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sortofanobsession · 4 months

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Jean Jacket almost ate OJ's Soulmate and that's a Nope (OJ/Angel Soulmate AU Part 2 of 2)

Part 1

Ao3

Summary: Soulmate AU

Angel's perspective of finding out OJ's his soulmate.

A/N: Please see the end for Resources on Missing Persons.

Jean Jacket in the movie made hikers vanish, but there is a very real number of people that have gone missing in this crazy world. So please keep that in mind.

Unbeta'd. Not fully edited.

Word Count: 2k+

Content Warning: Content Warning: blood and injury. Wound/Injury tending, worry/anxiety, social anxiety. Description of violence. Mentions of Missing Persons (Missing 411)

Chapter 2: Angel has too many feelings

Angel feels dizzy as OJ helps him with the bandages on his back that his damaged hands just can't reach. OJ had a strange affect on him ever since Angel saw him at work. Angel wanted his attention more than he had wanted anything in his life and he didn't know why. He just did. It nearly got him killed but he still craved it.

Having OJ’s fingers dance along his spine made Angel’s skin feel on fire. But that might just be the healing cuts and bruises from where the barbed wire had dug into his ribs when the vortex caused by Jean Jacket pulled the wire taught to snapping. He was shocked he had managed to scream with how tight his lungs had been squeezed. But the barber wire had been enough that it spit him out. And as much pain as he was in now, he was fucking glad to be alive. And having the guy he was very much trauma bonded and head over heels for, ha stupid not joke, nice one brain, that didn't help. Or did it. He wasn't sure. Either way, he was beyond grateful for OJ's willingness to help him. Angel hadn't even really needed to ask. OJ had just posted up and nodded along as the nurse explained what needed to be done for cuts and stitches littered along Angel's bruised torso. And Angel cried over that. He hadn't ever had anyone care for him like that. Like he wasn't a complete burden. Sure, he tried to help OJ back. OJ had an injured leg and ankle after all, but with injured hands and being unable to breathe much without pain, he couldn't do much but hold things loosely as they slowly fixed up the ranch. That and buy things they needed since he still had a job. His boss had taken it somewhat easy on him since his bandages weren't easy to hide. Even the customers were nicer. Though the fact his face was all over the news as the story came out probably helped. People were naturally curious. And their curiosity seemed to outweigh any negative experience they had at the store.

So he brought the Haywoods food the odd days he did work. He had funded Em’s grocery runs. He might not have much saved up, but he would give them everything for putting up with him.

He was brought out of his thoughts at the way OJ’s fingers disappeared while he was taking off the first bandage in his back. The loss of warmth was jarring but what had dread pooling in his stomach was the way OJ froze up, just staring at Angel’s back. Had he torn a stitch or opened up one of the cuts overnight? Did they miss one and now it was infected or something? What could possibly have shaken OJ that much? He has to know.

“Is it bad? Did they get worse?” He asks. And that must snap OJ out of whatever was going on in his head because he was moving again. Hands making heat rise throughout Angel’s body. He trusted OJ. He knew that if something was wrong and he was getting worse then OJ would be packing him in the truck and taking him to get help. Much like he had when OJ and Em found him. Angel had assured him he just needed to patch himself up but OJ didn't want to lose anyone else to that stupid cloud monster. And OJ also knew tetanus was a death sentence and there was no way Angel didn't get exposed to it. All those cuts and that much dirt. They needed a doctor. And Angel couldn't exactly tell an already grieving guy no.

And in retrospect, OJ was right. They had pumped him full of antibiotics and at least two shots for stuff he couldn't remember. And told them both if he showed any sign of fever or infection to come back because sepsis was not a fun way to die. And Angel had survived being sucked up by Jean Jacket. He wasn't going to die now because of a dirty scratch. That was why he had agreed to stay with OJ. So someone could help him. That and he was terrified of being alone. Loud noises, people shouting, even a fucking breeze, was enough to have his heart racing and not in a good way. Being alone in a thin walled apartment in the city was not going to work for him. He just hoped his new friends wouldn't get annoyed and send him away.

During one of the first shifts he couldn't avoid everything began reminding him why he hated his job. As much as he loved technology and it funded his existence, customer service was exhausting on a good day. Bad days were just brutal.

“You look like shit,” Nessie says as he walks towards his work station.

“Missed you too, Ness,” he deadpans.

“So all that shit on the news really happened,” she says, leaning against the desk to get a good look at his still healing face. “You fought space aliens. like actually those.” She gestures to the sci-fi props in the store. He didn't miss the irony of it all. Of course the store he worked in was themed after 50’s sci-fi. Mostly aliens and abductions. And he was probably the only person who had actually survived that shit. He wanted to rub at his face but didn't want to aggravate the cuts in his hands or face. OJ had helped him with his hands earlier so hopefully the bandages would hold. But his hands fucking hurt. He glares at the keyboard and the scanner.

“It was one monster,” he states, “and it might not even be alien. Like who knows how long Jean Jacket had been here before Jupe fucking lured it with horses to Jupiter's Claim. I actually talked to Em about it. Like we know it ate those hikers. What if-”

He looks up when someone clears their throat and Ness nods towards a customer.

“Oh sh-sorry,” Angel is quick to correct. “Welcome to Fry’s-”

“Don't stop, that was fascinating, you’re the guy that was on the news, what were you saying?” The guy asked. And Angel looked around. At least two people had their phones out filming him. Well, shit. He looks at Nessie.

“You know what they say, the customer’s always right,” she says with a smirk. And he sighs because they both knew that was bullshit. But fine whatever. Beats having to actually do his job. If this made the customers happy and he didn't have to use his hands, great.

“Right okay, have you ever heard of the Missing 411?”

He tells Nessie and the group that grows by the minute about how people tended to disappear in isolated areas of the US, like National Parks. After getting nearly devoured by the thing and having the injuries to prove it, he could believe that just maybe the creature they took down could have easily survived hiding in the clouds. And it was possible that the one Emerald Haywood got a photo of might not be the only one.

And the people hung on his every fucking word. Eventually his boss broke it all up and told people if they didn't buy something they had to leave. But during his break his boss had told him that Angel could talk to customers, he had actually encouraged him to do so, but maybe keep it shorter. Take some pictures even. It was good publicity, especially with the whole theme. And Angel realizes why his boss had wanted him in despite the fact he couldn't do half his job. The fucking store theme and his mild fame. And shit, that pissed him off, but if it meant he kept his job and could help contribute to OJ and Em’s needs. Then fine, he would do it. Fuck he'd start a damn cameo and do stupid videos if he needed to. But that meant he was exhausted by the time he could head home.

He was surprised when an Uber driver had canceled his request but still took him all the way from Burbank to Agua Dulce. The only thing they asked was that Angel tell him the whole story. And take a few pictures so that the dude could brag about it on his social media for clout. He had the worst migraine he'd had since Jean Jacket spit him out. He damn near cried when OJ was waiting on the porch and didn't say a word. Just held open the door and then handed him some painkillers. He had hugged the guy for it. It went on like that for a few days. Always ending with him feeling more and more at home at Haywood Ranch. He only ever stopped by his own place to get stuff he needed.

It went well until one day where his boss had made a Facebook mention about him and a bunch of people came in wanting to talk. He was so done with the weirdness by the time his shift ended. The day only got weirder with the way Em kept making jokes about him and OJ being buddies. Most of the jokes made Angel's heart race and he kept looking down to hide the color in his cheeks. He was already gone on OJ Haywood. He didn't need Em rubbing it in. It was embarrassing.

Angel is pretty sure his brain short circuits when OJ pulls him into the living room after dinner and OJ takes his shirt off.

“What-OJ-why-what are you-” Angel stutters out. He wonders if this is some sort of fever dream because this couldn't be happening. Sure he'd had a few dreams about the guy. OJ was fucking built. So, of course he did. And they were bonded for life by what they survived. But he didn't expect this. He was so confused.

“OJ?” He tries to start again. Hoping OJ would explain. And Angel cannot believe his eyes when OJ takes off his undershirt. Angel blinks a few times to make sure he is actually seeing it. OJ’s got a soulmark, but not just any soulmark. He had one that matched Angel’s own mark. And his head spins because it already hurt to fucking breathe but now his brain is trying to process the fact that not only was the man he was in love with and had easily become his best friend his soulmate, but that soulmate had seen Angel’s mark everyday, multiple times a day, since he got released from the clinic. And that means OJ had to have known and he is only telling him now.

And as frustrating as all that might be. He can't stay mad at OJ. His heart breaks when OJ tries to explain. “I didn't…I didn't know how to tell you. Going through so much already, because of me, and then Em found out.” And Angel is moving without thinking. As OJ continues, “I didn't tell her but-”

Angel’s heart beats frantically as he kisses OJ, because how could he not? The man he had been willing to die for just days before was his soulmate and he was just the sweetest guy he's ever met.

“Idiots,” Em laughs. “I'm out of here, don't do anything stupid,” she tells them. Not even waiting to hear any sort of reply. The screen door snaps closed behind her as she laughs her way out.

“You're not mad?” OJ asks. And Angel huffs, a noise somewhere between a humorless laugh and a scoff.

“Nah, not like you did it out of malice or some shit. And I'm pretty sure that was the longest sentence you've ever said to me, so clearly you mean it.”

“I do,” OJ is quick to offer. “I had a plan.”

Angel can't help but laugh at that, because of fucking course OJ had a plan. Because OJ was amazing. And Angel has to know. So he asks, “Oh yeah? What was it?”

“Tell you once we both healed up, so you wouldn't have any obligation to stay or need me any-” And okay, that’s just so very fucking OJ. He was almost too practical for his own damn good. Angel pulls away and punches OJ’s shoulder. Not hard, more to make a point. But the way OJ looks at him with confusion does something to him, because this was Angel’s soulmate. And he fucking loved it. So Angel has to say something.

“Would've been waiting forever,” Angel tells him. “because even before the cuts and shit, pretty sure I needed you. Just didn't understand why. Now it makes a lot more sense.”

“Yeah, Em pointed out that wasn't a smart plan,” OJ says, rubbing at his neck now. And damn, that was a bashful move that made Angel feel butterflies. And Angel agrees with Emerald on that one. “No, it wasn't, but…” Angel’s pause has OJ looking back up at him as Angel closes the slight distance again. “I'm glad she did.” Angel can't resist. He reaches forward and gently traces his fingers over OJ’s mark. And it's the most beautiful thing he has ever felt. It's like lightning in his fingertips. And he understands now that all those strange feelings he had while OJ had helped him with his back, it wasn't just his injuries reacting. It was his body reacting to the fact his soulmate was touching him. And even through the bandages on his palm he can feel OJ’s heat as OJ flattens Angel’s hand on the mark. OJ’s palm making the skin on the back of Angel’s hand tingle. It was the most amazing feeling he'd ever felt. It eases some of the pain in him. It brings a smile to his face. He leans in without thinking. Overjoyed when OJ meets him halfway this time in a kiss. A kiss that makes Angel swoon. Because there is so much passion in it. It's like OJ is trying to tell him all the things Angel knows he wants to. And the slightly shorter man's heart flutters when OJ presses his forehead to Angel’s as he tries to catch his breath. Sure, Angel's bruised body was screaming at him to sit down. But he didn't actually care. He had his soulmate. And that nearly did his head in. He was fucking giddy. OJ was his soulmate and not only accepted him as he was. He felt the same way Angel did.

Angel has never felt this happy or loved. “You know you're really stuck with me now,” he tells his soulmate. “You thought I was hard to get rid of before…”

“You think I actually tried?” OJ counters.

“That’s…yeah, that tracks,” Angel finally understands the meaning of awestruck, because he feels it. “But I thought it was kind of obvious how even after saying I wasn't going back to the umbrella monster, yet I did. That I wasn't going anywhere without you. I mean I saw you in my clothes man, and that is seared in my brain now. Then you go and just start stripping in the living room. I-” his rambling was cut off when OJ’s lips silenced his. And fuck that was kind of hot. Like for real. But he has something he needs to say. He needs OJ to know that he would be nothing without him. “Don't think I could have survived that shit without you.”

“Me either,” OJ says, and his tone breaks something in the blonde. OJ’s true feelings shown through as he spoke, “Killed me to think Jean Jacket-”

And Angel didn't want him to keep suffering because they were both very much alive. He assures his soulmate by saying, “Ha, like you could get rid of me that easily,”

“Didn't try to,” OJ says. “Don't plan on it either.”

And Angel can't keep the smile off his face because damn, he loves this man. He wants to help OJ rebuild his soulmate's family legacy. Angel wants to spend the rest of his life in the middle of nowhere helping OJ tend his beloved horses. He wants nothing more than to see OJ smile at him every fucking day. And he planned on it. Because not even a violent and angry force of nature had been able to separate them and that was before they had a soulbond. They would be unstoppable with a soulbond.

_____________________

The missing 411 is a real thing. It's debated a lot, but it has to do with very real missing people, and here is a link to the Doe Network, a database of missing persons throughout North America and other parts of the world.

https://www.doenetwork.org/mp-geo-us-males.php

Here is ICMP: International Commission on Missing Persons

https://www.icmp.int/

My family recently got information on a Missing Member of our family. He wasn't a 411 case or anything. He actually went MIA during WWII. If you have a member of your family that went missing while in the military, here is the resource that we used.

And the FBI Kidnapped and Missing Persons page

https://www.fbi.gov/wanted/kidnap

https://www.projectrecover.org/family-shares-mia-research/

You never know when you can help someone. So please share these links. Or just look through them if you have time.

Real families can benefit from information you don't know you have.

Thank you and I hope you enjoyed this story.

#tw: blood #tw: injury #tw: wound tending #tw: wounds #tw: worry #tw: anxiety #tw: social anxiety #tw: violence #tw: missing persons #tw: missing people #tw: missing 411 #angel torres x oj haywood #oj x angel #angel x oj #angel torres #oj haywood #torrwood

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gauloiseblue · 2 months

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I'm Only Flesh and Blood

(König × Reader)

[Dead dove: do not eat | MDNI]

TW: rape, non-con, imprisonment, death, violence, overall dark theme

(I don't know why, but this song just resonates with the story, not because of the lyrics, but the way he sings it.)

You were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You didn't realize there was a war on the horizon, before it all fell down upon the city.

Between the rumbles and the upstanding pillar, you coughed as the dust surrounded you.

You screamed for help, as the shattered walls trapped you in, leaving no space for you to move. You did it over and over again, until your throat scratched. Yet no one came to rescue, no one heard you scream.

When the night fell, you curled up your body, trying to find warmth in the harsh structures. There's no light that could reach your place, you only knew if it's daylight when the temperature rose up slightly, although it soon blurred as you lost track of time.

You were starving, your lips were cracked and split open. You thought you'd die like this, until you heard a heavy stomp of a boot.

There was a sound of a man shouting above you, and a heavy thud soon followed. You didn't have the energy to speak, as you watched a little light come through the rubbles. One by one, the wreckages were lifted, and you winced at the glaring light upon you.

There's a shout, and more shouts followed after in a language you didn't understand. You covered your eyes to see a soldier stretched his hand to you. Just like a fool, you reached up to him.

The event that unfolded between the rescue and the medical help was fuzzy in your memory. What you knew was, you woke up in a cold room, with men in uniform by your bed.

They asked you your name, and basic questions that you weakly answered. After they wrote it all down, you heard them mumble the word 'foreigner'.

"Where am I?" You asked them with a hoarse voice.

"Hospital." One of them said, before they both left the room.

Your brows furrowed, as you sensed something's off, but can't pinpoint what it was.

When the doctor declared you've made a full recovery, you were immediately brought to a different building. The man took you to an office, where a hunched figure in a mask sat at the desk.

He shooed your escort with a wave, and he left the room without a sound. Leaving you with the big man.

"What's your name?" He asked with a strange accent.

"(Name)." You responded.

"They said you're not from here." He stood up, and you witnessed the full glory of his height, "Visiting?"

You slowly nodded, nothing to add.

He shot you a sneer, as he walked closer to you, "You didn't know there was a conflict?"

"No," You lowered your head, "I thought it was safe."

You saw his polished boots as he stood in front of you, before he lifted up your chin so you'd face him.

"You're lucky you're inside the ruin, you know." He began to speak with malice slowly dripped out of his mouth, "Your kin were mostly dead or imprisoned. The women were raped, and the men were skinned alive. But you're still alive. You must be lucky."

The grip on your jaw became harder, and you whimpered, both from fear and the pain.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

He let go of your face, and you immediately took a step back with your legs trembling. Your gaze was down, and you couldn't see the smile on his face. He walked past you, and you heard the door open, before a soldier took your hand and led you through the hallway.

In the other room, you met several girls with the same expression as yours—scared, confused, unsettled. You stood beside one of them, and watched as the soldier left.

The girl turned to you, asking your name.

"It's (Name)."

"Oh." She responded, "Where were you from?"

You told her the name of your hometown. "You?"

"I lived in the neighboring country." She smiled, "I'm Nina by the way, nice to meet you."

You returned the gesture.

"Do you know why we're here?" You asked.

"I'm not sure." She said as she rubbed her neck, "But I overheard the soldiers referring to us as flowers, I'm not sure what that means."

"Flowers?"

"Pretty flowers, in fact." She clarified, "One of them even said exotic ones. I just hoped it's not what I think it is."

You opened your mouth to reply, but the conversation was interrupted by the opening door.

There's a man striding from the door, and stopping on his track to see the people in the room. He scanned them one by one, before he turned to the soldier on his side.

"Which one is the Colonel's girl?"

The soldier looked at you, before leaning in to whisper.

"Hmm," He let out a displeased grunt, "Well, take her away then. There's no point in choosing her when she's off the list."

The soldier said something to him, but he dismissed him.

"I don't care, take her away."

He pressed his lips together before he nodded.

"Come." He said to you, and Nina immediately grabbed your hand.

"Don't go." Her eyes were wide as she told you, and you were alerted by the fear in her face. But you didn't have the time to process it, as the man ripped you away from her, dragging you out of the room.

"No—" You tried to protest, "Let me go."

He stayed silent, while his hand was planted on your arm.

"Where are you taking me?"

"None of your business."

"It's my business to know."

"Shut up."

The two of you arrived outside, where he quickly called a car to the lobby. As the car parked, he opened the rear door and shoved you inside.

The door was already closed by the time you shouted at him.

The whole ride was silent, as you bit your nail, trying to make sense of the situation. You tried to look out the window, figuring out where the driver's taking you. Though you found nothing, not a single clue.

It took perhaps 15 minutes before the car parked in front of a house—a big house, in fact. At the front door, you met another man in military uniform. He didn't say much as he let you in, before locking the door behind.

It took a minute for you to process what happened, before you knocked on the door, asking why you're here. Again, you received no answer.

Deciding it's not worth the time, you began to roam around to find a way out.

It's a two-story house, with a big dining hall and equally big kitchen. It has a study room, and a meeting room right beside it, the two rooms were connected by a door. They looked like they've been used recently.

Upstairs, you found the bedrooms, as well as the bathrooms. There's a door leading to a balcony, but it was locked.

When you came back to the first floor, you tried your luck in the study room. It was full of papers, and you skimmed over it. But it's all written in a language you didn't understand, so you decided to move to the drawers. But as you bent down to reach the handle, you heard an unmistakable voice coming from the door.

"Don't touch that."

You lifted your head to see the same man you met in the office. He was leaning on the frame with his arms folded, watching you intently behind the mask.

"Curious, aren't you?"

You looked down to avoid his stare, "I'm sorry."

He took the time to examine your face, before he spoke, "I was planning to take you home with me, but it seems like my lieutenant sent you away without my permission."

"What do you want?" You asked him through gritted teeth, "You're not planning to send me back home, aren't you?"

He smirked, "Clever thing." He said, "Do you really wish to know that?"

You kept your glare at him as he explained.

"You see, you're still officially missing, and it's not our job to report every single person we found." He walked toward the bookshelves with his hands on his back and his chin up, "So if we found someone, it's our right to keep them."

He pulled a file from the shelves, and threw it onto the table.

"It's yours." He told you, "Go on and read it."

You looked at him with disdain, before you flipped the file open. There, you found all of your private information—the copy of your and your parents' IDs, your bank accounts, and detailed information about your background. Although it's written in German, you knew it from the written dates and a few familiar names.

"Do you understand now?" He spoke in a low tone, "You have no choice."

He left the room as you froze on the spot, unable to bring yourself together. The soldier by the front door took you to a bedroom and locked the door behind as ordered. Leaving you alone, at a loss.

You stared blankly at the window, and took notice how it's screwed shut. Even if you were to break the glass, it's already lined with railing. The same applied to the small window above the toilet, and you saw no possible way out in the bathroom too.

Maybe you could open it with something, something that resembles a screwdriver.

When the sun had set, you heard the lock turned, before the soldier entered with a tray and a jug of water. He set them down on the nightstand, before leaving without a word once again.

You looked at the food, and you had no appetite despite your stomach growl. You didn't touch the plate, but filled up the glass with water. That was it, that's your dinner for that day

At night, you couldn't sleep. You could hear the clock ticking, reminding you that you're still here. Pretty much alive.

20 minutes past midnight—you knew it from the toll of the grandfather clock outside—you caught the sound of the door opening, then closing. It came from the room beside you, the master bedroom.

That night, he spared you from the dreadful ordeal of sleeping together. But your luck was running thin after the third day of your stay.

You were laying on your bed with your thoughts, before the door of your bedroom opened. Your blood ran cold, as you heard a heavy step entering the room, and went towards your place.

The blanket rustled, as the man slipped inside. He settled into the bed, before pulling you into his chest.

Your heart beat hard against your chest, and you began to feel yourself sweating. You knew Fortuna frowned at you when he slid his hand under your neck, pressing his fingers on your pulse.

"You're still awake, aren't you?"

You bit your lower lip, and slowed down your breathing. All was an useless attempt to calm you down.

"Don't worry, I won't touch you tonight."

You took a sharp breath as you caught the meaning of it. It made him chuckle, as he buried his face into your nape.

"But if you try something funny, I can't guarantee that to you."

Your body turned cold when the words left his mouth, to the point that you stayed still, petrified by the threat.

He did keep his promise, as he fell asleep right by your side. Perhaps if you're a bit braver, you could lift his hand and escape that night, but his words hung on your head, as if it's a guillotine that'd fall on you if you moved an inch.

You didn't sleep that night. Drowsiness only came to you after hearing the birds singing, signaling the first arrival of the sunray. And you were too tired to notice the way he stirred, as it went closer to his waking hour.

In the afternoon, you found yourself alone in bed, with the door locked, and the breakfast on the table.

You survived that night, but it didn't mean you'd make it on the other days.

Unfortunately, it came sooner than you prayed.

It was your fault, you were careless. You thought he wouldn't pay any mind to a missing cutlery, but he did.

At the dinner, he asked you to accompany him at the dining table, and you sat there, blissfully unaware of the impending torture.

As you chewed the tender steak, he announced his concern about the lack of butter knife in the dishwasher.

You stopped at your track, as your body tensed up. The meat stayed in your mouth, as your throat tightened up, closing your chance to swallow.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He asked with a cold glare, "Did you think I'm stupid?"

You kept your gaze to the plate, as the alarm blared in your head.

"Answer me!" He slammed his fist on the table, and you flinched away in fear. The reaction caused you to choke, forcing you to cough out the meat into the napkin.

"I'm sorry." You whimpered, while gripping your hand so it would stop shaking. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, you thought the time had stopped for you. Until you heard the chair moved, and he stood by the table.

"Hands on the table." He retorted, and your body obeyed him without delay.

You jumped when he threw away your plate, sending it and the cutleries to the floor as it shattered upon the contact. You began to feel unsteady, as the panic was rising from your chest.

He stood behind you, and you trembled as you heard the sound of a zipper.

That was the day you found that he'd use sex as a punishment.

He made sure that it hurts, and left you bleeding, he'd render your legs useless by bruising your hip and insides, as he rammed his cock against your core. You screamed at him, begging him to stop, but he kept going until he ripped the orgasm out of you. By the time he finished, you're entirely spent, as you curled up on the floor.

In daze, you felt yourself being picked up, before laid down on the mattress. Leaving you wondering about it in the morning.

He was cruel, but he took you to the bedroom instead of leaving you. He was merciless, but he bothered to put a few medicines on your tray.

You didn't understand him, and you didn't like it one bit. You had a hunch that it couldn't be that simple—that he felt guilty, or he felt the need to take care of you.

To your disdain, he continued to do it for weeks. He helped you up, and gave you the medicines every morning. He kept it as a routine, until you could stand on your feet again.

While your body's recovered, the phantom pain still throbbed between your legs. Reminding you of the consequences for your misbehavior.

The memory of it kept you in line, as you unconsciously complied with his demands.

That was, until his demand became more outrageous.

It seemed that he was testing you—putting you through unnecessary trials of whether you would obey him or not. He'd put a choker on you. He'd ask you to get on your knees, and put your head on his lap. He'd tell you to sing, while his finger slipped inside your panties. He'd place you on his desk, and told you to spread your legs while he watched you pleasure yourself. He'd force you to watch an erotica without your pants on, so you'd leave a stain on your chair. He didn't ask for sex, but what he requested was way more improper, to the point that you felt dirtier after doing it.

And he seemed to be pleased by it, he delighted in your humiliation.

He also got off on your fear.

He'd play a cat and mouse game with you, and he'd scream threats that'd set you running. He knew you're scared of him, and he used it to his advantage. And when he caught you, you'd be forced on your knees as he shoved his cock into your mouth.

You're aware that there'd be an escalation from the moment he declared he'd take care of you, but you weren't prepared for the level of depravity he possessed.

The way he'd threaten you with sex, and soothe you with aftercare, it was too much.

One day, you sobbed as you begged him to end it all, with your tears running down your face. But he just sneered as he rubbed his member against your clit, forcing you to watch as your body trembled when you came for the fifth time.

There were times when it's all quiet, when he was wrapped up in his work. Those were the times where you could gather your thoughts, and planned for a possible escape.

You knew about his gun collections in the study room, you just needed the bullet. You couldn't really escape through the front door, except when it's night. So you began to devise a plan.

In the back of your mind, your rationality told you it's impossible; that even if you killed him, his affiliates would catch you so easily. You have nowhere to go. But you shoved it back into the water, as your feeling thrashed inside your chest. You need to go. You need to get away from him.

Fortunately—and unfortunately—you found out the answer to your plan.

He hosted a house party with all of the soldiers. Some of them were recruits, and some of them looked like they're on the same level as him, judging by the presence of a pretty partner on their side.

You were given the role of a quiet escort, and you were allowed to leave his side only when he told you so. You wrapped your hand around his arm, as he greeted his guests.

The last friend of his came a little later, and your eyes were widened as you saw a familiar face. It was Nina.

She looked thinner compared to the last time you saw her. Her eyes were hollow, and her face was pale, with the exclusion of the red mark on her cheek.

You had the chance to talk to her when they all sat at the dining table. While the men were talking over brunch, you made your way to her and stood beside her.

She was quiet, and you doubted that she heard you, but it only lasted for a moment before she muttered out I'm fine.

"He slapped me this morning because I forgot to brew his coffee." Her lips trembled as she spoke, "But he told me to prepare everything for the party last night, of course I'd forget it."

Your brows furrowed with sympathy, as she continued her snivel, "I should've felt grateful that he only slapped me. The other girls—the other girls got it worse. But I—everything I did was wrong in his eyes. I don't—I'm so sick of it."

She quietly sobbed, and you took the initiative to pull her aside, guiding her to the restroom.

In there, you got the full length of her story.

The man who took him treated her as a housemaid, but never addressed her as such. He'd shout at her constantly, and he'd shove her face against the counter, forcing her to look at the little dust spot she missed. At night, he'd force himself upon her, with little to no preparation. And when she tried to escape one time, he brought home the head of her mother. The only family she had left.

You didn't know what to feel, but you could see that she got it worse than anyone.

You tried to soothe her, but you knew the wound was larger than you could stitch. It could never be healed.

As you both returned to the dining room, you found the table empty, as the men had already moved to his study room.

And your heart triumphed when you saw the key in his hand, as he opened the locked drawer to fetch something vital for your escape.

The bullets.

You watched him as he slipped them one by one into the old revolver. You burned the image of it in your head—the silver, big barreled revolver.

He then invited everyone in the room to walk with him, with the intent of showing a demonstration.

"This thing is a beauty, a wild horse," He remarked as he exhibited the firearm, "You need to learn to tame it before you ride it, or she'll kick you off the mount."

The men laughed, as some of them added an equally filthy joke. He chuckled before turning his body and stretching his arm to aim at the target.

There was an apple on the fence, on the far side of the garden. And the red fruit stood still, before it exploded as his gun went off with a bang.

The men cheered, applauding the magnificent show that you couldn't understand. Why did they praise it? Wasn't a gun supposed to do that?

You didn't have the time to ruminate, as you heard your friend whisper under her breath.

"He loves you."

The chatter from the men almost drowned her voice entirely, that you had to double-check your hearing.

"What?" You asked her.

She turned her face towards you, and a tear rolled down on her cheek. The sight of her stunned you, as she reached to touch your cheek.

"He never took his eyes off you." She muttered as she leaned closer to you. "I'm sorry."

For a moment, you thought you felt her lips brush against yours, as she pulled you into a kiss. And you almost taste the wine in her tongue, until a sharp shrill flew past you with an incredible speed. Before you knew it, you were on the ground, with her body slumped against you.

You sat there, watching the open side of her head as it dripped dark fluid into your dress. It was warm, and slowly seeped through the fabric, spilling over your thighs.

You didn't know who was screaming.

You couldn't remember how long exactly before they removed her body from you. The party must be over since the men took you to your room, leaving you alone as you sank into your chair. Your hands couldn't stop shaking, as you saw them stained with red.

What happened to your dress? It was supposed to be white, wasn't it?

You stared at your knees, as the image of her head was still fresh in your mind. You felt your vision narrowed, as if you watched yourself through the third eye. You weren't there, you were still on the ground, with your friend's head on your lap.

The door was opened, but you didn't notice it. You didn't notice any presence, before a hand softly landed on your shoulder.

You jumped out from your chair, almost shouted for the second time, if not for his embrace.

It caught you off guard, and you began to sob against his chest. You couldn't help it, it was the only comfort you had, even though you knew that he had removed every other hand just so you'd choose him.

"Don't be sorry." He gently lulled you, "She brought it upon herself."

He removed the bloodied dress from you, before turning away to fetch a wet towel. You didn't have the energy to fight him, moreover to lift your finger. So you let him clean the blood off your face, and off your body.

You didn't resist when he put the fresh clothes on you, and he guided you to the bed, letting your head fall onto the pillow. He didn't do much and left the room without a word.

On the bed, you let your mind wander to your friend—her hollow stare, the gaping wound in her heart, you should've known it. There's a quiet anger in you, as well as a deep sense of loss. She used you as a means to end her pain, but she had no other choice. She had nothing left.

For days, you asked yourself if it's the only way for her, or if you could help her, reach out to her just a little further. But what came back was an echo, since she was already an empty shell long before you could help her.

You were angry at yourself, angry at him, angry at the man who took her. Yet you couldn't do anything about it, you were powerless.

He was smart enough not to bother you, since you'd erupt at any given moment. But he'd snap at you if you crossed the line, and you'd end up with tears, as you bit your lips shut.

You don't know what to do with this anger, you still don't know the answer to this day.

While you have the plan ready, you haven't chosen the execution date. You need to be close enough to him to take the key, but you're still repulsed by him.

A week has passed by, and you find the courage to close the distance between you and him. You begin to join him for dinner, and keep him company in his study room.

That's when you start to see the crack.

There's a time gap where you can carry out the plan, at least the first plan. When he comes home, he usually leaves his things unattended at dinner time. You would have the freedom to roam, and you could sneak into his room for a short time. You once made sure which pocket that had the key in, and did a double-take a few days later. When you're certain of it, you move to the gun collections. You had memorized the revolver, so it didn't take long before you found it.

With that in mind, you're ready at any time.

You maintain a good facade in front of him, as you wait for the moment to strike.

The chance comes to you one night, when he decides to postpone the dinner. He has to talk with someone outside, and leaves his things on the dining table.

The window of time will be short, since the time it takes for him to finish will be uncertain. But you take it nevertheless.

You don't waste any time as you pull the key from his vest's pocket, and march toward the study room.

Adrenaline rushes through your body, and you're shaking as you take the revolver off the padded wall. You then turn your heel as you approach the desk, sliding the key with difficulties, before unlocking the drawer.

Alas, you run out of time.

You hear the front door close, and a heavy step echoes through the house. You hold your breath as you slide the cylinder release, and take a few bullets in your hand.

"Mäuse?" Your panic rises as you hear his call, with trembling hands, you try to push the bullets into the cylinder. Alas, one of them falls to the floor.

The noise must've alerted him, as the sound of his step turns into a heavy bolt.

You only manage to put two bullets in, before slapping the cylinder shut and aim at the door, right at the same time as his arrival.

He stops in his tracks when he sees you inside, with the gun in your hands.

"Don't come any closer!" You shouted a warning at him, though you couldn't hide the quiver in your voice.

He stands by the door, with his face unreadable, as it hides behind the mask. You pull the hammer, while your finger rests on the trigger. You're ready to shoot, he knows it from your stance.

He sighs, shaking his head in disapproval, "I gave you time, and this is how you repay me?"

"Don't—don't move." You tried to warn him once again, "I'll shoot if you move."

"Can you even shoot me with those hands?" He leered at you, taunting you with his words, "You won't hit any target if you keep shaking."

He catches you off guard as he storms the room, forcing you to pull the trigger.

The bullet hit his shoulder, and he shouts in pain. The shot you released enrages him, as he pulls a sledgehammer from his side.

You don't have the time to aim as you shoot the second bullet, and it flies past him, leaving him unharmed.

A high-pitched scream escapes your mouth as the hammer slams onto the desk, causing the wood to crack upon impact.

The revolver quickly dropped as you fled to the connecting door, escaping the place through the next room.

You run towards the front door, trying to push the handle, but it won't budge. You hear him coming, and jump to the side, narrowly escaping his hammer of rage as it punches through the door, sending the broken pieces everywhere.

"YOU COME BACK HERE!" His voice boomed through the house, and you could almost feel the floor shaking.

You dash to upstairs, and push your bedroom door open, before locking it just in time.

Still, it can't protect you from him.

You watch in horror as the door shakes and fills the room with the cracking sounds, before it flies open by force.

And there he is, standing at your door like a nightmare.

You can't do anything except running away from him, running to the corner where you'll certainly meet your demise.

And you lift your arms and brace for the impact. You can see the hammer coming to you from the corner of your eye, and you cry out when it strikes.

It's all silence, before a quiet sob falls from your mouth.

His hammer crashed on the wall, just an inch away from your head, showering you with dust and smashed fragments.

Your body slides down to the floor, as your legs give up. You continue to weep, while he lifts up the hammer, and tosses it to the ground.

"Are you done?" He retorted harshly, and you shrunk away from him.

He yanks your hand away, and throws you to the floor. You yelp when he sits on top of you, pushing your face down to the ground.

"Should I treat you badly so you'd learn to appreciate what I did for you?"

"You took my freedom away." You hissed through your tears, "You kept me in here so you could play me like a toy."

"But I took care of you, didn't I?" He growled, "I never asked you to clean the house, you didn't even have to cook for yourself. What more could you ask for?"

You flinch at his tone. You've seen him angry a few times, but never this angry.

"Do you want a toy of your own?" He asked, voice dripping with bitterness. Your eyes snap open, as the phantom pain throbs in your hip. "I can certainly give you one."

"No…" Your lips quivered as he slipped his fingers under your clothes, "No, no! Stop!"

You tried to kick him away, do anything to get away from this monstrous man.

"Get away from me!" You screamed at him, but he ignored you as he ripped your clothes off. "Please! I'm sorry—"

"It's too late for that, don't you think?" He laughed when you tried to crawl away, while he undid his belt.

You cry out when you feel the head of his cock poking against your core, before he slowly pushes it inside.

It was excruciating, as he stretched you open with a force. He groans as your walls clamp around his member, as if repelling him from entering.

He snakes his arm around your shoulders, as he pulls you close until his chest is flush against your back. A bitter tang of iron hits your nose, reminding you of your own mistake. He hisses when you grab him on the place near the wound.

"Don't think you can escape me, (Name)." He snaps his hip against you, and you throw your head back, eyes tightly shut. "Not even in your death."

You scream when he buries himself completely, stuffing himself to the hilt, until you feel yourself full.

The pain comes back to you, as you feel your core burning. He makes it worse by feeding it frictions, as he begins to pump himself in and out. He tosses his mask aside, before he marks you with his bites. He sinks his teeth onto your neck and shoulder, before he lifts you by your chin, and crashes his lips against yours.

It was bitter, full of teeth. His kiss tasted like rage, and the jealousy he held since your friend stole it from him.

You cough from the lack of air, and fall down on the floor. The mixed saliva in your mouth drips down to your chin, and he runs his thumb to wipe it off.

He bends down to kiss you once again, and you whimper when you find yourself growing wetter against your will. The resistance from your walls becomes lesser, and he can easily slide his member in.

"You know, Mäuse," He mused as his hips moved like a piston, "I'm only flesh and blood, but I can be a good father."

He keeps his arm around your body, as you struggle against him.

"I can buy you a big house, taking care of our little ones." He covers your mouth when you begin to voice your protests, "As long as you're with me."

Your hand starts to flail around, trying to hit his wound, but it's out of your reach.

"I'll make you my wife, and we'll live together as a couple." He said with a smile, but through your eyes, it was a madman's grin. "You just have to be good, and I'll treat you as such."

His cock brushes against the spot that made your moan, and he keeps hitting it until your back arches, as you turn limp in his arms.

He soon follows after you, as his cum spills into your womb, filling you up to the brim. You gasp when his arms tighten around you, as his cock twitches inside your core. A sense of dread hits you as you feel his cock doesn't get any softer.

"I think you'll make a great mother." You heard him murmur, before he pressed his lips against your temple.

#I have “writing dark fic is my coping mechanism” syndrome 👍#tw noncon #please read the warnings #dead dove do not eat #könig x reader #konig x reader #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #konig cod #he might be a bit OOC but I do believe that he'd turn cocky when he's the person in the high rank #like what's social anxiety? I'm the captain here #*the colonel #whatever

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