches breaking as he stalks towards you. You stand as straight as you can, letting him approach you, his eyes bright in the dim of twilight. When he comes within range, you lunge for his gun, almost succeeding in yanking it out of the holster before he grabs you around the waist and pulls you to the ground, pinning you roughly beneath him.

Even as he manhandles you, you're hyper aware of the delicate way he avoids putting any weight near your injured shoulder. He's got your legs splayed around him, but he's careful, adjusting you just so, keeping your ankle tucked safely away, angled so he won't jostle it. His hips press obscenely against your ass, and you can't help arching your back into him, begging for his cock even as you swear at him.

“Get the fuck off of me,” you spit, and he just laughs, an off-putting, mean sound, before reaching around and ripping open your pants. The button pops off, and the zipper teeth split forcefully apart as he shoves a hand into your underwear.

“Complain all you want, Häschen, but you're soaked for me,” he coos into your ear, roughly rubbing your clit. You moan at the contact, and he moves his hand lower, pressing his palm against your clit before shoving a finger into your wet center, roughly splitting you open. You gasp at the sudden stretch, König giving you no time to adjust as he pulls his finger out for a moment and plunges it back in, moving in and out at a punishing pace.

“Tell the truth.” He orders, adding a second finger. He curls them, stroking your inner walls, bullying you open until he finds the spot that makes you see stars. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

You're beyond words, making a derisive noise that transforms into a whine as you move your hips back, driving König's fingers deeper, your ass rubbing against his clothed erection. All you can focus on is the press of his body against yours, his fingers unspooling you, pulling you apart as he pants along with you. The tension is building, the knot in your stomach tightening as König forces you closer to the edge.

He pulls his fingers out abruptly, leaving you devastatingly empty and unsatisfied, and you let out an anguished whimper despite yourself. He pushes your pants roughly down around your thighs, and the purr of his zipper opening makes you clench reflexively around nothing.

He presses right against your entrance, a breath away from splitting you open on his cock. You shove your hips back, trying to fuck yourself onto him, and he pulls back. “Say you want this,” he demands.

“Fuck. You.” You snarl, even as your thighs tremble. He drags the head of his cock up through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, and you gasp.

“Such spirit,” he murmurs. In a single motion, he sinks into you, splitting you in open, pulling the air from your lungs.

He thrusts into you fast and hard, like he wants to tear you open, and it hurts, even with how soaked you are. You cry out, trying to squirm away from the pain. His fingers find your clit again, his breath hot in your ear. He dwarfs you, your legs shaking from pleasure and the weight of him on top of you, pressing you into the dirt.

“You wanted this.” His voice is a panting snarl, his talented fingers stealing your senses as he forces you closer to your orgasm. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the forest air as he pounds into you without mercy. “Say it.”

“I want this,” you whimper. You feel the shocking whisper of his lips against the junction of your neck and shoulder and realize with a start that means he’s not wearing his hood. All thoughts are shoved out of your head as he sinks his teeth into your skin, and you wail as you snap, the sensation dragging you over the edge, your body trembling as you cum. His thrusts become sloppy, his cock twitching inside you as he shoves his hips against yours, filling you up. He stays like that, flush against you, as his dick softens, keeping you full and trapped under him.

You lay in the dirt panting, hollowed out and raw. There are pine needles prickling against your skin, soreness awakening in your limbs as you come back to yourself. König climbs off of you, still cognizant of your injuries, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you like a lover, the brutality melting into tenderness like watercolor. His hood is back in place, and the world comes crashing down around you as your senses return, the weight of your actions pulling you down as regret and shame bubble under your skin.

The walk to the extraction point is silent. König holds you cradled against his chest; your hand fisted in the front of the vest he wears. His thigh burns, his entire body consumed with exhaustion, but he clenches his jaw against the pain, focusing instead on your face, turnt up towards him, open and vulnerable, eyes rimmed with red. If he was a better man, he'd be sorry.

König notices your eyes glazing over, the warble of your chin, and reaches up a large hand to cradle your face, wiping away tears you didn't realize were threatening to fall. “Hush bunny, you did so well,” he croons down at you, his saccharine actions thrown in high relief against how violently he handled you before. “Such a good girl for me.”

He sets you down gently on a large rock, and pulls your knife out of a hidden pocket, his hand raised in a placating gesture as he slowly places it beside you. It’s still got his blood on it, dried to rust on the tip. You don’t reach for it, pulling your uninjured leg up and wrapping your arms around yourself. You look even smaller than you did before.

He straightens his spine against the odd sensation in his chest. “Tell your captain to keep a closer eye on his men,” He orders, then reaches out a hand, hovering just above your cheek bone. Neither of you bridge the gap.

You watch him disappear into the trees, the shadows swallowing him whole, the sound of a helicopter in the distance.

#konig: i showed minimal restraint when causing u bodily harm y wont u let me hit #part of me didnt want to post it because its simply so unoriginal but thats kind of how tropes work fun fact #I also just hate how it turned out eventually I'll rewrite everything but for now I'm just sorry #foreplay is actually shooting someone nonfatally btw #and reader has a pain tolerance like a mother fucker because this is poorly written fanfiction #I cannot write smut I literally wrote everything but the sex and then sat on it for weeks I have such a hard time with it #konig x reader #konig fanfiction #konig x reader smut #konig x you #cod konig #konig/reader #cod x reader #konig cod

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