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loveindefinitely · 6 months

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༊*·˚ NEED TO LISTEN TO ME — price is disappointed in you and your other three lovers, and finds that some 'training' is in order

read on ao3.

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, poly tf141, ANGRY sex, mean dom price, angst, degradation, minor dom/sub, light humiliation, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, minor spit play, minor blood play (not really), rough sex, price orders EVERYONE around, price-centred, whiny johnny and gaz agenda

// NSFW CONTENT UNDER THE CUT //

You weren't scared of many things at this point in your life.

Being a signal officer for the military certainly aided that statement, but it was more the fact that you had four guard dogs in the form of the most seasoned special forces operatives you've ever known. Four very large, very scary men that you'd somehow found yourself lucky enough to get to call your partners.

Both on, and off, the field.

That being said, there was one thing you were terrified of. Like, to your bones, petrified.

And that thing had a name.

John Price.

He was formally the captain of your force for a reason, but he was also informally the captain of your relationship, as well. The one you all looked to in the most difficult of moments, the one that held reason and guidance above all.

It's been that way since the five of you met, and remains the same to this day.

Nonetheless.

It was a known fact between you, Soap, Ghost and Gaz that none of you liked seeing the man mad. You four could count on one hand the amount of times you'd witnessed it, all of which having been directed at either his superiors or an enemy.

But. Right now, in this office, seated on the small couch between your three lovers?

Yeah. You don't fear many things.

But John Price's disappointment is quite easily in your top three, and this situation only cements it.

"He's probably ordering our caskets," Gaz murmurs wistfully, eyes wide as he stares at his foot, tap-tap-tapping against the wooden floor. It's a nervous tic that gives him away too easily, but even with your hand on his knee, it doesn't seem able to quit.

You exhale a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut. "I hope he gets me a cute one," you mumble back, tone matching the resignation that clouds your captain's office.

"You four. My office."

Those were the only words Price had spoken to you guys, before marching off to a meeting with Laswell.

To say that you and your lovers were mortified was the biggest understatement of the century.

Even Ghost, sat perfectly still, expression perfectly neutral beneath his mask, oozes trepidation like it's the carbon dioxide he exudes with every breath.

"I know 'm 'n tha military, but I still don't wanna die, ya know?" Soap whines, his head flung back and blue eyes glued to the roof as his hands shake in his lap.

You guys must look like unruly students sat outside of your principal's office to any onlookers, and it should be embarrassing.

It would be, if you could feel anything but mortal peril.

You're about to quip a reply to Soap, when the door clicks open, and the three of you sit ramrod straight, Ghost not moving from his already perfect posture.

Price steps in, the door shutting closed behind him.

The silence is a tangible force, and your mouth is so dry, you'd think you were in a desert, not in your lover's office.

His footfalls echo around the modest space, before he leans against his wooden desk, folding his arms over his chest, before directing his furious gaze to you four.

"When I give orders," he starts, and oh god, his tone, it's so unbelievably firm, "I expect my team to follow them."

There's no response, except for the overwhelming quiet coming from the usually passionate and comforting presence that underlies your entire dynamic.

Price clears his throat, meeting all of your eyes one by one. You wonder if you can see the glassiness of yours, the barely restrained tears.

"So why," he begins, before swallowing once more, determination settling in, "Did all four of my teammates rush into an unstable building after being ordered to keep out?"

You know it's not just the anger of a captain's orders being refused.

It's the anger of a lover having to watch all four of his partner's risk their death, while he can do nothing but watch from the scope of a sniper rifle.

The clock on the wall above the door ticks, and none of you make a sound.

Price grabs a pack of cigars from his pocket, quickly sliding one out, placing it between his lips, and shoving the pack back into his slacks. He then pulls out a lighter from his back pocket, lighting the tobacco, before exhaling his first breath of smoke.

In any other situation, you or Gaz would be chastising him, telling him to stop smoking, or to at least do it outside.

Neither of you say a word.

Rubbing at the furrow between his brows, Price then drifts his eyes to Ghost, the only one who hasn't said a word since the mission.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" Price says on a deep exhale, shaking his head. There's hurt there, genuine pain, and your heart stutters in your chest at the sight. "You're my lieutenant, Simon. I thought you'd at least 'ave the brains to listen to me when I make an order."

Ghost's hand tightens where it sit on his cargos, and even with his mask on, you can tell that a disgruntled frown lays beneath it.

"And you, Soap," he looks at the man to your right, now, and you can physically see him deflate at the disappointment in his captain's eyes. "Disrespecting authority is cute 'nd all, until it's me, mate."

Those words feel like a physical wound, even to you, and judging my Soap's crestfallen expression, for him, it must hurt tenfold.

And, then, it's your turn.

His mouth is set in a grim line, and you hope that he can see the regret, the genuine sorrow you feel at disappointing and -- and scaring your captain. Your lover.

"What were you thinking?" He asks, and your mouth wants to open, but it's as if there's an invisible force pinning it shut. "You weren't even supposed to step foot on enemy grounds, and you knew that."

And it's true. Your role is mainly with communications and technical supplies, not actual combat. You were trained, yes, but it has never been your role.

But you'd seen Soap rush in, Ghost trailing after him, yelling, and then Gaz not long after, and it was like your mind shut out any rational lines of thinking. There was no rationale when it came to your partners.

That was a flaw. A genuine character fault, and Price was cementing that fact in this very room.

"Kyle," Price runs his hand down his face, cigar in between his middle and index fingers, "Kyle."

The pain, regret, the melancholy -- it's its own element in this room, its own being, and it feels as if it's choking you from the inside out. Like a gas leak, or a grenade stuck in your throat, about to go off.

Ghost, shockingly, is the first to speak.

"Captain," he grits out. Not 'old man'. Not 'love'.

Captain.

"We're aware of our... misgivings," he states, the words coming off of his tongue like hot coals he needs to rid off, lest his entire mouth burns.

Price nods, slowly, eyes narrowing at Ghost. It hits you, then, how your lover's just dug all of your graves in one sentence. Gaz seems to realise, too, his eyes going wide, exhaling a low, short breath in surprise.

"Sweetheart," he quips, standing up in the transition of one moment to the next, eyes snapping to your glassy ones. The endearment holds no warmth to it, for the first time, and your heart shatters where it beats in your chest, shards of glass embedding into the muscle surround it. "Get on the desk."

He says the words, and in the next movement, sweeps his arm over his desk, causing all of his papers, his pens, his folders, to go careening to the floor.

Soap mutters a curse under his breath, and Gaz winces.

On shaky legs, you stand, walking the short distance to the wooden surface and sitting on it with short pants of breath.

His large hand grips your chin in a tight grasp, tilting your head back and forcing the eye contact between you both.

He leans in, mouth mere millimetres away from your own, before speaking. You can taste the tobacco as he does. "I'm gonna let every single one of my subordinates fuck your disobedient cunt, and it's not gonna get any cum. Do you understand that order, sweetheart?"

It's cruel. Patronising, and so unbearably condescending, but you nod, a tear finally leaking down your cheek.

With a calloused thumb, he wipes it away in one stroke. "Save that for the actual punishment, operator."

And then, he steps back, and takes a seat in his chair, allowing him a full view of the other three still sat at the couch, and your position in his desk.

"This is a lesson on following your captain's orders," Price barks his order, like most other men of his rank would. It's a stone cold contrast to the gentle, comforting way he usual spoke to the four of you. His voice, now, holds no love, no underlying adoration lacing through his words. "You will follow every command I give you, and hopefully, this training will carry onto our future missions."

You're all aware that if it gets too much, one of you will utter the safeword you're all aware of -- the weight of it almost embedded into your beings.

Price knows it, too. And no matter how angry he is, he'll always put you all first, listen to you when you genuinely need to stop.

The feeling in the room has shifted from one of heavy disappointment, to an electrifying anger that has liquid heat melting to your core.

"Simon," Price snaps his fingers, and it's almost as if you're in a parallel universe, because the large man immediately stands. "Lay 'er down on the desk."

Ghost only needs to take two steps from the couch before he's standing in front of you, hand fisting into your hair, before somewhat gently pushing you to lay flat against the smooth surface. Your breathing is harsh, your chest moving in quick rises.

"Strip 'er down," Price orders, voice gravelly as he takes another deep inhale of his cigar, folding his leg so his left ankle rests on his right knee, legs spread wide. He fills out the chair with his frame, and it makes you shiver as Ghost gets to work peeling your clothes off of you.

When your heated skin feels the kiss of the cool air, you let out a haggard breath, head falling back to hit the wood as you clench your eyes shut.

Ghost goes to spread your thighs, before pausing, awaiting Price's directions like a dutiful dog.

You never thought you'd see the day.

"She's wet enough," Price shrugs, taking another drag of his cigar. "Fuck 'er."

Oh, fuck.

He wasn't lying, you were soaking, something about the fear unknowingly having your inner thighs sticky and core aching to be filled.

But... not getting prepped? At all?

Ghost makes a surprised grunt of a noise, pausing for a moment, before recollecting his senses and unbuckling his pants.

Oh. Fuck.

He's really, properly following Price's directions, like the man had demanded. The guilt was eating all of you alive, and that festered in Simon's actions.

His deep brown eyes flick to yours, before he unzips his fly with one hand, gaze not moving from yours. There's slight apology in them, only a hint, before he leans down to spit on your cunt.

You inhale a sharp breath at the act, squeezing your eyes shut as his dick presses against your heat, rubbing against it slightly.

Then, he pushes in -- it makes you cry out, breath hitching as the tip enters. It's a tight fit, but he continues to push in, and it's almost as if you can feel the intrusion, the pressure in your chest.

"So you can follow orders, huh?" Price quips, almost nastily, and it has you shuddering as Ghost's hips finally flush against your own. You don't think you've ever taken any of them without foreplay, and it's a special form of torture. The pressure is almost too much, his cock filling you up so much.

Simon's head hangs between his shoulders, muscles tense as he stares down at you, the epitome of self-restraint.

He always was the most controlling one, the most calculating.

Not today, however.

That title easily belongs to Price, who merely relaxes further into his seat, as if he wasn't just mere feet away from the two of you.

"I said fuck her, Riley. Not stand there and keep it warm."

He's so fucking. He's fucking cruel about this, fully willing and wanting to make this hurt. It's so completely unlike the man you love, and it's psychologically damning in a way nothing else could be.

But, like directed, Simon fucks you.

He stops trying to be kind about it, stops wallowing in guilt. It's rough, forceful, urgent, unlike the way he usually liked to savour your pleasure, your pain. He usually delighted in the smooth, deep strokes, prolonging the passionate act almost vindictively.

No. Now, it's quick, punishing thrusts, and your head falls back and little moans escape your throat.

It's like you've both forgotten that Soap and Gaz sit on the couch, watching, waiting. Price has likely made it that way on purpose, to make them envy the attention you and Ghost are getting.

"Fuck," you moan, tits bouncing as Simon continues to fuck you relentlessly, harsh in his movements.

"Does he feel good?" Price is standing, and when you open glassy eyes, it's to see his face looking down at you. If you had the mind to, you'd flinch under his criticizing expression. "Answer me."

You nod, shakily, and when his brows narrow, you rush out a verbal response. "Yes, yes, he does!"

Price hums a noncommittal sound, before his hand slides down your stomach, leaving your hairs to stand on end, before his fingers reach your clit. In tight circles, he has you on the edge almost immediately, and you cry out.

"Gonna fuckin' cum," Ghost grunts, voice low as his eyes clench tight.

"Aww, you two close?" Your captain's voice is gruff, all too condescending, and just before you can find your release, his hand leaves your clit, and wraps around Ghost's neck. He leans into his ear, and his whisper is loud enough for everyone to hear. "Pull out."

Simon makes a noise suspiciously close to a whimper, and it's so unlike him that it has your eyes opening wide, before he does just as Price ordered.

He pulls out.

"Seriously?" You groan, filter eviscerated like your high was. You lean up, using your elbows for leverage.

Price raises one brow, before scratching at his beard almost absent-mindedly. "Got a complaint, sergeant?"

You shake your head, lightning quick, like a puppet on a string.

That's what you were right now -- what all of you were. Just puppets in whatever acts Price wanted to see you all star in.

It's exhilarating in the worst of ways.

"Soap, Gaz," Price snaps once more, and Ghost is nothing more than a neglected mutt. Which, really, is almost funny considering the amount of times the man teases you, Soap and Gaz about such a comment. You couldn't count the amount of times he's compare you three to 'needy puppies'.

Now, he was nothing more than that, and you wish you could enjoy that fact more.

The two men adhere to the command, radiating nervous energy as they stand to attention, not unlike they would if they were in a standard military unit.

"Gaz, take her mouth," Price demands, before his hand buries in the short hair near the nape of Soap's head with a mean grip, meant to hurt. Soap barely hides a whine as Price tugs him, forcing the man to his knees as if he's nothing more than the mutt Ghost usually refers to him as. "You, lick 'er clean."

You realise, then, what exactly this is.

It's truly a display of power. Of control. Because you four took that away from him on the field, unrightfully so. There truly is thought behind his anger, his pain.

It only makes the ache in your heart burn, makes it bruise and bleed where the shattered pieces cut and embed into the innerworkings of your body.

This 'training' won't make up for what you four pulled. Not in the slightest.

But it's something to let John get some of his emotions out, in a somewhat healthier way than you lot usually resorted to.

You'd always offer your support, offer yourself, and he knows that.

He's deliberately taking away that option for you, taking control to comfort the side of him that is so deeply ingrained, so deeply relied on for him to live.

You love him. So effortlessly.

Those words remain accurate, even as Johnny first licks over your wet pussy, and Kyle's dick bumps against your lips.

Opening your mouth without a thought, Kyle's tip slips in, his pre-cum salty on your tongue as you flatten your tongue against it. Johnny's as enthusiastic as ever, maybe even more than usual, as he delegates all of his attention to your aching warmth.

John's grip doesn't release from Johnny's hair, shoving his closer against you, and the sight is so hot that you wish you could fully, properly enjoy it.

Another time, when you're all in better spots, happy and unapologetic, you'll ask them to re-enact the scene.

Johnny moans against your pussy, hands coming up to grip at your bare thighs, and you just know there'll be finger-shaped bruises come tomorrow morning. He's always been unaware of his strength, not understanding the proper damage he can inflict, especially in the bedroom. It's attractive as all hell.

"Yeah? She taste good, hm?" John nearly snarls, and you let out a drawn out moan at the pleasure and words. The sound is muffled by Kyle pushing in deeper, having you almost gagging on his length.

Your eyes flutter shut at the onslaught of feelings, but even with no sight, you can feel Simon's eyes on you like a physical weight.

You know what position he's in, without having to look. Leaning against the wall with a furious expression, large arms folded over his bulky chest. Maybe he's pulled off his mask, maybe it's just been hooked over his crooked nose.

"Fuck, cap," Kyle groans, bucking into your throat. "So fuckin' good--"

Johnny muffles a whine as his efforts nearly double, and you swear spots colour the darkness of your vision. You're already there, and it's not like you can say anything, with Kyle abusing your mouth like this.

"She's close, ain't she, Johnny? Feel her clenchin' on your tongue?" John taunts, and you can feel Johnny nod against your core, nose brushing your clit as he does.

John huffs a cruel laugh, before he abruptly pulls Johnny away by the scruff of his neck. You can't help by buck up, searching for touch, but none comes.

"Kyle," John's tone is one requiring no resistance, and with a shaky exhale, Kyle pulls out of your mouth, a string of spit clinging to his dick, before snapping and leaving your cheek covered with a line of it.

You shakily open your eyes, your pussy begging for a release, knowing that you won't get one. Not yet.

"You make a mess, you clean it up," John says.

So, Kyle leans down, his tongue licking over the spit trail, and really it should be disgusting.

Instead, it only makes you wetter.

Your thighs incessantly shake, no hint of stopping as your body aches. The emotional turmoil, mixed with the physical kind -- it's a concoction for torture.

With half-lidded eyes, you watch as John forces Johnny's head in between your breasts, pressing his face into them. It must be almost suffocating, but Johnny manages to whine as you feel John's hand wrap around Johnny's dick, positioning it against your twitching hole.

"Rut into her," John orders, before stepping back.

Johnny does just that -- he thrusts in, bottoming out with one push. Your moan sounds too alike to a squeal at the stretch, the sudden intrusion. Your arms wrap around his back, nails scratching lines down Johnny's back as he thrusts into you almost manically. You're sure that you're drawing blood, but it only seems to encourage the man rutting into you further, his thrusts urgent and feral.

"Jesus christ," someone -- you're sure it's Kyle -- murmurs, and you suddenly want to know what you must look like from a spectator. Ruined, probably.

Your breaths are harried as you feel yourself getting close once more, tears burning at the corner of your vision at the pure need coursing through your veins.

"Please," you whimper, squeezing like a vice around Johnny's dick. "Please, oh god."

"Now you want me to make decisions? Let you two cum?" There's a hand in your hair, and in any other situation, it'd be calming.

Currently, it feels like a thinly veiled threat.

"Please, John, 'm so sorry, please," you beg, eyes blurry as you look up into the man's stormy blue eyes.

Usually, they're comparable to a calm ocean, the beach mid-summer.

Now, they're akin to the darkest of storms, the ones sailors whisper about, the ones that haunt them while they're asleep at sea. Ones that cause shipwrecks to wash up on shores, ones that cause stories to be passed between campers on the scariest of nights.

"Now you're sorry, sweetheart?" And, oh, there's a sliver of the warmth you've come to crave, and it almost has you melting where you lay.

You're so close, you can taste it on your tongue, and your moans get louder, needier, more frantic --

"Stop, Johnny."

Tears fall, then. Hot and heavy down your cheeks, leaving sticky tracks in their wake. Hiccups fall from your lips as you sob from the deprevation.

Johnny whines, head drooped low as he stops, and you can feel him pulse inside of you, both of you at your wits' end.

"You follow orders so well in this room, don't you?" John says. The voice of a captain.

It's almost your last straw. The devastation is too great, the mix of physical and emotion stress weighing on you heavily.

"'M so sorry, shoulda listened," you cry, body trembling.

"John, please, we're sorry," Kyle insists, a furrow between his dark brows where he takes a step closer to you and Johnny.

Simon, although silent, is also closer to you both now than he had been, no longer stood against the wall.

Your boys -- they're so inherently protective, and it's such a nice feeling. No matter how guilty they feel, how genuinely sorry, they can't stand to see you or Johnny so weak, so vulnerable.

Love. You love them, in a way words can never describe.

John exhales. A deep, thoughtful one.

"We're talking about this, after we're all cleaned up," he says. It's the first hint of himself that you've heard tonight, and the relief is like an intoxicating drug.

It's like even the room itself takes a deep breath, dispelling of some of the tension lining every inch of it.

"Off 'er," John snaps his fingers, and Johnny pulls out with a small whimper, head still hung low.

Grabbing your hips, John flips you over, making you bend so your face is to the desk and your ass is in the air. His large hand presses against your lower back, bending you into an arch.

He slides in, and it's an easy entry. You don't think you've been more wet in your life, and gods, you need it.

Setting a ruthless pace immediately, every thrust forces a whimper, a moan, a whine out of your mouth, eyes dazed as your cheek presses against the wood. His hand fists into your hair, forcing your head to face the three men stood side by side, watching you both with a flurry of emotions behind heavy stares.

"Feel so fuckin' good, christ," John seethes, his grip tightening in your hair, causing your moan to become louder as it leaves your lips.

It isn't long before you're at that cliff once more, begging for a final push, just so you can reach that finish you ache for.

"Gonna, fuck, please, let me cum, John, I love you, I'm so sorry," your words aren't fully your own, and they come out in a desperate plea.

"Yeah? My girl gonna cum for me? Needy slut."

Those words are your undoing, your nirvana.

You cum, body strung tight as tears fall down your cheeks once more, your vision nearly blacking out with the strength of your orgasm. It's almost painful, the stimulation altogether too much, and not enough.

John finishes not long after, his cum filling you up with a loud groan from him.

He releases his fist in your hair, and you head falls to the desk, body slumping with the final release of pleasure.

Stroking a smoothing hand down your back, he pulls out, and you can feel his seed leaking down your thighs. You must be a sight -- all worn out and dripping with the white liquid.

"We don't getta cum?" Johnny whines, and you can hear the roll of Simon's eyes.

There's a hand stroking stray hairs off of your face, and from the texture and size of the limb you can tell it's Kyle.

"You won't get to tomorrow, either, if you keep tha' up," Price mutters, and you let out a delusional giggle at his words. You're cum-drunk, almost, from how drawn out your orgasm had been.

"We really are sorry, Cap," Kyle murmurs genuinely, and the hurt is a sharp barb on his tongue. "You know we love you, didn't mean to hurt you."

John releases a long, worn-out breath. "I know that. I do. But you're a bunch of reckless muppets 'nd you fuckin' went too far today. I'm your captain, lover or not."

"We'll talk it over later," Simon states, and you can't help but agree with the sentiment.

You will. And it'll be a painful conversation, but one that you all owe to your captain.

Because, at the end of the day, you four would do anything for the man that you love. That includes the tough words, the difficult exchanges.

John presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, and with complete certainty, you're sure that you're all going to be okay.

a/n. the day that i stop loving poly 141 is the day that i die. price needs all the love omg this one kinda hurt to write cause oof angst but hopefully it was an enjoyable read!!!! thank you to everyone who comments on my fics, your notes etc make me do a lil happy dance ily all!!!!!!!!!!!!

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sonarspace · 21 days

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safeguard, kento nanami

synopsis: bf!nanami comforting you after an incident with a stalker. content: (dealing with a stalker). comfort. fluff. wc: 1.1k a/n: based on an ask. ee being stalked is so scary. need all stalkers to d!3 immediately 😒!

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. on your way to your boyfriend's apartment for a movie night you stop at a grocery store to grab some snacks. you get back in your car and start driving to his place. 15 minutes.

you're on a red light when you notice the van behind you has their headlights off and a dark tint. it's nightime so and the street lights are dim so you couldn't really see their face.

you start getting anxious, trying to think if you've seen this van before. and you immediately recall that it's the same van you saw at outside your gym a few days ago, with a beaver sticker on it's side.

the light turns green and you drive slow to see if they would overtake you but they don't. your anxiety is at an all time high confused about what to do, you call your boyfriend. "pick up, pick up," you mumble anxiously when the call goes to voicemail. you call him once more but still no answer.

you take a turn and the van follows. you're getting closer to your destination but the van is still tailing you. your phone rings and you quickly pick it up "hey sorry, i was in the kitchen. where are you? it's been twenty minutes." nanami's voice comes through.

"kento," your voice is shaking as you’re on the verge of tears. a sense of relief flooding you at hearing his voice, finally. "baby? are you okay? where are you?" he questions you worriedly. "yeah 'm okay. i— there's this van following me. i don't— i don't know what to do," you reply.

"what do you mean following you? where are you?" he asks and you can hear dishes clanking and nanami whispering a “fuck” when he hurts himself. "remember i told you about that weird van i saw at the gym the other day. i think it's the same one. i'm close to your place. i don't know how to lose them."

you hear him grab his keys and the apartment door shut in the background when he replies, "go to our usual cafe. i'll meet you there. okay?"

"okay. don't hang up." your breathing is erratic. "i'm here baby. don't worry, i'm here." he comforts you. "tell me. what snacks did you get for the movie," he asks trying to distract you. his footsteps hurried as he half runs to the cafe trying reach you quicker.

"i see you and i see the van. park on the side and come inside," he says and you let out a sigh of relief. he quickly snaps a pic of the van and sends it to ijichi 'get me information about the van and driver. quick'.

you make your way into the cafe and run into his arms. tears coating your face. "you're okay," he whispers into your hair. "i was so scared," you mumble into his chest. he hugs you tighter. "me too baby. but you're okay now. they can't hurt you, alright?" he pulls back a little to see your face.

you nod as you wipe the tears, "i'm sorry for—" you try to apolgize for worrying him but he quickly shuts you up "don't. don't apolgize." he furrows his eyebrows. "i'm always here for you, yeah? gonna always take care of you, don't do that." he gives you a quick kiss on your forehead.

"come on, let's go back home." you walk out of the cafe and the van is still there, parked a few meters away. "it's still here" you speak in a low murmur. your grip on his hand tightens.

as you start walking back to his place, nanami gets a text back from ijichi 'van belongs to an ex convict. served for 2 years for violation of restraining order and stalking. got out last month.'

he turns around. his expression something between disgust and rage. "fucking creep, let me go have a chat with him," he drops your hand but before he can go further you grab onto his arm "no, please ken. please. let's just go home," your voice quivers.

not wanting to stress you further he does as you say. "i'm going to take a shower," you sigh walking into the apartment. he texts ijichi and tells him to handle the guy.

as he’s waits for you he fluffs the pillows on the couch, adds a blanket, and dims the light, — wanting to create a comforting atmosphere for you. he decides you’ve been in the shower for far too long and joins you.

your head’s resting against the shower tiles when you hear the door open and shut. a quivering breathe escapes your lips as his hands wrap around your waist pulling you back into his chest.

you turn around in his arms and bury your face into his chest. your body trembles with each silent sob. he tightens his hold on you. “you’re safe. you’re okay. i’m here. never going to let you get hurt, my sweet angel. i promise.” he reassures you, gently rubbing your back.

at his words you finally look up at him and his heart clenches at the hurt in your eyes. he swears to himself then to make sure that guy ends up in prison again and to do his best to not have you feel this way. he kisses your forehead as if sealing his vow. he pulls you out of the shower and dresses you in his clothes.

he spends the next couple of days not too far from you. driving you to and from anywhere and everywhere you wanted to go. your personal chauffeur, bodyguard, boyfriend all in one. you were so grateful for him.

soon enough that guy ends up behind bars. he gives you a brief background on the guy in the van and how you were one of the few victims of his stalking mission.

one night while you’re watching a movie together, nanami hands you a black box with cute bow on top. inside it, you find a key. “we should pack whatever you have left at your apartment so you can move in with me,” he says – catching you off guard. you snap your head towards him and he smiles at you cheekily.

ever since you’ve moved in with him, he urges you to go out on your own – not wanting you to live in constant fear. apart from that nanami hires security personnel that follows you around from a distance to not overwhelm you but still makes you feel protected. moreover makes him feel at ease knowing you’re under safe watchful eyes.

𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆. 𓆝⋆. 𓇼 ˚｡𓆉 ⋆𓇼 ⋆.

a/n: comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated!

593 notes · View notes

punkshort · 4 months

Text

somewhere to run | 8. restrained

Pairing: sheriff!Joel x f!reader

Chapter Summary: Patrick gets released from jail. You and Joel are left to deal with the fallout.

Chapter Warnings: language, angst, hurt/comfort, threats of violence, jealousy, possessiveness, destruction of property, DV is an underlying theme but not explicitly discussed, reminiscing of smut, emotional abuse, reader being called degrading terms for women (not by Joel), infidelity

WC: 8.1K

Series Masterlist

Helen greeted him when he walked through the front doors of the station and he nodded to her in return, just like always. As he walked through the bullpen and a few of his men said good morning or hey, boss, he replied in turn. Everybody was looking at him and treating him like it was any other day. But it wasn't just any other day. He surely must have been walking differently, or maybe his eyes shone a little brighter. Something had to be different because he didn't feel normal anymore. He felt like a brand new man. How was it not obvious? Wasn't it painted across his chest in red? Couldn't they see?

Joel had driven home early from your apartment that morning, the sun barely hanging in the sky in the hopes of avoiding prying eyes this time. At least he had the good sense to park a couple streets over, learning his lesson from the last time he visited you at night.

He had all but given up hope that you would be his one day. Especially after hearing your heart wrenching story, he thought you certainly wouldn't want anything to do with him. With anybody. How would it be possible for someone who had been through what you had been through to trust anyone ever again?

He wouldn't have even blamed you. But somehow, miraculously, you did trust again. And you chose to trust him. You let him into your life, into your heart, into your bed.

Leaving you that morning was the hardest thing he ever did. He was minutes away from calling into work sick, but you insisted he shouldn't, that you would be fine, that you would see him later. He struggled with it, guilt washing over him yet again, not knowing what to do. You were so used to putting up a facade, lying and pretending that everything was okay that you had become frighteningly good at it, sometimes making you difficult to read. The sun peeking over the tops of the trees and the reassurance that Patrick was still in jail, if only for a few more hours, made him finally decide to leave. But the moment he stepped out your front door and fresh air hit his lungs instead of your intoxicating scent, he knew he was done for. He already missed you.

As he pulled into his driveway, he began worrying about later that night. Even with a restraining order, he didn't trust Patrick. He wanted to be with you. But Sarah needed him, too. He had already left her with Tommy the night before and he'd never done that two days in a row.

When he walked into his quiet house, his first instinct was to follow his normal morning routine: shower, dress, coffee, but he stopped himself as he was picking out a fresh set of clothes for the day. He pinched his shirt away from his chest and took a sniff, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before letting it go.

He smelled like you.

Deciding to skip the shower, he begrudgingly changed his clothes, hoping that your scent would linger on his skin all day.

He jogged down the stairs as he blindly finished knotting his tie. Heading into the kitchen, he flicked on the coffee pot and grabbed his favorite mug before glancing around the room. He wasn't usually one for breakfast, but he had a feeling it would be a long day, so he swung open the fridge to see what was inside. His eyes immediately landed on an unfamiliar styrofoam box. With a frown, he picked it up and placed it on the counter, then flipped it open to reveal his favorite sandwich from Tommy's diner, completely untouched with a note written on the inside lid.

Weren't at the station, thought I would find you here but I guess I missed you. -T

So, Tommy already knew he wasn't working late and he wasn't home. Shit. It had only been a few hours and he already slipped up.

Carol's voice echoed through his head as he drove to work. A warning veiled as friendly advice to keep things separate. As much as it pained him, he knew he had to be careful. This town was too small and gossip travelled too quickly and he couldn't risk fucking up your case against Patrick all because he couldn't control himself and keep his dick in his pants.

He should have thought about that before he left. He should have talked to you about keeping your relationship a secret, although you seemed to come to that conclusion on your own, having urged him to leave before the town woke.

Hell, he didn't even talk to you about the nature of your relationship at all.

As he walked into the break room and poured his second cup of coffee, he mentally scolded himself for being so stupid. He needed to get his head on straight. Maybe he could lie to Tommy and convince him he went on a walk to clear his head when he had stopped by, when in actuality your thighs were probably trembling over his shoulders while he buried his nose and tongue deep inside your sweet, little -

"Shit!" Joel grumbled, shaking his hand to flick the drops of scalding coffee off his skin before running his fingers under some cool water for relief.

Yeah, he really needed to get his head on straight.

"Hey boss, got a minute?"

Joel glanced up from his computer at Bobby standing in the doorway to his office with his hands on his hips. Shockingly, he had actually managed to get into a groove and gotten some work done. It was probably the longest he'd gone without thinking about you in a while, but he would find his mind wrapping itself back around you in a moment because his deputy was coming to talk to him about the last person on earth he wanted to hear about.

"The asshole's lawyer's here insistin' we let 'em go."

Joel knew he would have to do it today. Patrick posted bail and, legally, Joel was only allowed to hold him for a certain amount of time. But it still made his blood run cold.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and forced himself to stand up, snatching his keys and rounding the desk.

"I'll take care of it."

As Joel made his way to the back of the station, his eye caught a younger man in an expensive looking suit waiting next to Bobby's desk. He was furiously tapping out something on his phone, but when he noticed Joel, he pocketed the device and picked up his leather briefcase from the stack of precariously placed files on the desk.

"Sheriff?" he asked, jogging to catch up with Joel's long strides.

"That's me," he replied gruffly.

"Beckett Kennedy," the man said, stretching out his hand. Joel came to a sudden stop, making Beckett stumble a bit in surprise.

"Joel," he replied, grasping his hand in a firm handshake. His eyes raked over the man's dark, slicked back hair as he tried to ignore his overpowering, and no doubt over-priced, cologne. "Joel Miller."

"Good to meet you. I'm representing -"

"I know, my deputy told me. I'm lettin' him out right now, heard he posted bail. Sorry, been a busy mornin'," Joel replied, turning on his heel to unlock the door that led to the holding cells.

"Much appreciated, Sheriff," Beckett said, trailing after Joel. The man looked very young. Joel was beginning to wonder if maybe Patrick hired a rookie, but when they rounded the corner and Beckett laid eyes on Patrick's bruised and swollen face, Joel quickly realized the lawyer was smarter than he seemed.

"The hell did you do to my client?" Beckett asked, his pleasant demeanor long gone.

"Didn't do anythin'," Joel said calmly as he sifted through the keys in his hand, trying to locate the right one.

"Bullshit. He fucking attacked me in a bar," Patrick said, standing up and gripping the metal bars. Beckett swiveled around to glare at Joel, who was still taking his time finding the key.

"You assaulted my client, Sheriff?"

"Didn't assault anyone," Joel said, finally finding the key and turning it in the lock. He swung the door open and leaned against it, rolling his eyes as Patrick made a big show about limping out of the cell. "Believe you lawyers call it self-defense. Your client swung on me when I was tryin' to have a calm conversation with him 'bout his alcohol consumption that night. Or don't you remember?" Joel asked, turning on Patrick now. "Maybe you had somethin' else in your system besides whiskey that's makin' it hard to recall."

Patrick was about to reply, anger flaring in his eyes, when Beckett held out his hand.

"Don't say a word," he muttered, and Joel grinned when Patrick ruefully clamped his mouth shut. "I don't like what you're insinuating, Sheriff, and all these charges against him are over the line. Two counts aggravated assault, aggravated sexual assault, public intoxication, assaulting an officer-"

"That one's considered a hate crime down here, by the way."

Patrick glared at him and it took everything Joel had not to bash his skull into the iron bars.

Beckett sighed as he scrolled on his phone, reading down the rest of the list of charges silently before glancing back up at the two men and saying your name questioningly.

Hearing your name out of that man's mouth made Joel's whole body ignite with rage. His blood pumped loudly in his ears as he tried to take deep breaths and focus on what they were saying. Keep it separate. Don't fuck this up.

"Yeah, that's my wife," Patrick had said, and again, Joel felt his muscles spasm under his shirt. As if they had a mind of their own, arms itching to reach out and strangle him. Wife. Wife. Wife.

"We're gonna have to talk about this in private," Beckett said to Patrick. Joel took a deep breath, grateful that they were leaving because he wasn't sure if he would be able to hold himself back much longer. But as Joel walked them back out to the front of the station, he felt compelled to say just one more thing.

"Now your client's got a restrainin' order against him. I trust you will make sure he understands what that means if he violates it."

"I know what it fucking means," Patrick spat. "You forget I'm a cop, too? Seems like it, considering the way I've been treated here-"

"That's enough," Beckett said, cutting Patrick off yet again. "Thank you, Sheriff. I'll be in touch."

"I am sure you will," Joel said, leaning against Helen's desk as he watched the two men leave, the front door clicking shut quietly after them.

"Piece of work," Helen muttered as she adjusted her glasses on the tip of her nose and turned back to her computer.

"Yeah, you're tellin' me," Joel sighed. He shoved himself off the desk and headed back to his desk, only pulling his phone out when he had privacy once again.

Joel: He's out.

You stood in the middle of your kitchen staring down blankly at your phone. The two little words taunting you, glaring at you, piercing your skin before knocking the wind out of you.

He's out. He's out. He's out.

You rushed down the stairs and triple checked your locks with shaky fingers before forcing yourself to take a deep breath. It will be okay. This time will be different.

You trudged back up the steps and locked the door behind you, one that you typically left unlocked because you felt it to be more of a hinderance than anything, but going forward you would have to take every precaution. As much as you hated to admit it, you knew Patrick very well. He wouldn't take this lying down. He never has. He will find a way, he will find you and when he gets his hands on you again -

"Stop it," you mumbled to yourself, gently knocking the heel of your hand against your temple, hoping to shake loose the bad thoughts. Just as another wave of panic was about to surge, your phone buzzed again.

Joel: It will be okay. I won't let him touch you.

You took a slow breath in and closed your eyes. How did he know you so well already? How could he know you, inside and out, almost better than you knew yourself?

You knew why.

Because he cares. Because he pays attention and listens and puts your needs first. All of them. Always worried if you ate enough, if you took pain medicine when you were hurting, if you needed a ride back from work, if you could come for him again.

You couldn't live in fear anymore. You finally had someone fighting in your corner, someone who could actually help you, someone you trusted. You needed to be strong. Joel couldn't do everything for you, although you were fairly certain if he could, he would. You picked up your phone and typed out a reply.

You: I know. Thank you.

It was brief, but you knew he needed the reassurance that you were okay. And just as quickly as you sent the message, another popped up on your screen.

Joel: Me and Sarah will pick you up from work tonight and take you home. I'll check your place before I leave.

Tears burned your eyes instantly, overcome with so much gratitude you could just melt into the floor. You hadn't thought about being alone overnight yet, and the idea sent a shock of anxiety through you. Be brave. Be strong.

You: Okay.

Joel: Miss you.

You smiled, your eyes crinkling just enough to cause the tears you were fighting to hold back to fall down your cheeks.

You: I miss you too :)

You took another deep breath and looked around your small living room. You made it this far. You could do this.

It will be different this time.

You had half expected the rest of the waitresses to know what happened when you arrived at the diner that evening. Every time you made eye contact with one of them, you kept waiting for the inevitable look of pity, or their eyes to travel over your face, trying to see past your makeup to what was hidden underneath, but they seemed to treat you exactly the same as always. The butterflies in your stomach quieted down after an hour when you realized Tommy and Maria must have kept their word when Joel asked them to keep your situation private.

At the very least you had expected Maria to try to talk to you about it quietly, or maybe Tommy to make some comment, but they didn't say a word. They welcomed you back to work as if you had been on vacation and you were actually able to push Patrick and the last few days out of your mind. Before you knew it, the dinner rush was nearly over, and you were close to surviving your first shift back. Your legs and feet ached as you unloaded a bus tub in the dish area. You felt sweaty and tired, but you still had a couple hours left in your shift and you could only hope that the rest of the night would be quiet.

"What can I make ya?"

Your head swiveled around in surprise, somehow not hearing one of the cooks, Thor, sneak up on you. He was leaning his big, hulking frame against the wall casually as he waited for your response, as though it wasn't the first time he's ever initiated a conversation with you that wasn't strictly work related. To say he was a big man was an understatement. With tattoo covered arms that were as wide as your torso and towered at least a foot over you, when you first met him, he immediately made you nervous. His intimidating physique and quiet demeanor set you on edge, but by the end of your first day you had realized he was actually very kind. Sure, he kept to himself and didn't say much, but he kept his cool under pressure and he was always doing silent favors for the waitstaff.

"Huh?" was all you could think of to say. He raised an eyebrow at you, giving you a look like it was the most obvious question in the world.

"I said, what can I make ya?" he said again, and then it clicked. He wanted to make you something for dinner. He's never offered before. In fact, you were fairly certain you've never seen him away from the grill once, let alone tracking down waitresses in the dish room for a chat.

"Oh," you said, setting the empty bus tub down and looking around uncomfortably. "You don't have to -"

"If you don't pick somethin', I'm makin' you a BLT."

You met his eyes again, trying to figure out what spurred this on, but his expression gave nothing away.

"Tommy told you, didn't he?" you asked quietly. He gave a small shrug and crossed his arms.

"Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout."

You dropped your gaze to the floor, trying to hide your reaction. He was just offering to make you a sandwich, but it was more than that. He was trying to do something to help. Essentially an acquaintance, a step up from a stranger, he was attempting to reach out and offer his support, in his own way.

He must have seen your eyes grow misty because he pushed off the wall with a grunt, ready to make a hasty exit.

"BLT it is," he said gruffly, and just as he was about to turn to leave, you spoke.

"With turkey?"

He glanced at you and you swore you saw the corner of his bearded mouth twitch, the muscles trying to pull into a smile, but he wouldn't let them. He gave you a quick nod and then headed back behind the line. You bit your lip to try to hold back your smile as you wiped your hands on your apron, then headed out the door back into the dining room.

It was getting close to the end of the night. The diner was closing in thirty minutes and there were only two tables left in the building. With any luck, you would be able to get out of there on time, eager to climb into the safety of Joel's truck. You had been nervous about sleeping alone now that Patrick was out of jail, but now all you could think about was curling up in your bed that hopefully still smelled like Joel.

You were wiping down the coffee machines when you heard the door open and Maria greet a customer. You groaned inwardly when you heard her tell them that the counter was open, and you hoped it was just someone who maybe wanted coffee and a piece of pie so you could still get out on time. Glancing up through the kitchen window, you spotted Thor and Tommy putting away the salad bar and listening to a hockey game over the radio. You sighed, now wishing more than ever that the customer didn't want anything complicated since the kitchen was nearly all broken down for the night.

The fake smile that you plastered across your face fell when you turned around, and you felt all the blood drain from your face when you met a pair of cold, familiar eyes set around a broken nose, waiting for you.

"Y-you can't be he-"

"I know, just listen to me, alright?" Patrick pleaded, looking guilty for maybe the first time in his life.

You looked over his shoulder at Maria, but she was too busy sweeping the foyer to notice what was happening.

"Please look at me, baby."

"Don't call me that," you said softly, but still, your eyes involuntarily slid back to him.

You saw his jaw clench as he cracked a knuckle in his finger, but he forced a smile anyway.

"I guess I deserved that," he admitted, leaning forward as his eyes raked up and down your body. "You look good. Uniform's sexy."

"Stop it," you said, your voice a little firmer now, but still too quiet.

"What? I can't compliment my own wife?" he said with a smile and a tilt of his head. You just stared at him, not sure what to say, worried about setting him off again. After a moment, he sighed and leaned back.

"Can I get a coffee? My head's fucking killing me."

You hesitated and glanced around the dining room, watching as one of the two tables got up. Maria wished them good night as they left, and she continued to clean up the foyer.

"What do you want?" you finally asked, your eyes flicking back to him.

"I just told you," he said, his voice taking on a menacing tone. "I want a cup of coffee and I want to talk to my fucking wife."

You took a shaky breath in and reached down below the counter for a mug. This was the Patrick you were used to.

"And then you'll go?"

His eyes narrowed at you and his jaw ticked to the side, but eventually he nodded.

"Yeah. And then I'll go."

Your hand trembled as you picked up the coffee pot and filled a mug. Turning back around, you stepped forward and placed the cup in front of him, realizing a moment too late that you were within arms length of him, but fortunately he didn't do anything. Hurriedly, you stepped backwards a few feet, creating some distance.

His eyes slowly lifted up from the steaming mug as he stared at you, something sinister flickering behind his eyes. Something that sent a shiver down your spine and made your heart begin beating twice as fast.

"You-"

He stopped himself as he clenched his fists and took a deep breath, then tried again.

"You fucking whore."

Your eyes widened and you stumbled back, your shoulder blades knocking against the behemoth of a coffee machine. Sweat was beginning to accumulate at the base of your skull as your fear spiked.

Patrick stood up from his stool and beckoned you forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the last table get up to leave and part of you was relieved. At least whatever was going to happen wouldn't involve innocent customers.

His face was growing hot as he beckoned you forward again, accidentally knocking the coffee over with a clatter, the dark liquid trailing like a lazy river down the counter. And this time, you shook your head.

"I fucking smell him on you, you slut!" he growled lowly, anger and fury lacing every word.

You gasped, your hands coming up to clamp over your mouth as tears began to cloud your vision.

"There a problem here?"

Both of you jumped when Tommy's voice rang out from somewhere next to you.

"No, there's no problem," Patrick said, unphased by Tommy's presence. "Just trying to talk to my wife, do you mind?"

"Actually, I do. Pretty sure you ain't allowed to be around her right now," Tommy said, taking a step forward, almost standing between you now. Maria's head popped up from a booth when she heard the tone in Tommy's voice and she quickly made her way to the hostess stand, picking up the phone and dialing.

"Pretty sure that's none of your fucking business," Patrick sneered, eyeing Tommy up and down. "The fuck you gonna do about it?"

"Call the police, for one," Tommy quipped, and Patrick scoffed.

"Oh, your sheriff? That motherfu-" Patrick's voice trailed off as he froze, his eyes going round as he actually stumbled backwards, his gaze fixed on something behind you both. When you turned around, you found Thor was standing quietly right behind you, staring Patrick down. Quite literally, as he towered over him by a good five or six inches.

Thor placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, urging you to the side so he could step forward.

"You wanna try that again, boy?" Thor asked, his voice taking on a tone you never heard from him before.

"You got guard dogs now? How many men in this town are you fucking?" Patrick shouted, craning his neck to try to look at you, but Tommy stepped forward again, blocking his view.

"She's one of our own. We don't take too kindly to people talkin' to one of us like that around here," Tommy said, squaring his jaw.

"Jesus Christ," Patrick muttered, then huffed out a disbelieving laugh before glancing around the dining room. He realized his options were limited, so he began to back away.

"Fine. I'll leave," he said, looking at Thor and holding his palms up in defeat.

"Good idea," Tommy said, still not moving until Patrick slowly backed up towards the doors, trying and failing to think of one more jab to get in before he disappeared. Maria quickly locked the doors and twisted around, eyes wide.

"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, rushing towards you. "I had no idea, I didn't know what he looked like-"

"It's okay," you said, waving her off and sagging against the counter, your body suddenly feeling weak.

"I called the station, Bobby will be here in a minute. Let's take you to the office so you can have some privacy."

Maria wrapped her arm around your shoulder, turning you towards the kitchen, but just as you were about to walk through the door, you stopped and turned around to look at Thor and Tommy.

"Thank you," you whispered, your bottom lip trembling. They both looked at you, Tommy waving you off with a smile, about to say something, but Thor unexpectedly spoke up.

"Don't need to thank us. Like he said, you're one of us now. We look out for each other."

You were pretty sure even Tommy was surprised by the amount of words Thor said at once because he slowly turned his head to look up at him in shock.

You gave Thor a small smile and nodded before letting Maria lead you to the back.

"When do you think I'll have a shift where we don't have to get the police involved?" you asked Maria, and she chuckled. It had been about twenty minutes and the adrenaline was wearing off. You were beginning to feel more like yourself again, more at ease. Maybe having people in your life know the truth wasn't actually a bad thing. You felt safe. You felt protected. And most of all, you felt like you belonged. But you also felt an unshakable cloud of guilt and fear. Guilt for dragging innocent people into your drama, and fear that Patrick won't back down so easily next time someone tries to stand up for you.

"To be fair, the Marcus thing could have happened to any one of us. You just got lucky that day."

You laughed and leaned your head against the wall.

"Yeah, guess you're right."

There was a soft knock on the office door and Maria stood to open it. You rolled your head to the side then straightened up when Joel walked in, looking frazzled and shaken up with the curls on top of his head messier than usual, most likely from his fingers anxiously combing through them.

His eyes locked onto you immediately and you could tell he was holding back. His hands fidgeted at his sides as he fought the urge to pull you into his arms. He glanced back and forth between you and Maria before clearing his throat.

"Sarah's out front. I didn't tell her what happened, didn't wanna scare her. D'you mind-"

"Of course not," Maria said, already understanding what he needed. "I'll take her in the back, let her pick out a dessert or two."

"Thank you," Joel said, waiting until she walked away before he shut the door and turned back to you.

"I'm so sorry," he said, quickly stepping forward to wrap his arms around you. You sighed, your arms draping around his neck as you leaned into his chest, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent. Your muscles instantly relaxed in his hold, your mind went blank and all of your worries, the guilt and the fear, began to drift away.

"I'm okay," you murmured into his shirt, but he just squeezed you tighter.

"I shoulda been here."

"You can't be here all the time, Joel," you said, leaning back to look up at him. "I know you want to do it all, and it's so sweet, but it's impossible." You reached up to cup his face, your thumb rubbing across his stubbled cheek gently. His eyes were still filled with worry, so you stretched up on your tiptoes, brushing your lips softly against his. He responded quickly, lips massaging yours before he pulled away all too soon. He let his forehead rest against yours and sighed heavily, his arms still holding you flush against him.

"I got three cars out lookin' for him. We'll find him and toss him back in jail."

You nodded, your eyes closed as you leaned against him, perfectly content to stay that way until your legs gave out.

"'Til we find him, you shouldn't be alone. Tommy said you could stay with them, or you could stay with me." He tried to keep the hope out of his voice, wanting you to make your choice without his influence, but he desperately hoped you would take him up on his offer.

"I-" you paused, eyes still closed, guilt slowly swelling back up in your chest. "Maybe we shouldn't confuse Sarah," you finally decided to say, and you felt his shoulders slump under your arms.

He wanted to argue with you, wanted to convince you to stay with him, but he didn't. He didn't say anything. He just nodded and stepped back. When your arms slid down from around his neck, he caught your wrist and brought it to his mouth, pressing a warm kiss against your pulse before letting you go.

You stared at one another for a long moment, so many things you both wanted to say, but couldn't.

A sudden trill filled the room. An upbeat tune playing from deep within his pocket. He slid his hand down to pluck out his phone from his pants, his thumb sliding over the screen before answering.

"Yeah?"

You took a step back and crossed your arms over your chest, watching as his eyes drifted around the office while he listened to whoever was on the other end of the call. He stared blankly at some old bankers boxes filled with receipts underneath the desk as he nodded along, his thumb coming up to rub anxiously against his lower lip.

As the phone call continued, with Joel only giving brief answers, you heard a knock at the door. You cracked it open then pushed it further when you saw Tommy waiting on the other side. He stepped into the small space, his mouth open about to ask Joel a question until he realized he was on the phone, then turned to you, instead.

"Any luck?"

"I don't think so," you said, shaking your head.

"We got a spare room, you can stay with us tonight. If you want, that is," Tommy offered awkwardly. You gave him a tight smile in return.

"Yeah, I - if you don't mind, that would be great."

Just as Tommy was about to answer, Joel turned around to face you both, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"Can't find him," he said, trying to mask the frustration he was feeling, but you could see the muscles in his neck tense.

"Why don't you take her back to her place so she can get some things, then drop her off at our house? I'll take Sarah, you can pick her up when you come by. I'll make somethin' up 'bout a burst pipe or whatever," Tommy suggested, and again you could see Joel's exasperation seeping through as his eyes shifted back and forth between you and his brother, but he eventually agreed.

Joel drove you back to your apartment in silence. It was only a few minute drive, but it felt like it was an hour. So many things swirled around in your head, words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn't get them out. You were beginning to feel like a burden. You were asking so much of him and this poor town. The guilt was weighing you down, suffocating you, and you wished you had just run again when you had the chance, but then his hand slid across the console and his fingers brushed against yours and your selfishness won. You allowed his fingers to lace together with yours as his eyes remained focused on the road, looking for a parking spot and again, the words were right there. I need you. I hate that I'm so much trouble. I'm sorry.

"Alright," Joel said, pulling his hand back and cutting the engine. "I had one of my guys drive by earlier, but just in case, I'm goin' in first. You wait for me at the bottom of the stairs, door locked behind you til I come and get you. Got it?"

Only when you quickly nodded did he allow you to exit the truck. You stayed behind him as he approached your door, giving the knob and experimental twist before reaching his hand back towards you, waiting for your keys. You fumbled for a moment and handed him the correct one.

The door had been locked. You just assumed everything would be fine, but you would soon find out you were wrong.

You stood at the bottom of the stairs like you promised, watching as Joel walked up the steps, pulling his gun out only once he reached the top, then disappeared into your kitchen. You shifted your weight nervously, lower lip pulling between your teeth as your ears strained to try to figure out where he was. The place was very small, it shouldn't take that long. After several minutes without a sound, your curiosity got the better of you.

"Joel?" you called up quietly, and you finally saw the shadow of his frame darken the doorway before he appeared and looked down at you, his face unreadable.

"It's clear, but..." he trailed off, his eyes casting over his shoulder before looking down at you again. "He was here."

"What?" you asked, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "But the door-"

"I dunno," Joel said with a sigh before pulling his phone out and dialing a number. "Maybe he made a copy of your key or somethin'."

You shakily sat down on the bottom step, his words repeating over and over in your head. How could you be so stupid? Have you learned nothing? He could have killed you and these locks wouldn't have done a damn thing.

You vaguely heard Joel talking to one of his men over the phone, presumably asking whoever had stopped by your place earlier if there was anything suspicious that jumped out at him, but it didn't matter now. Just when you thought he couldn't violate you any more, he did. He had been in your space. In your safe haven. What did he do?

"Joel?" you called out again, standing up and leaning forward. You wanted to obey him and stay at the bottom of the stairs like you promised, but you needed to see what Patrick did. Joel was still talking on the phone, unable to hear you, so instead of calling out again, you went up. When you walked through the doorway, you gasped.

All of your plates, glasses, mugs, dishware were shattered in tiny pieces all over the kitchen floor. Cupboards were left open, food was poured all over the countertops, spilling down the wood cabinet doors and mixing with broken glass on the floor.

You kept your shoes on and tiptoed into the living room where you heard Joel's voice speaking lowly into the phone. You covered your mouth as you looked around the room. The few plants you had were smashed, dirt was spewed and ground into the old carpet. Books were flung onto the floor, some pages even ripped out, and the couch was turned upside down, thrown against the wall. You barely even noticed the TV was lying on its side, the screen smashed, because you were fixated on the holes punched and kicked into the walls, pieces of plaster and dust piled up on the floor under each one.

Eventually, you must have made a noise because Joel swiveled around to look at you.

"I'll call you back," he said into the phone, and hung up before rushing over to you. "I told you to wait downstairs."

"I know, but -" you lost your voice, unable to continue. Your whole life was in this apartment, and now it was destroyed. How long did it take? Minutes? An hour? Was that really all it took to pick up your entire world and shake it like a snow globe?

"It's just stuff," he said, trying to reassure you. "It can all be replaced. You can't be replaced, though. You hear me?"

You looked up at him, tears already streaming down your face. His eyes softened and he sighed before pulling you against his chest, his strong hands wrapping themselves around your middle, cradling your head against his pounding heart as you sobbed.

"What am I going to do?" you wondered out loud, your voice muffled against his shirt.

"Stay with me."

He felt you stiffen in his arms and he looked down at you.

"Please. I'd feel better if you stayed with me. Just until we find him, okay?"

"Okay," you agreed, trying not to show your relief but you already felt safer just knowing you would be under his watch that night. You still worried about Sarah, but you would make sure she knew you were sleeping on the couch. You refused to complicate Joel's life any further than you already had.

"Okay," he repeated, his voice soft. He leaned back and swiped a thumb over your cheek, drying your tears. "Let's see if we can get any of your clothes. Then we'll go get Sarah and go home."

Home.

You nodded and let him lead you to your bedroom, grabbing a tote bag from your small closet as you began to rifle through your dresser drawers.

Patrick had tossed your clothes around your room, but they didn't look like they were destroyed. It probably would have taken too long, you realized, as you packed a bag with whatever you could think of, ignoring how your comforter and sheets were piled at the foot of your bed, the strong smell of urine emanating from your mattress. When you stood up, you noticed for the first time the stuffed penguin Joel had won for you was torn in half, white fluffy stuffing spilling out in a corner of your room.

Choking back a sob, you walked towards the bathroom, but Joel reached out to stop you.

"What d'you need? I'll get it."

"What do you mean?" you asked, giving him a confused look as you wiped your nose on the back of your hand. "Why can't I -"

"Just tell me what you need and I'll grab it for you," he said, not allowing you to ask the question. You stared at him, trying to figure out what could possibly be worse than urine on your bed. When neither of you budged, you brushed past him and flicked on the light.

You only paused for a moment, Joel standing right behind you as you read the words repeatedly scrawled all over the mirror and walls with the few lipsticks you owned. Whore. Slut. Badge Bunny. Cunt.

You swallowed and looked down, averting your gaze to focus on packing your toiletries as quickly as you could. You heard Joel say your name softly from the doorway, but you ignored him and continued to throw things into your bag - shampoo, toothbrush, whore, face wash, slut, hair brush, deodorant.

A chill went down his spine as he watched your face harden and your eyes glaze over. Memories of how you pulled away from him in the past came creeping back: the cologne, the robbery, your marriage... Patrick, and everything he's done. He couldn't let you slip through his fingers again.

"I'm ready," you said numbly, pushing past him and heading to the door.

Joel followed you outside, making sure to lock up after, although you could hardly see the point, with what little belongings you had left clutched in your hand.

He jumped into the driver's seat and started the truck, glancing sideways at you, trying to figure out what to say to give you some comfort, but he was coming up empty.

"He knows," you said after a few painfully silent minutes. Joel flicked his gaze to you quickly before focusing back on the road, immediately knowing what you meant.

"How-"

"He said he could smell you on me," you told him, refusing to look at him as shame coursed through your veins.

Joel flinched. Now he was reading those words on your wall differently. Now he knew Patrick wrote those things because of him, and it made him feel sick.

"Did you say anythin'?"

"No," you said, shaking your head, still staring out your window. "Of course not."

"Good," he said. "That's... good. I mean-" he glanced over at you again, stumbling over his words. "Not good, it just-"

"I know what you're trying to say, Joel," you said quietly.

He tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh as another tense silence filled the truck.

"I'll have someone go over in the mornin', process the scene so we can press additional charges," he said, breaking the quiet. You just continued to stare out the window, exhausted.

"How will you prove it was even him?"

"DNA," was all Joel said, and you closed your eyes. You refused to give the situation any more tears, so you forced them back and opened your eyes, resting your forehead against the glass as Joel drove the short distance to Tommy and Maria's house.

"Why don't you just stay here and I'll go talk to Tommy?" Joel suggested, unbuckling his seatbelt as he turned to look at you. You stared straight ahead and gave him a slight nod.

He scanned your face, wishing he could see you smile again. He reached a hand over and gently squeezed your thigh, finally pulling your gaze off the dashboard and onto him. He hated that look in your eye. A distant, sad, hopeless look that made him want to comb through the whole town until he found Patrick so he could break every bone in his worthless fucking body.

"You're okay," he whispered, lifting his hand off your leg and sweetly pinching your chin between his thumb and index finger.

You forced a small smile, but it didn't reach your eyes. You took his hand in both of yours and brought his knuckles to your lips, closing your eyes as you kissed the back of his hand before pressing it into your soft cheek, and he felt a modicum of relief.

"I'm just tired," you said quietly, hoping that would placate him enough for the time being.

After about fifteen minutes, you saw Joel and Sarah exit Tommy's front door, her backpack slung over one shoulder, still clad in a soccer uniform. You hadn't realized she had a game that night, and you hoped the game had at least ended before Joel dragged her away to come to your rescue because you couldn't stomach ruining one more person's night.

He must have told Sarah you were in the car because she wasn't surprised to see you when she opened the door to the back of the cab.

"Your apartment's wrecked, huh?" she asked as she buckled her seatbelt. You looked at her, surprised, as Joel twisted around in his seat.

"We told her 'bout the burst pipe," he said, making sure to hold eye contact with you until you nodded in understanding.

"Yeah, it's a mess. Thanks for letting me crash with you," you said, turning to give her a smile. She grinned and nodded.

"It'll be fun. Can we do movie night tomorrow instead of Saturday, Dad?"

"It's a school night-"

"Please! Dad, please! She might not be here on Saturday," she whined.

Joel sighed and rubbed his eyes as he waited for a streetlight to turn green. You could tell he was exhausted, too, so you turned back towards Sarah to try to help.

"Tell you what. If I'm back in my apartment by Saturday, I'll still come by for movie night. Deal?"

Sarah thought it over for a moment before nodding.

"Deal."

Satisfied, she sat back in her seat and hummed along to the radio as she gazed out the window. Joel tilted his face towards you and mouthed thank you, and you smiled in return before looking out your own window.

You weren't sure what you expected when you saw Joel's house, but once you saw it, you could tell it was undeniably his. It was a remodeled two-story white farmhouse. There wasn't much in the way of decor, but what he did have was simple and tasteful. There were framed family photos that littered the mantle and bookcase, and the sparse art that hung on the walls were mostly landscapes. It just felt like him. Rustic, homey, and comfortable.

The light fixtures in the kitchen were dated, and the cupboards looked old, but in true Joel fashion, everything worked. Everything was taken care of. Not a single loose handle, squeaky hinge or burnt-out lightbulb in the place.

It was just after ten at night by the time the three of you arrived home. Joel urged Sarah to go get ready for bed while he walked down the small hallway to grab some linens from the downstairs bathroom. He dropped them on the couch and pointed up the stairs, where Sarah had just disappeared.

"You can have my bedroom, I'll take the couch. Lemme show you-"

"I can't let you do that, I'll sleep on the couch," you insisted, taking a step towards the living room but he wrapped his arm around you and pulled your back against his chest, his nose getting buried in your hair. You sighed and melted against him, weak and completely drained.

"Want you safe and sound in my bed. Please," he murmured against your ear. "I won't be able to sleep otherwise." You didn't have the strength to argue.

"Joel?" you whispered, your eyes closed as you relaxed into him further, letting him lightly sway you side to side as he nuzzled the back of your neck.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For... everything."

You wished you could put your gratitude into words, but everything you thought to say didn't seem like nearly enough.

"Don't want you to thank me," he mumbled before taking a deep breath. "But can you promise me somethin'?"

You frowned and turned around in his arms so you could look at him, waiting for him to continue.

"Don't shut me out, okay?" he asked softly, his fingers caressing your cheek. "I want you to talk to me, tell me what's goin' on in there," he said, gently tapping the side of your head. "No matter what it is, just... talk to me."

"I'm sorry," you whispered, feeling guilty, yet again. "I'm just not used to having anyone."

"You got me now, okay?" he said, giving you a quick kiss and then pulling back when he heard the water turn off in the bathroom above your heads. "I ain't goin' anywhere."

You gave him a small smile and took his hand as he led you upstairs. He made it crystal clear that the two of you were sleeping apart as he showed you his room, knowing that Sarah would have heard from the other side of the bathroom door. But before he left, a pair of pajamas in one hand and a pillow in the other, he gave you one more kiss, letting his lips linger until he heard Sarah flick the bathroom light off.

"You know where I am if you need me," he said, his voice once again a little louder than usual, for Sarah's benefit. He winked at you and shut the door, leaving you all alone in his bedroom.

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#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller angst #joel miller series #joel miller x reader #sheriff!joel #STR fic #the last of us hbo #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal

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tojivu · 4 months

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Hey love, can i request the jjk men (or just Gojo tbh) taking care of their SO after giving birth? That would be suuuper sweet and thank you💙💙

father and husband ⋆ gojo satoru

gojo takes care of you after giving birth + other hcs

an. i'm not done with the long ass gojo fic so i'm finishing this draft first. sorry i do not know much about birth i am a teenager writing fanfiction after all...... my google search history might make my parents think i'm pregnant

cw. sfw, f!reader, not proofread, mentions of female anatomy, suggestive jokes at the end

playing. 17 by pink sweat$, ft. joshua and dk of seventeen.

"this is so unfair, 'toru."

the thick sheets the private hospital provided you with restrained you from sitting up. sunlight pours into the room through the spaces in the blinds — the ward is awfully quiet, much unlike your expectations.

"huh?"

you turn your head towards the leather chair situated next to your bed. it's a pale beige, clashing with the various blues this hospital decorates itself with — and with the white hair of the man you call your husband.

his hair falls messily onto the material. you furrow your eyebrows and wonder what has gotten into him; he's been much quieter than usual. this was not typical satoru behaviour.

your newborn baby was getting examined and you were told it would take a bit. your family wouldn't be coming down till tomorrow morning — something you didn't mind because you were so sure satoru, your loving husband, was just as prepared as you are for the birth.

"he's got your eyes," you mutter. the anxiety was really starting to kick in now; satoru was never this quiet. ever. your attempts at making conversation echo, and it's eerie how you could forget satoru was even here if you just closed your eyes. "satoru?"

you swear you see a thick bead of sweat roll down his temple. he sits cautiously, as if he is ready to spring up into action any moment now.

"i'm so scared, [name]." gojo's voice trembles and it bounces off the walls; you feel your heart skip a beat, only to pound harder the next.

SATORU starts bawling when he gets to hold his baby after the discharge. tears run down his face like two waterfalls, staining his sweatshirt. your baby looks at him with the most curious eyes, before shutting them and returning to a deep sleep.

he holds your son as if he's fragile glass, grip firm and careful not to slip — your fingers wipe the tears pooling at his waterline and gojo can't help but look at you with absolute adoration.

"please stop crying, 'toru," you smile up at the crybaby you call your husband. "you can't drive with tears in your eyes."

he tries to speak but nothing comes out. gojo's voice cracks before saying anything and he only manages to nod, handing the baby back to you.

SATORU who makes sure to help you with whatever you need, you just need to order him around. he's just as new to this parenting thing as you are, given you are the only woman he's ever loved — patience is needed with him as much as it's needed with you.

for example: satoru would never complain about waking up early in the morning to feed your son. he'd spring out of bed, nervous yet oddly confident. he was afraid of not being fatherly enough — so, this was a wonderful start. he was extremely elated when you asked him to do such a duty the night prior.

he slips out of the sheets and sees your peaceful face, lips parted and letting out small snores; gojo knew you needed the rest after all the sleepless nights.

"good morning," satoru's softly cooing at your son, careful arms scooping him up into his chest and out of the baby blue crib (that coincidentally matches both their eyes). your son only cries in response, much to satoru's displeasure.

your husband can't help but smile down at his child, before glancing over at you a few feet away; comfortably wrapped in your shared blanket.

"mama's asleep, so you're stuck with me." he mimics a pout, but words could not describe how happy he was. your son could only stare blankly at him, giggling when he presses a gentle kiss on his forehead. "sorry, not sorry."

although the baby doesn't bond with your husband that well (yet), his determination is unwavering. he makes sure to be nearby the bedroom — but not too far away, in case something goes wrong — so his cries don't wake you.

all goes well until gojo changes your son's diaper an hour later and gets pee all over his hands, that he rushes into your bedroom for help.

"[name], baby," he bites his lip out of worry, opening the door with his dry hand and calling for you. "he peed on me—"

you give him a thank you kiss for trying anyway.

SATORU who rubs your shoulders for you, or really any other body part ever — he's a weirdly good masseuse. you often find yourself falling asleep on the couch as he kneads your pains away.

"baby," he whispers.

you three were on the couch, watching a movie in the late evening. your groans don't go unnoticed, and he knows you've been holding your baby for quite some time in hopes of calming him down.

"psst, baby." satoru repeats, the arm around your shoulder tapping the flesh of yours. "aren't you tired?"

"a little," you sigh. "he might wake up if i put him down."

"nah," satoru caresses your shoulder gently. "put him down for a minute. i'll help."

"help?"

"did you know i give really good massages?" satoru smirks, "your husband's crazy talented, i know."

you raise an eyebrow. you've never heard of gojo satoru massaging people — you're a little skeptical, but put down your son in the bassinet next to the couch nonetheless.

the ache in your shoulder and back were a little too intense to bear, now. satoru could tell with the way you were shifting around in your position every 5 minutes.

well, all your doubt washes away almost as fast as it came — you find yourself knocked out on the couch for the next hour, your head against satoru's shoulder.

SATORU who makes sure to give you extra kisses and extra hugs during this period of change.

he understands how difficult it must be for you — although maybe not to the full extent, considering he doesn't have a uterus — but he wants to try, and try he does.

whenever you have baby blues, he's always there. he kisses the tears off your cheeks, wiping them away with his thumb and whispering soft praises in your ears.

satoru couldn't express how grateful he is to you for giving him a son to love, to raise with you. he can only attempt to say it in words and through kisses, although he feels that may never be enough.

"i-i'm sorry for waking you, 'toru," you sniffle, even if your body language screams the opposite — your head is buried in satoru's chest and he has his hands running through your hair.

"shh, it's okay baby — don't be sorry," he holds your body close to him with his other hand, tracing circles onto the thin fabric of your clothes. "i'm here."

other times, you break down while trying to take care of your son — sometimes the cries get too loud and overwhelming, and everything you do just seems to make it worse.

satoru hears your crying and he immediately rushes over (if he wasn't already in the room with you), taking your son from your hands and trying to calm him down himself. he'll press a kiss onto your forehead, using his free hand to wipe your tears away — and he'll tell you to let him take over.

"shit," he swears under his breath, rushing into the room and seeing your tear-stained face; satoru instinctively reaches for the baby and you hand him over. "let me do it, okay?"

you nod, desperately wiping your face with the sleeves of your hoodie — before satoru uses his right hand to wipe them for you, his lips planted on your forehead.

"i'm s-sorry," you mutter, feeling a little better when you feel the skin of your husband on yours. "i don't know what to do—"

"it's okay, baby," he smiles, tucking stray hairs behind your ears as you continue to calm yourself down; your baby is still crying, and satoru looks oddly calm as opposed to you. "let me take over for a bit."

sure, he gets overwhelmed sometimes; but he needs to be your glue in case you can't pull yourself together. even if he's clueless too, he has to be strong for you — he can imagine the chaos that would ensue if he wasn't.

when he puts the baby to sleep half an hour later, he returns to the bedroom to find you in bed: wrapped in a blanket with tissues in your hands.

satoru feels his heart break at the sight.

he climbs into bed with you and his arms find purchase on your waist, pulling you closer to him; his warmth feels like the medicine you've been needing this entire time, and it's almost as if all your anxiety dissipates.

"you did good today," his cold breath tickles the back of your neck, and you feel his nose bump at your nape. "i'm proud of you."

"it was all you this time," you reply in a hushed voice, throat hurting at the tears you were trying to keep in. "i don't know what i'd do—"

"no," satoru interrupts you. "i couldn't feed the baby this morning, and you did it instead — remember?"

"i remember. you knocked over the formula."

"mhm," satoru hums, his fingers intertwining with yours. "and you did it in only 2 minutes. you're too good at this baby thing, [name]."

"you don't seem so scared anymore, satoru."

you hear a laugh escape from your husband's lips. "thanks to you," and he's pressing kisses along the outline of your shoulder and neck. "i'm the strongest, after all — what can i not do?"

"you're the cockiest, too," you snicker, and you only earn a dramatic gasp from the man behind you.

"don't talk about cock with me right now."

your jaw drops slightly, before you flip your body over to face satoru's direction: he has an annoying smirk painted on his face. "you are so disgusting, satoru."

"you know you love me—" and just as satoru's leaning in for a kiss on the lips, cries from the nursery room erupt.

"man."

writers block is real i think

#tojivu ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .#gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru

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wildestdreamsblog · 7 months

Text

Latibule: Season 2 Prologue

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which he lost his latibule.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: happy halloween! 🎃

Masterlist Epilogue

"You'll open your stitches, Yoongi-ah," Kim Seokjin noted with a monotonous tone, his eyes still trained on the tablet he was holding when he heard a rustling of the sheets, the first ever sign that the man was truly alive. The mafia prince that turned medical director was sitting comfortably, his long leg over the other as though he had gotten a good night's sleep since the mayhem that happened. It was the eighth day since Yoongi was in a coma, and similarly, it was the eighth day since you passed.

Since then, numerous things transpired- and they were all of violent nature. The five of them shed volume of blood, more so by the youngest of them. It was too bad for the traitors that Jeon Jungkook was frustrated because he almost found his wife. She was almost within his grasp when he was urgently needed back in Korea because unshockingly, one of their brothers was trying to kill the other. And well, the organization needed cleansing of traitors.

Additionally, it was worse for the traitors because the moment he returned was the moment he found his sunshine gone.

Yoongi was physically healing, as evidenced by his vitals that Seokjin was diligently monitoring. It was expected. Yoongi was not likened to a cat for nothing. They all physically saw him fall from the third floor, stood up, and brushed his hands as though it was nothing when they were younger. There was not even an ounce of doubt in their minds that he would wake up one of these days.

That was the thing, Yoongi was healing. But now, Seokjin wondered what would happen once he knew what happened to you.

He didn't have to wait long.

"W-where is she?" Yoongi asked with apparent effort, his hand clutching his shoulder with a barely restrained pain flashing on his face. "I need to go to her. She must be so scared," He sat up and waited for Seokjin to say something, anything.

And he waited, and waited- yet, Kim Seokjin didn't answer him. He merely regarded him with a somber expression on him, a foreign look on his usual jovial face. Jin's jaw was clenched, and he hated to be the bearer of bad news.

Yoongi blinked, looking at the older man's eyes with quick realization. He couldn't have gotten any paler even if he wanted to, his eyes widened at what he already knew.

"No. Hyung, no. Fucking no," he shook his head, his movements quick as he pulled the dextrose harshly from his skin, blood now dripping on his hand. He stood up as he aimed for the door, every step he took was shaky, yet his determination to see you was strong. "Take me to her! Where is she!"

Jin tried as best as he could to contain the man, and that was how Kim Namjoon found them. He should have known, he was no match to a man who just lost the only person he ever loved. Namjoon immediately helped his hyung, securing Yoongi's other arm on his side. But the mafia leader was like a wounded animal, thrashing around as it tried to find reprieve. In this case, it was you who was his peace.

"Hyung, stop it! You're going to hurt yourself," Namjoon ordered as gently as he could, but it fell on deaf ears. Yoongi looked at Namjoon, his dark eyes filled with panic and unshed tears. He thought that maybe Namjoon would take him to you.

You were just hurt, right? You were just resting that was why his hyung couldn’t take him to you…right? You were somewhere here. He just needed to ask more, to impose more, and if needed, he just had to scream louder for you and you would come to him…right?

You were alive, right?!

"Namjoon-ah, where is my angel, hmm? Take me to her!" his voice were shaking as he fisted his hands on Namjoon’s shirt, trying to get the taller man to look at him, to listen to him. He was close to pleading, and he wasn’t above it.

Why were they quiet?

Why were they looking at him as though they pity him?

He wasn’t pitiful, he thought. He had you.

The two men shared a downcasted look. Both men didn't know how to tell him that you didn't survive, that not even your remains survived. But they had to.

"She didn't...survive."

Yoongi blinked, and the two of them were quiet as they waited with bated breath for his reaction. Yet, Yoongi just straightened up while chuckling. “Stop lying, Namjoon.”

“He’s not lying,” Jin stated before showing you the necklace he kept in his pocket…your necklace. “This was the only thing left in the scene. You’re the Chief of Police. You know what this means, Yoongi-ah.”

Yoongi smirked before marching to the door. “T-that’s not hers.”

“Hyung, where are you going?”

“To find her. She’s not dead. She’s not gone. S-She promised me she would never leave me. She never breaks her p-promise,” he struggled to say each word as his body had not yet fully recovered. His determination was commendable, but seeing him reduced to denying your death broke what was left of the brothers’ hearts. “Angel needs m-me. I cannot fail her. N-not this time.”

Yoongi’s body swayed to the side, yet he remained steadfast, walking to where he thought you were. And if he needed to crawl, then he would. If he needed to kneel just to see you, then he would be down on his fucking knees, begging for your forgiveness.

His body failed him the moment he opened the door, his barely-recovered form crashing on the ground that Jin had no choice but to contain the thrashing man the best way he could. With a small prick on his neck, Min Yoongi lost consciousness.

The last thing he called for was you.

Even in his dreams, you never came.

Chapter I

#bts fic #yandere bts #bts yandere #min yoongi fic #min yoongi x you #min yoongi x y/n #yandere min yoongi #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi yandere #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x reader #suga x you #mafia bts

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vulpisnocturna · 8 months

Text

Binding Vow - Part II

Part I here

Part III here

Read on AO3

This is part II of III :)

Warnings: kidnapping, manipulation, coercion, Stockholm Syndrome, captivity, Chrollo being a manipulative asshole, obsession, slight NSFW

Word count: 6k

The lilies in the vase by the windowsill were starting to wilt. Their petals were drooping, the stems getting darker, the vibrant white of the flowers starting to become ashen. In that way, you were like them. Wilting away in a prison you were forced to call home.

But Chrollo never let you see them die. No, he brought you new flowers every week, along with all the other gifts he gave you. You did not know which ones were bought and which were stolen. Not that it mattered much.

His pathetic romanticism fell on deaf ears. He could court you all he liked, but he failed to see in that brilliant brain of his that it would not work after kidnapping someone and holding them prisoners. A golden cage was still a prison, and he could not make the canary sing by locking it away, even if he used his silver tongue on it.

Sometimes, you did not know whether he was completely oblivious or simply did not care. Every glare of yours, every time you ignored him, shouted at him or even refused to eat- he met all of your attempts at rebelling with a soft sigh and a stoic outlook, telling you he “would wait for your tantrum to quiet down to talk like adults”. Always patronising. He was always so damn condescending.

Another month had passed since the day Chrollo had tricked you into having sex with him under the guise of letting you go free and then had drugged you and left that house with you. When you had woken up, you were in a new flat, which he told you would serve as a home for the both of you for a couple of months.

He had reassured you that he would never harm you and that he would protect you, failing to understand you needed protection from him. He had also reminded you that the doors were all locked, and that he knew your life inside out in case you planned to do something foolish.

The first night in this house, you had screamed your lungs out at him, fighting him, or rather, trying to hit him with all your might whilst he restrained you. In the end, he’d tied you to the bed and told you he would free you once you learnt to be civil.

Next, you had refused to eat. That lasted until he tried to force feed you, and the humiliation of the act had made you start to eat by yourself again.

After that, you had refused to speak or even look at him. Luckily, he hadn’t tried to force himself on you, but he certainly seemed to want it. He had started to sleep in the same bed as you as soon as you had cut out the screaming and hitting, and no amount of begging had made him change his mind.

“I understand you dislike my approach, but I’m doing this to keep you safe, my love. If you can get past it, you’ll see it’s only natural that we sleep in the same bed. I love having you close to me. You are so peaceful when you sleep” he had said, stroking your upper arms as though the gesture could ever be perceived as soothing.

You always made a point to fall asleep curled as far away from him as possible, yet, somehow, you always woke up with his arm wrapped around your waist. He was stifling.

Your best moments were the ones where he’d go away to do God knew what for a few hours, or when he would be so immersed in the book he was reading that he would not talk to you for a while. Of course, he would insist on having you sit on his lap as he read, but he had settled for letting you sit with him in the living room where you wanted, which was as far away as possible from him.

You hated to admit it, but when he left, you sometimes could not help but feel lonely. He was the only person you ever saw, the only one you talked to, the only one you could go to in order to find comfort. That fact alone was enough to make your stomach churn.

But that was all stopping that day. You had decided that one way or another, you would escape. You were on the eighth floor of an apartment complex, but even Chrollo hadn’t been able to find a place that did not have windows. They were locked, of course, but you could break them if you used enough strength. It wasn’t your strong suit, but you had trained a little on your Hatsu to be able to do more damage than your muscles were capable of. And of course, you would get hurt, but it was all for a good cause. If you could make it out, then… then maybe he wouldn’t find you. If you were careful.

That very day was your best bet. Chrollo had told you he would not be home for supper and had left you some food in the fridge. You packed it and filled several bottles of water, raiding the cupboards of chocolate, biscuits and fruit. You also found some gauze in the bathroom drawer, which you took with you in case you wouldn’t be able to use your Nen power straightaway.

You had cursed your power for two whole months now, hating that you weren’t an Enhancer, that you weren’t strong or fast at all. Of course, Chrollo would still be stronger, but your chances at escaping would increase. But now, you were glad you had it: if you fell from a few stories, you would be able to heal yourself, so long as you did not die on impact.

Which was why you had gathered every single towel and sheet you could find and created a makeshift rope with tight knots. It was around ten metres, which left fifteen to twenty metres left to jump. You’d found that there was a tree underneath the window of the office, so that was where you decided to escape.

The glass was thick, and you decided to wrap your hand in a section of your rope and punch it with all your strength.

It took half an hour and the breaking of your knuckles, which had also split and gotten wounded, but you had managed to stay focused through the pain and heal them before you lost too much blood.

Now, as to your escape. The window was now broken, and you did your best in creating a wide enough passage where glass would not be likely to cut you or the rope. Next, you looked down to see that no one was around. The apartment complex was situated on the side of a forest surrounding a small town, and the office happened to face the woods. You could not see anyone around.

You had around three hours to escape and get as far away from that place as possible before Chrollo came back. You had to move quickly, find out where you were and then find a way out of there.

You breathed in, calming your thundering heart and swinging the rope out of the window after tying it to the sofa. It reached ten metres or so from the canopy of the tree beneath the window, which was not ideal, but not too bad either. You stepped on the windowsill, planted your feet and started descending.

Ten minutes later, you had reached the end of your rope. You swallowed, the wind making your eyes sting and tear up as you looked down. Legs first. You had to either grab a branch with your hands or land on your legs.

You jumped.

Your hand scraped against the bark, burning and shredding against it. The branch underneath you winded you as you landed on your side, but you managed to break the fall before you hit the ground.

You convulsed on the grass, nausea and cold shivers tearing through your body as you quivered, taking small breaths that had you dizzy from the pain.

Definitely broken ribs. Definitely a broken leg.

Your trembling hand reached to your side, and you focused on your aura, feeling the pain, mending the bone, healing the damage until it felt like a dull throbbing rather than stabbing, burning agony.

Next was your leg. It took you longer than you wanted to consider to heal all of your injuries, but when you finally got up, you were okay. You could run, even though the numerous cuts on your body had made you lose quite a bit of blood and you felt lightheaded.

You started running. The feeling of hope that bloomed in your heart was quick to burst into euphoria, even though you tried not to lull yourself into false security. Running along the path in the forest felt good, freedom felt like cool breeze, autumn leaves and the faint scent of rain lingering on the ground.

You must have run more than ten miles by the time you stopped as you got to the edge of the forest. The sun was setting on the horizon, and you wagered Chrollo would be back soon. You probably had another hour before he realised you were gone. Where could you go from here? The hills to your right looked too exposed, but so did the town to your left. He would expect you to be there. But with the amount of blood you’d lost, the fact that you’d been running for hours and the lack of shelter in the hills, you had to go to the town. Maybe you’d find a sheltered place where you could stay for a few hours, before you left again.

But you never did get to the town.

Because as soon as you got back on your feet and went to grab your bag, your wrists were caught behind your back in an iron grip. You knew that scent all too well.

Your heart threatened to burst in your ribcage, and your chest heaved, your eyes widening as you writhed wildly to no avail.

‘If I were you, I would stop thrashing, darling. I am not in a gracious mood’ he murmured against your ear, voice cold, seeping into your bones like ice. You stopped moving altogether, swallowing the heavy lump in your throat.

‘Have you any idea of what that fall could have done to you? You’re covered in blood. Did you break anything in your brilliant escape?’ he continued, and you wet your lips, your temples throbbing.

Would he kill you now? Would he simply take you back? Would he break some more bones to punish you? Tie you to the bed, or relocate you to a basement?

‘Answer me. You do not want to make this any worse than it already is’ he said coldly, releasing you and staring at you. You knew trying to make a run for it would be useless. He would catch you in seconds. And who knew what he’d do to you.

You were done. He’d found you immediately. There was no escaping him.

‘My knuckles. My ribs- my leg’ you whispered, scanning his face for any clue on what might happen to you. His jaw tightened.

‘So you counted on your power to heal you, disregarding that had you broken your neck, you would not be able to heal. Not quite well-thought out’ he said, a tinge of cold fury in his voice. You ground your teeth, deciding you would go out swinging instead of listening to more of his patronising remarks.

‘I did not have many options. I ran, because you kidnapped me. I was willing to take the risk’ you spat, and he lifted his chin, looking down at you, seemingly rigid in his posture.

‘I must say that was a rather inventive plan. I think I might have read about a character doing the same thing in an adventure book once’ he mused, recomposing himself and disregarding your words completely.

‘You clearly cannot care for yourself, darling. Look what you've done to yourself. You are so very fragile. We have much to discuss. Of course, there will be consequences, but you should know I would never hurt you. I simply need you to listen. You can come with me now without a fuss or you can make the situation worse for yourself and risk more dire consequences for your behaviour. Your choice’ he said, looking at you, his eyes softening ever so slightly as you let out a strangled sob.

Choice. Another choice that was already written in stone.

‘Just let me go. Let me free. Please’ you breathed, resorting to pleading in the face of defeat, hating the fact that you could feel the tears spill from your eyes. He let out a soft sigh, cupping your face and stroking your cheek. You did not know whether you wanted to spit in his face or let him comfort you for something he was guilty of. Because you were so alone, your heart was so wretchedly heavy.

‘Shh, shh. It’s alright, my love. You must be so exhausted. You need to rest. I’ve got you. I’ve got you’ he kissed your forehead, soothing your sobs, and perhaps it was desperation and exhaustion that made you cling to his shirt with trembling fingers. You let all of your tears of frustration, pain, hurt and anger out, sobbing in the arms of the one who had brought them to life. And he was so gentle as he held you. So painfully tender in the way he soothed you, stroking your hair, kissing the top of your head, holding you close to him.

Chrollo bent to pick you up in his arms, and you buried your head against him, not wanting to look at him and accept what you had just done and where he was taking you. What the consequences of your escape would be.

As the temperature started dropping, you found yourself seeking out the warmth of his body, feeling the exhaustion catch up to you quickly. You had finally stopped crying, but your head was pounding and your eyes were raw from the tears.

You saw a car at the edge of the forest, parked behind the building, in front of the tree and your makeshift rope. He opened the door and deposited you on the passenger seat, closing it behind you and getting in on the other side. He reached over and put on your seatbelt, locking the doors and staring at you.

‘Where are we going? What is going to happen to me?’ you asked, voice hoarse from all the crying. Chrollo slicked back the wayward strands of black hair that had escaped his hairstyle, regarding you with a cold expression, if not slightly laced with disappointment.

‘You saw fit to break the window of our flat. I called some people to take care of the mess there and get our stuff whilst I retrieved you. We are going to another place, this one is compromised now. As to you, my love... I do not know what punishment would fit this crime. Your sorrow and your tears have touched me, truly. But I must ensure you learn your lesson. You don’t want this to happen again, do you?’ he asked, turning the keys and starting to drive.

Did you want this to happen again? Of course not. His tone let you know that if you ever did this again, there would be Hell to pay. Who knew what he would do now, you shuddered to imagine what he might think to do if you tried to escape once again.

‘No’ you said quietly.

There was no escaping Chrollo Lucilfer. You had been stupid to think that you could have done so. Drunk on the idea of freedom. He might have said he would never harm you physically, but he hadn’t said anything of the sort about your loved ones. You had learnt that with him, the devil was in the details. He always twisted meanings and played with words like a musician would play an instrument. And there was no escaping his judgement.

Chrollo was not having a nice day. He had had to pull back a heist when Shal had informed him the museum had been tipped off, and had thought he would just get to go home and spend some needed time with his darling girl. He had seriously thought you had made vast progress in your interactions with him. In a mere month, he had managed to mellow you a lot, and even though it had irked him to put up with your foolish tantrums, he had done so patiently, knowing being less strict would eventually aid him in making you come around. You had started to talk to him again, even seemed content to sit with him in the living room to read.

He wasn’t too pleased you never took him up on the offer to sit on his lap, and sometimes, he wanted to pull you against him and hold you there, but he was a patient man, and he understood the perks of patience and strategy.

That was why he had been willing to compromise on not taking everything he wanted yet. He had put boundaries on what was non-negotiable, like sleeping in the same bed. After all, you were his. He had claimed you, given you food, shelter and protection, brought you all kinds of beautiful gifts that reminded him of you, made you feel good. He knew you liked the sex, too. You could not deny it, he remembered all too well how very precious you had looked writhing underneath him, begging and whining for him.

Nevertheless, he was waiting to do it again, simply because you were under the impression you had been tricked by him with the vow you had made, and that had upset you. Understandably so, but the fact that you hadn’t paid enough attention to his words was hardly his fault. However, if he was respectful of your body and did not force himself on you, he knew you would eventually seek him out. He could already see the slivers of your resolve shattering, and it pleased him to no end. The way you now let him kiss the top of your head, flinching less often when he drew you in for a hug or stroked your cheek. It was a chess game, and Chrollo knew he would win.

But now, you’d broken his trust. You’d disappointed him.

When he had come back home, looking for you, thinking you might be asleep or ignoring him as he called your name, and had eventually seen the window shattered and a makeshift rope made of sheets and towels, he had seen red. There was blood spatter on the glass, and the thought of you going so far as to harm yourself in order to escape him had made his stomach hot with rage and his chest tight with worry.

He had inspected the grounds underneath the tree he surmised you had used to break your fall, and he could see some blood, not enough to make you die of blood loss. Some drips had seeped into the blades of grass that led to the woods. Torn between cold fury, worry and admiration for your commendable resolve, for a moment, he had also thought you were truly so delightful. It was so sweet of you to believe you could escape.

He also knew you must have used your power to heal yourself, because he expected you to have broken at least a few bones. Therefore, you must have been lightheaded and weak. A fragile thing like you, alone in the woods, where anyone could easily harm you. He had been worried sick, ready to burn the forest to ashes.

It had taken him twenty minutes to scour the whole forest. When he had found you, you had been panting, holding onto a tree as your gaze shifted between the hills and the small town as though you were considering your course of action. So fragile, so impossibly delicate and fatigued, so oblivious to your surroundings. He hated how you put yourself in danger. Hated that you thought it would be better than being by his side.

Of course, Chrollo knew it was human nature to seek freedom, so he could not fault you for trying. But he was not pleased. You had put yourself in danger and broken his trust.

He had been ready to make you learn your lesson by confining you to a windowless bedroom, never taking his eyes off you, even pay a visit to one of your friends. However, the moment you had started to sob and clung to him, accepting his embrace, seeking him in your sorrow, he had been truly moved. You were truly so sweet in his eyes, so vulnerable, he just wished to hold you and never let you go.

Now, he was not sure what the best course of action would be. Should he be understanding, threaten what would happen if there was another attempt, and bask in your need to be comforted by him? If he happened to be too strict with you, it might halt the progress you’d just made. But if he offered himself as the only one who could soothe your worries and comfort you, then, perhaps, you would become more dependent on him. He wanted nothing more.

But things would have to move more swiftly, because his patience was starting to run out. If he was honest, as he had you back in his car, looking so meek with your tear-stained eyes and torn clothes, he had only wanted to move you to the back of the car and show you just how much he needed you. Just how much you truly liked him. Then, maybe, you would regret your actions. But he had to hold back.

He had nothing but time with you. And your attitude and outlook on your living situation was the most important thing right now. He had to change your perspective, or his work the past month would be ruined just because he had lost his temper after you made a mistake. You could still make things better.

‘Chrollo’ you murmured, wringing your hands in your lap. You rarely called him by his name. You rarely talked to him without him starting the conversation. He loved the way his name sounded on your lips.

‘Mh?’

‘What’s going to happen to me?’ you repeated, small voice haunted. He placed his hand on your thigh, stroking your skin gently as he drove through the empty street.

‘You did something quite upsetting, dearest. You know I would have never forgiven myself if something happened to you. I cannot let anyone, including you, harm you. I cannot trust you now; you understand that, don’t you?’ he asked, voice smooth. A part of him wanted to ask you what you thought a fitting punishment would be. But he did not do well with not knowing what you would say.

‘I won’t try to run again- just... please don’t hurt the people I care about. Please. I’ll do anything’ you said desperately, and Chrollo forced himself to restrain the urge to smile. Now, that was a pleasant development. He could utilise this. Could reap the benefits of your dedication.

‘My love, it pains me that you think me a monster. There would be no reason to visit your past acquaintances if this is a one-time mistake. But how can I trust your word? How can I be certain you will not try to run from me again? That you’ll be my good girl?’ he asked gently, keeping his voice as soft and calm as he could.

Human imagination was truly intriguing. How you had come to that conclusion in your mind, already deeming it a reality, and sought to find a way out of it by offering everything you had. It was truly endearing, and Chrollo had barely had to do anything. And now, if he spared your acquaintances, he would be seen as merciful. You would be grateful. Even though he hadn’t planned to kill them as of yet, deeming it counterproductive for your opinion of him. But if he utilised your fears against you, he could appear as a compassionate source of comfort to you.

‘Because... I know it’s useless. And I don’t want to be the reason they might... get hurt’ you said earnestly, your bottom lip quivering. It made you look so sweet in his eyes. So innocent and pure. Completely different from him, someone so fascinating he could never take his eyes off you.

‘I- will behave. I’ll do- whatever you want’ you whispered, almost resignedly, your shoulders sloping. Chrollo let out a soft sigh. You had no idea of the effect you had on him when you said things like that. It was all he ever wanted. And soon, he knew you would say the same words with care and tenderness in your voice.

He parked the car in front of the skyscraper, opening the door and stepping out, and a middle-aged woman approached him, holding a pair of keys. Chrollo took them from her, spotting Shal’s antenna sticking out of her neck when she turned to head towards the glass doors. Chrollo went back to the car, opening the door and giving you his hand. You looked at him, closing your eyes briefly before you accepted his help and stood up on unsteady legs. He took his coat off, wrapping it around you. It would not do to have you walk in the lobby with your shirt and legs covered in blood.

It was long and baggy on you, and covered your whole body. He thought you looked quite sweet in it. He made sure to lead you to the door with a hand on your lower back, not trusting your balance after the injuries you had sustained and the clear exhaustion he could observe in your sluggish movements.

This time, Chrollo had asked Pakunoda and Shal to find him a place as high up as possible, so you could still watch the sky and not get any stupid ideas. The woman led you and him to a lift and pressed the button for the fiftieth floor, the penthouse. He liked to show off with a better flat, a more luxurious one, but had it been up to him, he would not have cared much, so long as it was comfortable and had everything he might need.

The woman stayed in the lift as he led you outside, to the door of your new home. He opened it, stepping inside and conjuring Bandit’s Secret to lock the door with Nen that only he could unlock. He put the keys on the bowl on the accent table by the door, because they were as useful as a pen to you if you planned to use them to open the door.

The penthouse was spacious but decorated in a way he did not mind. Cosy and warm, with a big fireplace, a loveseat and two armchairs in front of it, bookshelves filled with books on the opposite wall. His friends had truly found him a good place to crash. The dining room and the kitchen were connected to the living room by a wall with open arches, and one side of the dining room was a full window that offered a nice view of the city. He decided to look for anything that might be amiss before you moved from the hallway, and walked through the corridor, opening the door to the bedroom and the bathroom. It must definitely be more expensive than his previous lodging, but he hardly cared or worried about that in his life.

His clothes and yours had been carried here in two suitcases, and Chrollo decided he would give you space to have a bath or a shower whilst he tidied things up. With that in mind, he stepped back into the living room, observing you as you put his coat on the armchair.

‘Why don’t you take a warm shower, darling? It will relax your muscles. I’ll be here if you need anything’ he said, and you looked down at your torn clothes, your eyes wandering around the room.

He quickly went back to the bedroom, opened the suitcases and grabbed one of his shirts and clean underwear. You could go without trousers. If he were honest, he wanted you to go without any of those cumbersome clothes covering your stunning body, but he doubted you would react nicely to it if he suggested that. He was willing to compromise.

Besides, the thought of you wearing one of his shirts was somehow even better than going without it. Something about having something that was his on you. Proof of the fact that you were his.

He stepped outside, handing you the clothes and planting a kiss on your forehead.

‘Uhm- I need... trousers’ you murmured, your face growing hot against his fingers. He smirked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

‘Do you, darling? The shirt will cover enough of you up. I’ll be in the living room. Come over when you are finished’ he said, leaving you blushing in front of the bathroom and going to the bedroom, starting to sort through the clothes and objects in the suitcase.

When you came back, he had finished tidying up and was sitting down on the sofa with a book in his hand, the fireplace now crackling with orange flames and a glass of red wine on the coffee table.

He had been right, you did look ravishing. With the smears of blood and dirt gone, his shirt on you, covering you to your upper thighs, leaving your legs exposed, he could hardly restrain himself. But tonight was not the right time to have you. No, he just wanted to hold you and see you. And perhaps taunt you a little as punishment for running away. Yes, he would definitely have you fulfil your promise to do anything he liked starting that very night.

He patted his thigh, and watched with sly amusement as you swallowed, clearly trying to find a loophole that would allow you to sit anywhere else. He enjoyed watching you rack your brains, knowing you might incur more dire consequences after you refused him the day you had attempted to escape.

It took you a minute, but eventually, you took small, hesitant steps towards him until you were firmly sat on his lap, his arm around you holding you to him. He loved your scent, loved the feel of your body against his, loved the sight of your pretty thighs. If he had been any other man, he would not have been able to exert control on his desires. But he would, because if he waited, the reward would be much sweeter. Besides, you seemed to think he would do something, and watching you squirm was delightful in it of itself.

He resumed reading the psychological thriller he’d picked up, stroking your ribs, knowing you’d mended them mere hours before. Your power was truly incredible. A power that sought to heal, remedy, one so in tune with your pure, kind soul. He found it so very fitting, so sweet. And so useful.

He could feel you shifting on his lap from time to time, and could not decide whether he wanted you to continue or to stop because it was so enticing. He decided he might do something, even if he would not take you to bed yet. After all, he had you there, glued to his body. It would be a sin to discard such a sweet chance.

He lowered his book, holding you more tightly, tilting your chin with his fingers.

‘Kiss me’ he murmured, watching you to see if you would hold to your word. He saw your pretty eyes widen, your lips parted as you scanned his face and shifted on him. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, pulling lightly on it, and he could not wait to do that himself and feel just how soft your lips were.

He had held back on kissing your lips as well, and he still remembered how worked up he had managed to get you just with that. He had a nice plan in the making, but he wanted you to kiss him first. Set it into motion.

You hesitantly craned your neck to press your soft lips on his cheek, and he let out a soft laugh, cupping your jaw.

‘Do not play coy with me, darling. You know perfectly well what I mean. Now, shall we try that again?’ he crooned, and he could see the acquiescence on your face set, compliance in the face of what you had said in the car as you leaned back towards him, closing your eyes and pressing your lips to his. This time, you did not have to be told to do it again. You knew what he wanted from you, and you acquiesced, tilting your head and touching his hair gingerly, your lips brushing against his, soft and timid. Chrollo restrained the urge to take the lead and show you exactly what he craved, because he wanted you to get there yourself.

At first, you kissed him slowly, tentatively, but then, the tip of your tongue traced the outline of his bottom lip, and you sucked it gently. Chrollo’s fingers curled around your scalp, tangling in your hair as he sank his teeth in your bottom lip, taking advantage of it to slide his tongue in your mouth. He had waited way too long to do this, but God, it was worth it.

You were addicting. He sucked and licked your lower lip, pressing his tongue against yours, tasting you, savouring the feeling of your restraint fading whenever he kissed you more passionately. A few times, he could have sworn you sought out his lips, hungry for more, battling your own desires but unable to deny them to the fullest. And it felt like a damn drug to him. He could force himself on you, but nothing could ever replace the feeling of watching you melt in his arms, so willing and pliant by the time you warmed up to his touch.

Your fingers were tangled in his hair, and his hand wandered down to cup your ass, fingers gripping the plump flesh of it, his cock already hard in his trousers. Judging by the way you were squirming and pressing your thighs together, he knew you would be wet if he touched you. And the thought alone was tantalising. He wanted to devour you, wanted you underneath him again, pretty and completely at his mercy. But he steered clear, deciding to just stroke your thighs, massage them, feel the goosebumps there as he continued to kiss you.

When his fingers inched closer to your inner thigh and you spread them for him a little, he knew he’d won. He smirked against your lips, sucking your swollen bottom lip one last time before he pulled back, looking at your flushed skin, bright eyes and tormented lips. You looked so tantalising, so compliant.

‘Have you any idea what you do to me?’ he whispered, his hand resting on your hip now. He let you simmer in that feeling, knowing that he would not have to wait much longer, he would have you soon.

He went back to his book, smirking slightly whenever you would squirm in his grasp. Oh, you must be so wound up. He wished he could help you. But this was all in favour of something better. To make you truly desperate, just as he was to get his hands on you. To have you all the time.

It did not take you long to start growing more sluggish, and before he knew it, he had finished the book and you were asleep, your head against his jaw, peaceful in your slumber. You were such a heavy sleeper, but he was also aware that you had exhausted yourself with that foolish stunt you’d pulled. He kissed your hair, setting the book down and lifting himself up, carrying you to bed. When he looked at you as you twisted in the sheets and his shirt lifted up to reveal the panties he’d picked out, he let out an audible groan.

Just a little longer, he thought. For now, he headed to the bathroom, seeking to relieve your effect on him.

You were disgusted with yourself. Disgusted with your weakness, disgusted with the effect he had on you. Yes, you’d said you’d do anything if he spared your loved ones, and you had been dreading him trying to fuck you. Having to go through it again. You had not expected him not to.

A week had passed, a week of torture. You had given up altogether on running away, especially because the door was impossible to open and jumping out the window wasn’t a viable option anymore. He had been more lenient than you’d ever imagined he could be, and hadn’t even tried to fuck you. He had merely demanded you sit on his lap and kiss him. And he had done so every day for the past week.

And every night for the past week, you’d been plagued with dreams about him having his way with you. You were horrified whenever you woke up drenched, pressure in your lower stomach, the unbearable desire to feel his touch rearing its ugly head again. Reminding yourself of who he was had become increasingly difficult, when all you could think about was how good he felt, how much his touch sparked heat in your body. And he knew it too, the clever bastard. You could see it in his sly grey eyes, in the sardonic smirk he would give you once he pulled away.

You were lonely, and you were tired. Tired of the struggle, tired of the anxiety, tired of weighing your every word, of pushing him away, of walking on eggshells all day long. It would be so easy to give in. The only thing that held you back was giving him the satisfaction. But then again, you’d already done that the time you’d slept with him. What was the point? Wouldn’t you live a much easier life if you gave in? If you stopped fighting and just let him encroach himself in your life? It had already happened, and your stubbornness and pride were only making your life harder.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You were weak and twisted for considering liking someone like him. Someone who had kidnapped you, a murderer with no morals, a man who had no problems threatening your loved ones and keeping you captive.

But what choice did you have? What was there in the future for you? More struggle, more bile in your throat, more tightness in your chest, more pain and suffering? Or just acceptance?

He could be considerate, when you did what he wanted. And he could be your worst nightmare if he wanted to.

You couldn’t defeat him, couldn’t escape, couldn’t convince him to let you go. Your choices were to either live a miserable life of suffering, or to give in and experience something bordering safety. Something that might resemble a life one day. All in exchange for giving in to the one who had ruined your life. Somehow, the choice made itself in your mind.

Part III here

#chrollo #chrollo lucilfer #chrollo smut #yandere chrollo #hxh chrollo #chrollo x reader #chrollo hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #hxh #hxh x reader #chrollo x y/n #chrollo x you #yandere chrollo x reader #kuroro lucilfer #yandere x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer

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soldiersareyourprotectors · 12 days

Text

Evan adjusted his tie in the mirror, feeling the slight tremor of nerves in his fingertips.

Tonight marked one year with Daniel, a year filled with laughter, support, and a love stronger than he had ever imagined possible. He still marveled at how fate had brought them together in the most unexpected of circumstances.

Evan, a successful businessman, had moved to the city to escape a harrowing past. His ex-boyfriend, Liam, had become increasingly aggressive and abusive, culminating in a terrifying night when Liam broke into Evan's apartment, demanding they leave together. The ordeal had ended with Liam's arrest and a restraining order. Seeking a fresh start, Evan changed his name and moved, hoping to leave the fear and chaos behind.

It was a few months later when he met Daniel. Tall, with an athletic build and a smile that made Evan's heart race, Daniel was everything he had never thought he needed.

Daniel was a police officer, dedicated to his job and fiercely protective of those he loved. They had met when Daniel was off duty, at a charity event organized by Evan's company. A spilled drink, an apology, and a shared laugh had turned into a first date, and now, one year later, Evan could hardly believe how much his life had changed for the better.

The doorbell rang, pulling Evan from his thoughts. He hurried to answer, opening the door to find Daniel standing there, looking effortlessly handsome in his uniform.

Daniel's eyes lit up when he saw Evan.

"Happy anniversary, babe," Daniel said, stepping inside and pulling Evan into a warm embrace.

"Happy anniversary," Evan replied, his voice muffled against Daniel's shoulder. He felt the familiar surge of comfort and safety that Daniel always brought with him.

They had planned a quiet evening at Evan's apartment, a place that had become their shared sanctuary. Daniel had insisted on bringing dinner, and Evan could smell the delicious aroma of Italian food as Daniel set down the takeout bags on the kitchen counter.

"How was work?" Evan asked, leaning against the counter and watching Daniel unpack the food.

"Busy, but nothing too crazy," Daniel replied with a grin. "Just the usual stuff. I'm all yours now."

Evan's heart swelled with affection. He knew Daniel's job was demanding and often stressful, but Daniel always made time for him, never letting work get in the way of their relationship.

They settled on the couch, plates balanced on their knees as they shared stories about their day. Evan couldn't help but feel a pang of gratitude for the peaceful normalcy they had built together. It was a stark contrast to the chaos and fear he had known before, a testament to the healing power of love and stability.

After dinner, Daniel surprised Evan with a small, wrapped box. Evan's eyes widened as he opened it to reveal a delicate silver bracelet, engraved with their initials and the date they had first met.

"It's beautiful," Evan whispered, touched by the thoughtful gift. "Thank you, Daniel."

Daniel took Evan's hand, his expression serious. "Evan, I know this past year hasn't always been easy. You've been through so much, and yet you've opened your heart to me. I promise I'll always be here for you, to protect you and to love you. You're my everything."

Tears welled in Evan's eyes as he leaned in to kiss Daniel, pouring all his gratitude and love into that one tender moment. "I love you, Daniel. You've given me a life I never thought I'd have. Thank you for being my rock."

They spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other's arms, until Evan's eyes widened with shock as a sharp pain suddenly stabbed through his abdomen. He dropped the bracelet, clutching his stomach as he doubled over, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Evan? What's wrong?" Daniel's voice was filled with concern as he rushed to Evan's side, his strong hands steadying him. But Evan couldn't respond; the pain was too intense, and his vision started to blur.

"Hang on, I'm going to get you to the bedroom," Daniel said, his voice calm but urgent. He scooped Evan into his arms with ease, heading down the hallway.

Just as they reached the bedroom door, a figure emerged from the shadows, and before Daniel could react, a heavy metal pole came crashing down on his head. The impact was swift and brutal, and Daniel crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

Evan, barely holding on to consciousness, looked up through a haze of pain to see the one face he had hoped to never see again. Liam stood over them, a malicious sneer twisting his features.

"Well, well, well," Liam drawled, tossing the pole aside with a clatter. "Is this what you replaced me with, Evan? Some pathetic cop?"

Evan's mind raced, panic flooding his system despite the pain. How had Liam found him? He had taken every precaution, every measure to stay hidden. Yet here he was, the nightmare of his past come to life once more.

Liam crouched down next to Daniel's unconscious body, roughly lifting his upper torso and invading his mouth with a forceful, possessive kiss. "Look at him," Liam sneered, breaking away and letting Daniel's head drop back to the floor with a thud. "This is who you thought could protect you?"

Then, with a sickening sense of delight, Liam pushed his hand inside Daniel's pants, groping his unconscious body. "Look at you, helpless," he whispered, his breath hot and rancid against Daniel's neck. "Do you really think this man can protect you, Evan?" His words sounding like a threat.

Evan's stomach churned, and not just from the pain. Seeing Daniel violated in such a way, even unconscious, filled him with a desperate fury. He tried to move, to do something, but his body wouldn't respond.

Liam's eyes gleamed with a twisted satisfaction as he began to strip Daniel of his uniform, piece by piece. His sneer faltered slightly as he revealed Daniel's naked, athletic, muscular body, his eyes widening with a mix of surprise and jealousy. "Well, isn't this a surprise," Liam muttered, his voice tinged with begrudging admiration. "Guess the cop isn't so pathetic after all."

"Please, Liam," Evan managed to gasp out. "Just let us go. We can talk about this."

Liam's voice raised painfully, his eyes flashing with anger. "Talk? You want to talk now? After everything you put me through?" He laughed bitterly. "No, Evan. I'm done talking."

Liam then proceeded to strip himself, his movements deliberate and menacing. Piece by piece, he removed his clothing, a cruel smile playing on his lips as he watched Evan's pained expression. When he was finally naked, he positioned himself over Daniel, who lay completely exposed and vulnerable on the floor.

Evan's vision began to darken further, the pain and fear overwhelming him. He had to stay awake, had to fight for both their lives. But as Liam's voice faded into the background, Evan's world went black, the last thing he saw being Liam sitting down onto the fully stripped Daniel.

Evan's eyes fluttered open, and he found himself strapped onto a gurney in front of their house. The cool night air brushed against his skin, and he shivered slightly. The flashing lights of police cars and ambulances cast an eerie glow over the scene.

"Evan," a familiar voice called out, filled with a mix of relief and determination. He turned his head as much as he could and saw Daniel standing beside him, his police uniform back in place. A few scratches marred Daniel's face, a silent testament to the possible struggle that had ensued after Evan had fallen unconscious.

"Daniel," Evan croaked, his voice hoarse and weak.

Daniel's eyes softened, and he reached out to gently touch Evan's hand. "You're safe now, Evan. It's over. No maniac like Liam could ever bring us apart."

Evan felt a wave of relief wash over him. Despite the lingering fear and the pain, Daniel's presence and his words filled him with a sense of security. He squeezed Daniel's hand as tightly as he could, drawing strength from the contact.

Just then, two police officers emerged from the house, dragging a visibly dazed Liam between them. His clothes were disheveled, and his eyes darted around wildly.

As they approached the police car, Liam started shouting, his voice frantic and desperate.

"No, you don't understand!" Liam cried out. "I'm Daniel! He stole my body! That maniac stole my body! I'm Daniel, not him!"

One of the officers shook his head, his expression a mix of irritation and pity. "Yeah, sure you are," he muttered. "Another crazy story from a madman."

Liam struggled against their grip, his pleas growing more incoherent and desperate.

"You have to believe me! Please, I'm telling the truth!"

The officers ignored his protests, preparing to push him into the back of the police car. As they moved closer, Daniel's lips curled into an evil smile, a stark contrast to the tender expression he had shown Evan just moments ago. His eyes locked onto Liam's, and a silent message passed between them—a promise of vengeance and torment.

Meanwhile, Liam continued to plead desperately at Evan, his voice filled with desperation and urgency. "You have to realize, Evan! It's me, Daniel! Liam somehow swapped our bodies! You have to believe me!"

But Evan's mind was clouded with confusion and exhaustion, unable to comprehend the gravity of Liam's words.

The officers continued to ignore his protests, pushing him into the back of the police car and slamming the door shut. The muffled sound of Liam's continued shouting faded as the car drove away, leaving Evan and Daniel in the relative quiet of the aftermath.

Daniel leaned closer to Evan, his expression softening even more. "It's really over now, Evan. Liam's gone, and he won't hurt us anymore."

Evan nodded, tears of relief welling in his eyes. "I was so scared, Daniel."

"I know," Daniel whispered, brushing a tear from Evan's cheek. "But we made it through. Together."

"Daniel," Evan murmured, relief flooding through him at the familiar embrace. He buried his face in Daniel's chest, seeking solace in the warmth of his embrace.

But as Evan nestled closer, he failed to notice the subtle shift in Daniel's demeanor.

Hidden from view, Daniel's face twisted into an evil grin, a chilling contrast to the tender moment they shared. In that moment, Daniel's eyes gleamed with a sinister satisfaction, knowing that the real Daniel, now trapped in Liam's body, wouldn't be able to bother them again. With Evan safely in his arms, Liam's plan of becoming Daniel to be with Evan forever had worked. He relished in the feeling of his new, more muscular body, the uniform hugging it snugly, and having Evan all for himself.

#body swap #male body swap #male transformation #muscular men #stolen body #stolen clothes #stolen life #stolen uniform

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angiesmagicspace · 4 months

Text

Reversed roles

“Ooh, tell me why, tell me why do I feel so free when I'm dead?

Oh, when I'm tied on to your short leash”

Pairing: husband Seungcheol x wife reader

Genre: smut

Warnings: slight BDSM themes, DOM Cheol, sub-femme reader, tying up, edging, teasing, overstimulation, etc.

Summary: Her job requires her to take on the leading role, but the roles become very different when she enters her home.

A/N: Back from the dead, uni is really kicking my ass. But I hope you like this. Tell me your thoughts

Masterlist

Asks are open

Being in charge was a part of your personality. Everything from your personal life to your work life needed to be perfect. Ever since you were promised a leading position in your dad's company, you aimed to be the best in everything you did. The control you had was fueling you to achieve greater things in life. Sometimes people would try to be snarky and comment how you must drive your partners crazy with the amount of control. But they didn't know that they were far away from the truth.

Your husband Seungcheol is your favorite person in the entire world. Ever since you met him during one of many company dinners, you were so in love. He truly was the best thing to happen to you. He is truly the cherry on top for you. People would often comment how you two compliment each other so well, and you couldn't agree more. What they didn't know was that you two compliment each other on so many levels that it's almost embarrassing to admit. He is the ying to your yang, the moon to your sun, the missing piece of your puzzle. Every time you hug him, you feel like you successfully found your other half.

He is the one who helps you switch from your role of the leader to the role you enjoy a little more. Being his submissive was your favorite thing of every day. This dynamic between you two felt so natural. From the very first time you were intimate, the roles were just implemented like they were agreed before. He held the reins in his hand, and you were just there to take everything he gave you. Even when you were restrained, it felt free to have him make all the decisions and control your pain and your pleasure.

Once again, you are on your way home from a very tiring and stressful day at the company. But just the thought of coming back home to your husband was exciting you to no end. All that stress will be forgotten the moment you kneel in front of him, and he puts your collar on you.

“I'm home,” you yell while closing the door behind you, already smelling your husband's perfume in the air, making your insides tingle. The moment you spotted him sprawled on the couch, you felt the excitement rush through you. He looked ethereal, so buff yet soft to the touch, he truly looked like a deity sent from the goods to reward you. “Oh, kitten finally. I have been waiting for so long,” he jumped up, spreading his arms so you could just bury your head in his chest. Hugging you tightly, he kissed the top of your head, giving you just the comfort you needed today. “Do you want me to make some dinner or order something?” he asked, still embracing you tightly against his chest. “No, thanks, baby. I already ate something, but there is something I want more.” you pulled away just enough so you could look him in the eyes. He just arched his brow, waiting for you to tell him your wishes. “I want you to take care of me,” the moment those words left your mouth he knew what you required the most.

Without any words, he scooped you up in his arms and walked to your bedroom. He let you down on the bed and went to close the door, while you took off all of your clothes, leaving only your panties and bra. Lowering yourself on the cushion in front of the full-length mirror, you slowly let go of all the stress. What made you relax entirely was the feeling of your collar being put on by your husband. His strong hands felt so gentle while he was putting the pink satin around your neck. From this moment it was only him in your world, nothing else mattered besides his commands and rules.

“Now kitten, you know the rules. What I say goes, you only speak when spoken to, and you aren't allowed to do anything without my approval. Am I clear?” his tone was lower than usual, but that is how he speaks when he is in the role of your dominant. You looked up at him, already in bliss. “Yes, sir” Your words felt so soft to his ears, oh he loves you so much. “Get on the bed, laying on your back. I want to see all of you,” his instructions were always stern, and your body moved on its own there was no reason to rebel against your husband. Sprawled on the bed, you were waiting for his next move. He collected something from your closet and came back. Slowly, he took off your lingerie, which meant that you would soon be tied up. “I am going to tie you up for now, if you behave I might let you touch me.” every step he always explained, his dominance didn't always mean pain, most of the time it meant caring for you in a way no one couldn't. Silk ropes wrapped around your ankles and hands, restraining you just enough so you won't be able to touch him or move too far.

Firstly, his hands found their way to your chest, massaging your boobs, pulling on your nipples, and stroking them in a circular motion. He set his focus on them, knowing that it will get you going in no time. Your nipples are very sensitive and some days he could make you cum just by sucking on them. Low moans left your mouth while he focused on your neck, giving you small hickeys here and there just to make a small reminder of whom you belong to. Your whimpers became louder by the second, and he knew that if he didn't move his hands now you would be cumming in no time, which wasn't his plan. His hands moved down to your hips, one hand staying there and the other moving further down so he could gently palm your pussy.

His fingers moved softly over your slit, collecting your wetness very audibly. Every stroke of his fingers made you squirm, he was so close to where you needed him, but he didn't do what you needed him to do. Quiet whimpers and pleas left your mouth, but they fell on deaf ears, now wasn't the time for you to choose. “Quiet kitten, you will get what you require when I decide it,” the tips of his fingers found your clit, massaging in a circular motion. Every touch was more intense than the previous. You were so close, already feeling your orgasm nearing, but your hope didn't last very long when you felt Seungcheol remove his hand from your pussy. Making you even more desperate than you were already. He continued doing this for some time, bringing you so close to your release and then removing his fingers immediately.

“Oh, look at you kitten. So desperate that you would cry for an orgasm. I am cruel to you, aren't I?” nodding your head, you felt his dick rubbing against your entrance. By this point, you were crying, whining, begging for any sort of release. It was torture, but you needed more than he could imagine. Carefully, he slipped inside you, stretching your tight walls with his big dick. It felt amazing, the stretch always burned slightly, but you knew that his size was to blame for that. He slowly trusted inside of you, building his pace very carefully so you wouldn't cum just yet. “Is this what you wanted? Sir to take care of you and pleasure this little pussy of yours, hm” his breathing was heavier, he truly loved being inside of you there was no better place for his dick than your pussy. He craved it every day, he worshiped it every time he got down on his knees, it was his favorite meal.

With every thrust, you were closer to reaching your orgasm, and he knew that. Positioning the tip of his dick right on your g spot, feeling your walls flutter against him. You were ready to cum, and he would make sure that it was the best orgasm ever. Thrusting faster, he felt himself also getting closer, but that wasn't important right now. Just as you were seconds away from cumming, he pulled out.

You were ready to scream and beg, but that's when you felt his fingers enter your pussy. Moving in and out at brutal speed, hitting your g spot every time. And that's when you felt it, reaching your orgasm felt like heaven. Arching your back, you pushed yourself harder on his fingers, and he gladly let you. Slowly coming down from your high, you looked at Seungcheol, while he admired you. “Kitten, I knew you had it in you, squirting on my hand like this. Almost had me cumming without any stimulation.” he softly spoke, and that's when you realized that the sheets beneath you were soaked.

“Thank you, sir. Thank you for making me feel so good.” whispering, you tried to thank him the best you could. He just hugged you while untying the ropes from your hands. “Thank you, kitten, for trusting me.” lifting yourself, kissing his shoulder as thank you, feeling deeply relieved from everything that happened today.

“Sir, could I do something for you?” even though you felt spent from your orgasm, you still craved the feeling of his fat dick on your tongue. “Only if you want to, kitten. I don't want to pressure you.” you knew that he didn't need you to do it, but it was for your pleasure anyway. You lowered yourself down, licking the tip of his dick. Sucking him, hollowing your cheeks, it almost felt better than cumming yourself. He made himself comfortable against the headboard, admiring you and the stained sheets behind you. You bobbed your head up and down, stroking what you couldn't fit in your mouth. It truly felt amazing to have you like this. Seungcheol couldn't last very long, the whole sight in front of him was too much to handle. Soon you felt his warm seed hit the back of your throat.

He lifted you, embracing you in a hug. You stayed like that for some time before he transferred you to the bathroom to wash you and cuddle you some more.

#seungcheol smut #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seventeen seungcheol #s coups smut #scoups smut #scoups #svt #seventeen smut #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol scenarios #kpop

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