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#A Tasting at the Murder Table
boozedancing · 1 year
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Knob Creek 9 Year Old Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey
Is @knobcreek 9 YO #Bourbon as good as we remember? Click the link to find out! #whisky #whiskey
We’re going back to an old favorite on today’s episode of A Tasting at The Murder Table. Knob Creek 9 Year Old Kentucky Straight Bourbon, a whiskey that we reviewed on the blog way back in June of 2010. Yes, we’ve been at this nonsense for over 12 years. Times flies when you’re having fun! Before we get to the review, here’s a bit of info about Knob Creek taken directly from their website: When…
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smileysuh · 6 months
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twisted fate
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🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!Reader
🔮 preview. “He deserved it,” Wonwoo assures you, reaching out to grab you by the back of the neck, pulling you closer. He’s covered in blood, and he looks like a sexy, wild monster. But he’s your monster, and you can’t help but react, leaning in- “Jesus Christ,” you hear Jeonghan breathe, turning to give you and Wonwoo privacy while he presses his lips against yours hungrily. At first, you can try to ignore the wet liquid on your fingertips as you grab at his strong shoulders, but you can’t ignore the taste on his tongue. Your body goes rigid and Wonwoo pulls back with a sigh, resting his forehead against yours. It’s an oddly peaceful moment amongst the chaos.
tw/cw. murder/blood, dickhead vampire wonwoo, yandere subthemes, kidnapping?, biting, blood play, throat grabbing, manhandling, begging, controlling!wonwoo, praise, dirty talk, fingering, mean dom Wonwoo, multiple reader orgasms, finger-licking, choking, unprotected sex, big dick Wonwoo, size kink, slight dacryphilia, gentle spanking, dumbification, begging, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) darling, brat, pet, etc.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 14.3k
🍭 aus. vampire/vampire hunter au, soulmate au, enemies to lovers, etc…
☀️ mlist + an. I guess for October I just put out bangers, this one has a lot of blood play cuz it's vampire wonwoo, so be warned
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There’s something different about you, and Wonwoo notices the moment you step into the bar. He has his fair share of experience with places that cater to vampires, and after over a hundred years, he knows how to spot humans with an interest in his kind. Many of the women swarming around him have a certain look in their eye, their pulses racing with excitement, but you… well, there’s something off about the way you hold yourself.
You certainly look the part of a fang bunny, your attire all black, but you’re dressed much more conservatively than the lingerie clad girls that normally frequent this place. Still, even with your form half hidden under a leather jacket, Wonwoo can tell he likes what he sees of you. 
Some of his friends like the hunt. They have big egos and take pleasure in chasing their food down, but Wonwoo doesn’t share in this thirst for a conquest. He won’t approach you, he’ll simply watch. It will be amusing to see what you end up doing tonight if nothing else.
His eyes follow you as you head to the bar, leaning over the counter to talk with one of the human workers. From a distance, and with the bar practically full of noise, Wonwoo can’t make out your words, but that doesn’t really matter to him. You’re interesting enough to watch, but Wonwoo’s not sure he’d actually care for anything you have to say, especially not when he can stare at your ass instead.
The discussion is a short one, and Wonwoo catches the bartender nodding in his direction. This is new behaviour, but the vampire supposes he shouldn’t be shocked at the loose lipped humans who work here. No one keeps a secret like a vampire, and as Wonwoo watches you slip a bill over the counter, he’s filled with annoyance at the money hunger of mere mortals.
You slip into the crowd again, and it’s clear you’re making your way over toward the elevated section of the club, where Wonwoo sits at a table drinking what appears to be red wine with two of his broodmates. 
“Who are you watching?” Mingyu asks, leaning forward to get a better look. 
“No one important,” Wonwoo responds smoothly, swirling the blood in his wine glass before downing it. He’s curious as to what will happen next, and if you are coming over in the hopes of being bitten, he wants to be satiated enough to not give into the temptation of draining you. 
Vampire bars generally have a strict no killing policy. The underworld has few sanctuaries like this one, and they can’t have human law enforcement going through their ‘wine barrels’ if a murder takes place in or around the property. 
Wonwoo’s eyes find you again. You’re much closer now, and your gaze is fixed on him. You’re like a cute little butterfly heading straight for the spider’s web, and it makes Wonwoo grin to himself. 
He stands up from the booth when you’re a few feet away, and Wonwoo notes your pulse quicken, your steps faltering. To your credit, Wonwoo is much larger now than when he was sitting, and he has to lower his gaze to meet your own. “Are you lost?” he asks, taking in your outfit at a leisurely pace now that you’re right in front of him.
“No, I-” You take a breath. “Are you Wonwoo?”
“Depends who’s asking,” he muses.
“I’ve been looking for you,” you try to explain, raising your voice over the noise of the bar. 
Wonwoo can hear you perfectly fine, but he knows the noise must be difficult on your weak human ears. He leans forward. “Sounds interesting. Let’s step outside to talk, it’s too loud in here.”
He watches the way you pause, considering the proposition.
You’re definitely not a fang bunny. Any vampire lover would jump at the chance to get alone with him. You’re much too guarded, and it intrigues him even more.
“Okay,” you nod. 
Wonwoo steps closer, hand finding the small of your back as he begins to guide you through the club toward the back exit. You stiffen under his touch, and Wonwoo’s fingers skim over the hilt of what he presumes to be a blade under your leather jacket.
He wonders how you got in with a badly concealed weapon, but he supposes the human bouncers can be just as susceptible to bribery as bartenders can. He’ll have to talk with the club owner about hiring vampire security, even if such jobs are ‘below’ his kind. 
Your heart rate is increasing with each step, but you’re doing your best to breathe evenly, and Wonwoo is amused by it. Either you know he’s a vampire, in which case, you should know you can’t fool him, or, maybe you’re just stupid, he can’t quite tell.
Wonwoo’s heart doesn’t beat. It hasn’t in too many years to count, but he gets that familiar tingle of excitement running along his skin as he gets closer to the door that will lead you behind the bar. You’re not a sure catch, not what Mingyu would fondly call a ‘cute juicebox.’ Wonwoo’s always been curious, and his interest is peaked by the unknown outcome of this interaction.
As you make it to the exit, Wonwoo holds the door open for you. With one last pause, you walk through. 
The vampire grins to himself, following you into the night.
The alleyway is deserted, the perfect spot for Wonwoo to figure you out. 
His eyes follow you as you put a few feet of distance between him and yourself, running an anxious hand through your hair. 
“You were just about to tell me why you’re looking for me,” Wonwoo says, pretending to be helpful, when in reality, he only wants to satiate his own curiosity.   
“I heard you might know someone I’ve been trying to find, a Mister Sung.”
Wonwoo’s throat tightens. He hasn’t heard his maker’s name in many years. It frustrates him that it still has an effect on him, and Wonwoo’s fist clenches at his side. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” he lies. 
“I’ve been told you do,” you insist.
He’s tired of you now, anger growing by the second inside of him.
“I don’t know anyone by that name,” Wonwoo repeats, unable to say the name in question. He refuses to taste it on his lips again, and he can feel his fangs beginning to throb, his need to taste something sweeter growing as he stares you down. 
You begin to reach for your jacket, but you’re much too slow for the older vampire, who immediately catches your wrist in a vice grip. 
“Don’t grab your weapon,” he warns. “It will only make me harder on you.”
Your pulse is racing now. Wonwoo can see your carotid artery leaping against your skin. He holds back a groan, stepping closer. 
You move away, back hitting the brick wall behind you.
“Nowhere to run,” Wonwoo muses. “You’re a vampire hunter, aren’t you, darling? Shame. I’ve never seen a hunter move as slow as you do. But I guess these days there aren’t many people who could teach you the craft, I’ve killed my share of them.”
Your pupils dilate with fear, and it makes Wonwoo’s head spin. He’s going to enjoy this. 
The club might have a no killing humans policy, but vampire hunters are free game. He’ll be doing everyone a favour, and get his fill while doing it. 
“Stop-” You gasp, struggling against his grip, but Wonwoo’s hands might as well be metal, as there’s no way you’re breaking free of him.
He’s grown tired of this. As a curious human who may have walked into the wrong bar, you’d been interesting, but as a vampire hunter with no skill, you mean nothing to him. 
He’s amused when you try to punch at him with your free hand, but that only leads to him grabbing it and pinning it with your other wrist, squeezing you tight enough to have you gasping again. 
With both your wrists captured in one hand, he’s free to bring the other to your face, pinching your jaw. “Don’t scream,” he warns you, “and don’t struggle, you’ll only make things worse.”
Wonwoo’s gotten accustomed to staring into a person’s eyes as they realize they’ve just met death himself, and he’ll never get tired of it. He licks his lips, able to taste your fear in the cold night air. His self control has worn thin, but Wonwoo’s never been the type to hold himself back from an easy kill. 
With one sharp motion, he pushes your head to the side, giving him full access to your neck. Your artery leaps, pressing against your skin, and Wonwoo lets out a groan of relief as he dives in, sharp fangs piercing you.
You release a muffled gasp, clawing at his forearm while you struggle against the wall. The taste that erupts across his tongue is unlike anything he’s ever had before. It’s rich like fine red wine, but there’s something else too, dark notes of cherry and pomegranate- 
Suddenly, it feels like Wonwoo’s been roughly punched in the chest. It’s so startling that he pulls away from you, staggering back in confusion and releasing your wrists. Clearly you didn’t punch him, so what was that-
You take the moment of confusion to whip your blade out of your jacket, holding one hand to your bleeding neck while you defend yourself with the other. “Stay back!” 
But Wonwoo can’t stay back, not now that you’re more intriguing than ever.
He stands, licking his lips. He can still taste you on his tongue, and it’s practically intoxicating. 
Wonwoo’s eyes shift to the weapon you’re holding. It’s a black, triple bladed knife, used by vampire hunters and meant to emulate a stake. One good stab from that and there’s no stitching it up, he’d be scarred forever, even with vampiric healing abilities. And if you actually hit his heart? He’d simply be gone.
Maybe you have more bite than he’d given you credit for, but Wonwoo knows he can still best you in a fight, he’ll just have to be a little more careful.
“I swear to God-” you warn him, waving the blade.
“Darling, there’s no God here,” Wonwoo tells you simply, eyes assessing your every motion. It’s clear which side of your body you favour, and with one hand still pressed to your bleeding neck, he has an easy opening.
When Wonwoo moves to the left, you turn your body to follow, and that’s all he needs to abuse your weak point. With lightning fast speed, Wonwoo gives your abdomen a rough push, sending you careening back to the wall. There’s a harsh crack as your head hits brick, and you crumple to the ground, blade falling from your hand.
Maybe he’d pushed you too hard- he hadn’t been trying to- but he can still hear your faint breaths. You’re alive, and you might not be that way for long.
Wonwoo has never, in all his years of living, given another being his blood. He’s never wished to. But staring down at you now, that all changes. He can hear your pulse getting weaker-
The vampire falls to his knees next to you, grabbing you by the back of your neck and pulling you closer. He brings his other wrist to his mouth, biting deep before holding it over your parted lips. 
 Wonwoo watches the dark red substance speckle your tongue and he presses two fingers under your jaw, closing your mouth in the hopes it will help you swallow. His wrist wound is already healing, and soon, you’ll heal as well.
There’s no medicine in the world quite like vampire blood, especially the blood of one as old as he. Wonwoo knows this. However, there’s still something inside of him that begins to worry about you. It’s a foreign emotion, worry, one he’s not had to deal with in a while, especially not in regard to a human.
Wonwoo grabs your blade off the ground, tucking it into his belt, then he adjusts you in his arms. It’s easier to simply throw you over his shoulder, so that’s what he does, standing up and looking toward the mouth of the alleyway. He can’t risk any humans seeing this, so he pulls out his phone, calling Mingyu.
“Bring the car to the back of the club,” Wonwoo instructs, leaving no room for argument as he hangs up. 
Less than two minutes later, Mingyu’s familiar black jeep is rolling down the alleyway. The car comes to a stop and Mingyu exits it, staring at Wonwoo in shock. “What happened?”
“Vampire hunter,” Wonwoo says simply, opening the door to the back of the jeep to set you inside. 
“What are you going to do with her?” Mingyu asks, watching through the rearview mirror as Wonwoo gets in beside you.
The elder vampire is quiet for a long while. “I’m not sure.”
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Wonwoo is sitting in a chair near the bed, playing with your knife and watching over you diligently. It takes hours before you finally begin to stir. When you wake, you bolt upright, gasping. Your hand flies to your neck, but the wounds are already closed, your skin washed away of blood.
Your eyes find him next, and Wonwoo can’t help but be amused by the way you react, cowering away from him.
“So sleeping beauty finally wakes up,” Wonwoo muses, tossing the blade in his hand and catching it by the hilt.
You don’t say anything, but Wonwoo can see the cogs turning in your mind. “Why… why am I alive?”
“That’s a good question,” one he doesn’t know the answer to yet. 
“Am I a vampire?” 
Now Wonwoo is laughing. “No. Can you feel your heart racing? It’s a sign that you’re still human.”
You shift in his sheets. “What are you going to do to me?”
“I’m not sure yet,” he confesses. “First, I’d like some answers.”
“I’m not telling you anything.”
“Then I’ll tell you what I know,” he suggests. “This symbol on your blade, it’s a family crest. You belong to a line of vampire hunters.” You stay quiet, but to be fair, it hadn’t been a question, not really. “I recougnize this particular crest. It’s odd to see it again after so many years. I thought your line had been wiped out, but you’re still here, so I guess not.”
“Just kill me,” you state.
Your words cause an interesting feeling to bloom through Wonwoo’s chest again, and he cocks his head. “Is that really what you want?”
You bite your lip, then let out a heavy sigh. “No.”
The vampire stands from his chair. “At least I know why you were looking for Mister Sung now,” he says. “He killed your family, didn’t he?”
You stay quiet, but Wonwoo notes the small tremble that erupts through your form and it’s confirmation enough. 
“If it’s any consolation,” Wonwoo continues, “the vampire you’re looking for is dead. I killed him. Ten years ago.”
“He’s dead?” you ask, clearly shocked.
“It seems you’ve been running a fool's errand, darling,” Wonwoo clicks his tongue. “And you nearly died for it. I don’t think your parents would be too happy with you.”
It’s a low blow, and it causes a reaction. Your fists bunch in the sheets and your eyes narrow. “What do you know about my parents?” you spit. 
“I know they never got a chance to train you properly. I bet you’ve never even killed a vampire.”
Your shoulders slump ever so slightly and Wonwoo knows he’s hit the nail on the head.
“A vampire hunter with no kills under her belt,” Wonwoo laughs, “it’s cute you thought you could actually get me to be your first.”
“If you have everything figured out, what do you still need me for?”
“There’s still one thing I’m stuck on,” Wonwoo admits. “You did something to me, when I bit you. There was this… feeling, in my chest.”
“I didn’t do anything to you.”
He studies you for a moment. It’s true he hadn’t found any vampire repellents on you when he’d brought you back to his home. He’d kind of been hoping you’d tell him you’re a witch, and in a last ditch effort to get him away from you in the alley you’d used a spell of some sort. 
Wonwoo doesn’t want to consider the other possibility, he’s been refusing to even think about it, but now that the witch angle is off the table, the worst case scenario is at the forefront of his thoughts.
“I’ve got business to attend to,” he tells you simply, heading to the door. “You’ll be locked in this room until I figure out what I’m going to do with you.”
“And when will that be?!”
Wonwoo can hear the panic in your voice, and in some form he can sympathize with it. He’d been kept in a room for many years, under the command of a vampire sire he’d since revenged upon. “Not long,” Wonwoo promises, and it’s the most he can give you as reprieve before he shuts you into your fate.
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“What’s so important we couldn’t do this over the phone or at the club?” Jeonghan asks as Wonwoo pushes into his home. 
“Give me a minute,” Wonwoo says, double-checking his friend's apartment for any fang bunnies or other vampires who could take what he’s about to say and use it against him.
“You’re so paranoid,” Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “You wanted us to be alone, so we’re alone.”
Wonwoo turns to face the vampire in front of him. “Tell me about Luna.” 
“You-” Jeonghan falters. “You never want to hear about Luna.”
“But I do now,” Wonwoo insists. “Tell me.”
Jeonghan moves to sit on his couch, and Wonwoo can tell that the mere name of Jeonghan’s lost love is nearly too much for him to handle, even after so many years.
“What do you want to know?” Jeonghan asks finally.
“You said she was your soulmate.”
“And you called me crazy for it, everyone did.” Perhaps this is another reason it’s such a sore subject. 
“Not everyone,” Wonwoo points out. “Sung didn’t like it.” 
Jeonghan visibly flinches at the name of their old master, and it’s no wonder why. Sung had gone after anything his fledglings found beautiful, and much more. It’s one of the many reasons Wonwoo had found a way to kill him, ending their eternal torment… but he’d been too late to save Luna, and it’s something he’s always regretted. Jeonghan is a shell of who he was before, and deep in Wonwoo’s black twisted soul, he knows that the man he used to call one of his closest friends will never truly be whole again. 
“She was my soulmate,” Jeonghan says, but at this point, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of that fact.
“How did you know?” Wonwoo presses.
“It was a feeling, I can’t really explain it.”
“Try.” 
Jeonghan lets out a deep sigh. “There was something about Luna, I knew it the moment I first saw her. I couldn’t describe it, especially not to any other vampires. She wasn’t just prey, she was more than that.”
She was enough for Jeonghan to turn her into a vampire, intent on spending the rest of eternity with her, an eternity that never came, for one of them at least.
“The first time I tasted her,” Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair. “She was like citrus and sunshine, I’d never experienced anything like her.” This is far off from the red wine and pomegranates Wonwoo had tasted when he’d had you. “It was the oddest thing- there was this feeling, in my chest-”
“Like a punch,” Wonwoo suggests.
Jeonghan’s eyes shift to him, and then he nods. “Yeah, like a punch.”
Wonwoo almost feels sick. “I still don’t understand how this made you realize she was your soulmate.”
“I couldn’t hurt her,” Jeonghan explains, “even if I’d wanted to. And when I tasted her again, when she let me drink from her, I realized what the feeling in my chest was.”
“What was it?” 
Jeonghan studies Wonwoo. “It was my heart.”
“Your heart?” 
The long haired vampire nods. “An echo. A memory of the life I once had. Luna made my heart beat again, if only when I was with her. She made me soft, like I’d been when I was human, before Sung and the eternal night.”
Wonwoo sits on the couch across from Jeonghan, looking down at his hands.
This can’t be true. Wonwoo had never believed it before- but now, well, now he’s experienced it for himself. 
How can a vampire’s whole long life change in one chance meeting?
Except, it hadn’t been chance, not really. Sung had ruined your life as he’d ruined Wonwoo’s, and fate had inexplicably tied you together. 
He truly can’t believe it.
“Why do you want to know all of this?” Jeonghan asks.
Wonwoo almost doesn’t want to admit it, for Jeonghan’s sake as much as his own. So he lies. “No reason.”
Jeonghan leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t tell me you’ve found your own soulmate.” When Wonwoo remains silent, Jeonghan lets out a small laugh. “I feel sorry for any human unlucky enough to be tied to you.”
“I do too,” Wonwoo sighs. His indifference - and sometimes hatred - towards humans is well known in the vampire circles Wonwoo is a part of. He’s generally cold, unfeeling, a true vampire, the way his master made him. In fact, out of all twelve of Wonwoo’s broodmates, he’s likely the most successful by Sung’s measurements. He’d surely been the most strategically blood thirsty, and it had cost their former master his life. 
“You won’t be able to kill her,” Jeonghan warns. “Won’t be able to run away. If you’ve tasted her blood, if you’ve felt your heart, it’s only a matter of time until you give in again.”
Wonwoo hates that this is true. You’ve been on his mind the entire time he’s been away from you, and it’s already driving him insane. He’s not used to thinking about another being for long periods of time, least of all a filthy little human who fancies herself a vampire hunter.
“You’ll end up turning her,” Jeonghan concludes. “It’s the only way. Humans are fragile, and I know how much you hate to see weakness.”
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You’ve been trying to find a way out of the bedroom for ages. There are no clocks, nothing to tell you what time it is, but you know dawn is coming, you can see it through the large windows that make up an entire wall of the room.
There’s safety in sunshine, and you’re extremely hopeful that it comes before Wonwoo does.
But your luck is not your own today, as you hear something outside the door just as the morning rays begin to creep through the glass. 
You make your way to the windows, pressing your body against them and waiting for the vampire to return. He takes his sweet time, and for that, you’re grateful. The room is half illuminated by the time Wonwoo opens the door, and he peers inside at you.
“What are you doing?” he asks, studying your seated form, back to the glass and morning sun.
“Protecting myself,” you fire back.
Wonwoo lets out a laugh, looking down where the sun reaches on the floor. Then, he steps into it. “Do you really think I’d have a room without tinted glass? The sunlight can’t touch me here. This is my safe haven, not yours.” 
Fuck.
“Have you decided what you’re going to do with me?” you ask, feeling defeated.
“I’ll let you know when I do,” Wonwoo responds smoothly, walking over to the closet. 
He’s left the door wide open, and you eye it, wondering if you can make your escape.
“Don’t even think about it,” the vampire warns. “You won’t get far. I’ve installed an extra lock on my front door too, so even if you make it there, you have no way out.”
“How many people have you killed here?”
“None.” Wonwoo is looking through his clothing casually, back to you. You’re not sure if you can believe him. “Go on, check the doors.”
You dart from the room, quickly getting your bearings in the small but luxurious apartment. When you make it to the front door, you find he’s not lying. There’s an extra deadbolt on it, and try as you might, you can’t get it open.
You move to the kitchen next, looking for knives of any kind- but there’s literally nothing to be found in any of the cabinets. You suppose a vampire has no use for utensils or food- 
Instead, you unplug a lamp, picking it up to use as a bludgeoning weapon if the need arises. You stare toward Wonwoo’s bedroom, and he crosses your line of sight. He’s shirtless now, a pair of sweatpants low on his hips.
The sight is gone far too soon, and you wait, frozen with your lamp. 
Wonwoo doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t come out of his room.
After a few minutes, you go to peek inside. The vampire is laying in his bed.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to sleep,” he muses almost lazily. “It’s been a long night.”
You’d heard rumours about vampires needing sleep, but you hadn’t actually believed the tales. 
“What am I supposed to do now?” you ask.
“Get comfortable,” Wonwoo sighs. “You’re not going anywhere.” He opens his eyes when you stay standing in his doorway. “Put the lamp down.”
“No.”
The vampire lets out a laugh. “Suit yourself.”
“I’ll kill you in your sleep,” you warn him.
“No you won’t.” Wonwoo rolls onto his side, facing away from you. The covers are around his hips, and you get a good view of his excessively broad shoulders. His skin is perfect, not a blemish in sight, only muscles for days.
You lower the lamp a little. 
This man is crazy. Absolutely batshit insane. 
You watch the vampire as he drifts to sleep, and as soon as you feel you’ve waited a substantial amount of time, you begin to tiptoe to his closet. Your blade has to be somewhere.
You’re hyper aware of the fact that at any moment, Wonwoo could wake up. You keep your noise level to a minimum, rifling through his things. Finally, after what feels like forever, you feel the tip of your blade under your fingers as you look through a folded pile of hoodies. 
The twisted knife pulls out from the fabric and you have to fight the urge to cry out in happiness. When you look over your shoulder, you find the vampire still asleep. He’s on his back now, and it would be the perfect opportunity to stake him.
You’re aware that if you kill him, it will be much harder to leave the apartment, but you’re confident that if you bang on the front door long and loudly enough, someone will come save you. 
You begin to tiptoe toward the bed, adjusting your grip on the knife. 
If there’s one thing you can say about vampires in general, it’s that they’re beautiful. Wonwoo looks absolutely angelic, even while asleep. You falter at the edge of the mattress, simply watching him. If he hadn’t nearly killed you last night, you might hesitate longer, but the memory brings your drive back, and you hold the blade over his chest.
But your hands can’t bring it down. You can’t pierce his skin the way he’d pierced your neck just hours ago.
Come on, you think to yourself. Just stake him. 
Wonwoo’s eyes open, and he simply stares at you for a moment. Then he grabs your hand, disarming the blade and tugging you roughly, sending you toppling onto the mattress next to him. 
“Fuck!” you scream, kicking and trashing against the vice grip he has on your wrist.
Wonwoo lets you go. “I would have been disappointed if you didn’t try.”
“I hate you!” you yell, sitting up only to be tugged back down again.
“No, you don’t.” Wonwoo straddles you this time, grabbing both your wrists and pinning them above your head with one hand while the other continues to hold your family blade. 
“I do!”
“I killed the vampire you were hunting, something you would have never been able to do. Some part of you must be grateful for that at least,” Wonwoo points out. “I’ve saved you from becoming a killer. Trust me, it’s not a weight you’d be able to hold easily.”
His words make your skin cold, and you stop wiggling beneath him, staring up at the beautiful vampire.
“There we go,” Wonwoo says, tone almost soothing. “If you’re good and calm, I’ll give you some information. Although, you won’t like what you’re about to hear.”
“Have you decided to kill me yet?” 
Wonwoo quickly shakes his head, releasing your wrists so he can sit straighter, staring down at your form. “I’m not really sure how to tell you this.”
“Just spit it out!”
“Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” Wonwoo grins, tracing the tip of the blade across your collar bone and making you freeze. You’re breathing heavily, fighting every urge to try to push him off of you. “Fine, maybe I won’t tell you.”
He gets off of you, rolling onto his back again. He begins to play with the knife, gently tracing one of its edges.
“Tell me,” you press. “I’m being good.” 
Wonwoo laughs, and you hate how attracted you are to him when he smiles, his fangs all pointy and sharp. 
“Fate is like this blade,” he says finally.
“A killer?” you suggest after a moment of deliberation.
“Twisted,” Wonwoo corrects you. 
“Twisted how?”
“Sung. He ruined my life. Ruined yours. I killed him, thinking I knew everything there was to know, but there was still information he could have given me. Information that died with him, like the vampire hunter legacy that died with your parents. Now here we are, two remnants of the same past, our souls scarred, but entwined, twisted by fate.”
You’d definitely not pegged this vampire as a poet, but there’s something very genuine about the words leaving his pretty lips.
“What do you know of souls?” you ask, words dripping with vitriol. “You don’t have one.”
“It would appear I do,” Wonwoo muses. 
“Then what do you know about mine?” 
“Enough.” 
He’s told you something without telling you anything, and it’s infuriating.
“When I bit you, I felt something,” Wonwoo says quietly.
“Besides hunger?”
He grins at your sarcasm. “Yes, besides hunger.”
Wonwoo drags his finger across the blade again, but this time, it cuts him. You watch dark red blood bloom, and after a moment he brings it to his lips, licking it clean. By the time he pulls his hand away, you see the small cut has healed.
“When I bit you, my chest hurt.”
“What does that mean?” 
“I wasn’t sure at the time,” he admits. “But I know someone who’d felt something similar, so I went to talk to him. Do you want to know what he said?”
The anticipation is nearly killing you. “Yes.” 
“He revealed to me that amidst a world of vampires, witches and werewolves, there’s also such a thing as soulmates. And so, like this blade, fate is twisted.” 
You stare at the vampire, trying to process what he’s just said. 
But it doesn’t make sense to you.
“You can’t be saying that we’re soulmates-”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Wonwoo shifts, holding the blade out to you. “Here, try to stake me again.”
After a moment of deliberation, you take the knife, lining it up with his throat. But try as you might, you can’t bring yourself to kill him, can’t even cut a tiny scratch against his perfect skin.
“This doesn’t prove anything,” you say finally, feeling completely defeated.
“Sure it doesn’t,” Wonwoo grins, but his smile tells you another story. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to sleep. You’re free to join me if you want.”
You take the knife away from his neck, releasing a loud sigh. “Just don’t bite me.”
“No promises.” Wonwoo rolls on his side again, back to you. 
You hate how calm he’s being about all of this, but you suppose that’s what happens when you’re the one holding all the cards. 
You can’t hurt him, but you’re pretty sure he can still hurt you, if that bite from last night is anything to go on. 
It takes an hour of letting him rest before you finally place the knife on the floor, settling into the bed with a huff. Your mind is completely full, but you’re exhausted too. Sleep finds you soon thereafter. 
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You wake up cold, and it only takes a moment for you to realize why. There’s a vampire attached to your back, his chest pressed tightly to your form, skin like ice. 
You want to pull away, but you can’t. You’re stuck, trapped in his tight embrace. 
There has to be a way out of this, not only his arms but his apartment too. You’ll find a way, there has to be a way- 
With a few deep breaths, you’re finally able to get control of yourself, and you begin to shift away from Wonwoo- only for his grip to tighten on your body. 
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, voice groggy as if he’s just woken up.
“I have to get out of here,” you insist.
Wonwoo releases his hold on you, and you dart out of bed, looking around at the dark of the room. It’s evening already? How long did you sleep? When you look outside, you see the sun has set, the sky a hazy purple. 
“People will look for me,” you say, trying to reassure yourself.
“What people? Your family is dead.” 
He’s such an asshole. He can’t possibly be your soulmate, he can’t be-
You turn to look at Wonwoo, only to find him standing right in front of you. He’s so large, his chest perfectly muscled- and he’s staring at your neck.
“Don’t even think about it,” you warn, clapping both hands over your throat.
He laughs. “But I’m thirsty.”
“How very enticing,” you say sarcastically. 
“I’ve been thinking.”
“You have?” you act shocked, picking up your blade.
“Put that down,” he tells you. “I’ve been thinking about something my friend told me. He said I’d have to turn you eventually.”
“Now I’m definitely not putting this down!” You brandish the knife at him and it only makes his grin wider. 
“You’re cute,” the vampire muses. “I can’t let you leave here while you’re human. It’s a dangerous world out there. Turning you would give me… security.”
“I’d still run,” you insist.
“You wouldn’t be able to. Not if I told you that you can’t.”
“I’d still try-”
Wonwoo bats the blade out of your hand, grabbing your wrists to pin them to your front while he steps closer. “You’re not listening,” he tuts. “Fledgelings can’t disobey their masters, and if I turned you-”
“You’ll never be my master,” you spit. 
“You might not like me now, but you’ll get over it,” Wonwoo assures you. “I can’t say I’m particularly fond of the fragility of your human body. I can turn you and you’ll be much more powerful. You’ll stay beautiful and young, forever.”
Blood is thrumming through your body, and so is fear. Your pulse is practically racing as you stare up at the vampire who thinks you’re his soulmate. 
How can he be so sure of this?
In the dark recesses of your mind, there’s some pleasure in being wanted, maybe even needed- but you push the thought away, struggling in his grasp. “Don’t do this.”
Wonwoo doesn’t respond, he simply steps closer, causing you to move back until you’re pressed between him and the wall. He stares down at you, an intensity in his eyes. 
“I’m going to ask you something, and I’ll be able to tell if you’re lying, so be a good girl and try to be honest, okay?” 
“Screw you!”
He places both your wrists in one hand, bringing the other up to cup your cheek. “Would you hate me if I kissed you?”
“Yes!” 
“Lie,” he grins, leaning even closer. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you.”
“I don’t want you to kiss me.”
“Another lie. Your heart jumped just now. Whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, your body always tells the truth.” 
You’re speechless, staring up at him with wide eyes.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” the vampire warns you. “It will be better if you try to enjoy yourself.” 
He gives you a moment to respond, but you can’t. There’s nothing you can say as Wonwoo closes the distance between your lips. It’s a soft kiss, much softer than you’d ever expected from him. Your body reacts, eyes closing, and you find yourself kissing him back.
Wonwoo grins, releasing your wrists in favour of grabbing your hip, pressing you harder against the wall. His tongue glides against your bottom lip and you can’t help but open your mouth for him, fighting the moan that bubbles in your chest. 
There’s something about this that feels electric, and after a mini battle with yourself, you give into the experience. Your hands grab at his strong shoulders, nails digging into his flesh as you kiss him back with more vigour, opening your mouth for him.
Wonwoo lets out a growl, deep in his chest, and the sound turns you on more than you’ll ever admit. His hand is bruising on your hip now, groping at your skin and slipping under your shirt. You shift in his embrace, pulling him closer when you wrap your arms around the back of his neck.
His hand on your cheek moves down, gently latching around your throat. The motion makes you gasp, and Wonwoo pulls away from your lips, staring down at you. “Thirsty.”
“You fucker-”
“Thirsty,” he repeats, pressing you against the wall and tightening his grip on your neck. You watch him drag his tongue across his sharp fangs. “Just say yes,” the vampire whispers. It almost sounds like he’s begging. 
You’re at war with yourself. Your body is clearly reacting to Wonwoo, but your mind still isn’t there yet. It’s almost torture, pressed to the wall by a man with a perfect body and power that practically thrums off of him.
You find yourself giving a small nod. “Don’t hurt me,” you plead.
“Never,” he promises, kissing you softly one last time before he arches your jaw to the side. You grab at his shoulders, ready to dig your nails in when you feel his fangs- 
His lips press to your throat and a shiver runs through your body. His tongue tastes your skin, drawing a circle that has you nearly dying with anticipation. When the bite finally comes, it’s not painful or sharp, it feels something like a hickey, and then it begins to throb.
A gasp tumbles out of you, and you cling to Wonwoo’s broad shoulders, closing your eyes. The vampire releases a groan, reaching for your hand so he can intertwine your fingers, squeezing gently. 
You’ve never felt close to someone like this, and the realization has your head spinning… or maybe that’s the blood loss. 
“Wonwoo-” you whimper, starting to worry at how long he’s been sucking on your throat.
The throbbing stops, and you feel his tongue gliding over the bite mark, an attempt to soothe your skin. Then he’s pulling away, looking down at you as he licks his lips clean of your blood.
“Good girl,” he praises you, letting go of your hand. “Your turn.” You watch as he brings his thumb to his mouth, biting the tip before grabbing your jaw, pressing the digit into your mouth. “This will heal the mark,” Wonwoo explains, watching as you begin to suck on his thumb.
He doesn’t taste like blood. Instead, you’re reminded of strawberries and stone fruits. You swirl your tongue around his digit, sucking him deeper into your mouth-
“That’s it,” the vampire groans, slowly pulling his thumb from you. He drags it across your lip. “All better.”
When you touch your throat, you find only perfect skin. There’s nothing to suggest you’ve just been bitten by a vampire. 
“If it’s any consolation,” Wonwoo leans down, his lips ghosting over your own, “you taste delicious.”
“You-” you swallow thickly, “you do too.”
“Yeah?” He grins. 
You can only nod, leaning forward eagerly to capture him in a kiss again. 
You’re hungry for him, hungry in a way you’ve never been before, hungry for more.
Wonwoo gives into your needs, working his lips against yours harder while his hands find your hips again. Your own fingers trace his broad shoulders, dipping down to tease over his chest before finding his abs-
“That’s enough for tonight,” Wonwoo says suddenly, pulling away.
You realize you’d been about to grab his sweat pants, and you feel slightly embarrassed. You’re not sure what’s come over you-
“Sorry-”
“As much as I’d love to give you everything you want, as a human, I’d break you much too easily, darling.” 
Is he… is he going to withhold sex unless you become a vampire?
Jesus, are you actually considering this now?
What has this man done to you?
“I’m going out,” Wonwoo announces.
“Where?”
“The club. You were a tasty treat, but I’ll need more soon.”
For some reason, the thought of him biting anyone else makes you almost jealous. “Take me with you.”
“To the vampire club?” Wonwoo laughs as he heads to his closet. “No.”
“Please?” 
“No.”
“Why not?” you ask.
“It’s too dangerous.”
“What if I stick to your side all night?” 
He turns to look at you, cocking a brow. “Not thinking of running anymore?”
You shake your head quickly.
“Shame, a lie,” Wonwoo sighs. “But I guess… anywhere you go, I’ll find you.” He reaches out, wrapping his hands around your throat and pulling you closer. “You’re mine. If you run, the consequence will be a turning, does that sound fair?”
You feel like you’re gambling with fate, but you nod all the same.
“Say it,” the vampire tells you. 
“If… If I run, you can turn me.”
Wonwoo studies you for a moment, then he releases your throat. “Fine. You can come to the club. We’ll get you food along the way if you promise to be good.”
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Entering the club with Wonwoo is extremely different from entering alone. The bouncers seem to know the vampire with his hand firmly wrapped around your own, and although they give you odd looks, no one says anything.
The crowd parts for Wonwoo, and you feel eyes drilling into your form. 
It had taken months to track down this specific club, there are few vampire safe havens like this one, and people tend to keep their mouth shut about this sort of thing. Yet, within the location itself, everyone seems to know who’s vampire and who’s human. It’s an unspoken hierarchy, one you’re disturbing by being so close to Wonwoo while still owning a pulse.
Wonwoo leads you to the booth section you’d found him in last night. There are three vampires already sitting there, and they all stare as you approach. “Shouldn’t have brought you here,” Wonwoo sighs.
“Why not?”
“They’re never going to let me live this down,” he explains. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”
It’s an interesting notion, the idea that you’re bringing down this asshole vampire’s street cred. But at the same time, you didn’t force him to bring you here. You’ll never be able to force Wonwoo to do anything.
The vampire with the longest hair stands up from the booth as you approach, and you’re shocked when he smiles at you. “This must be her,” he says, holding out a hand. When you take it, instead of shaking, the beautiful man leans down to kiss your knuckles. 
“This is Jeonghan,” Wonwoo tells you.
You give the vampire your own name, and when you hear Wonwoo whispering it behind you, you realize he’s yet to learn it. Had you really gone this long without introducing yourself to him properly? Had you let him bite you, and kiss you, and call you good girl, all without knowing your name?
“You’re the vampire hunter,” comes the next voice, and the tallest vampire you’ve ever seen stands to tower over you. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”
“Mingyu,” Wonwoo warns, his hand moving to the small of your back in an almost protective gesture.
“Vampire hunter?” The third man cocks his head. “I see you’ve brought us a pretty little juice box.”
“Joshua,” now it’s Jeonghan’s turn to scold someone, and you realize through the long haired vampire’s behaviour that he must be the friend Wonwoo went to see about soulmates. There’s definitely a softness to him that the others don’t have, an understanding.
“Is she not dinner?” Joshua simply blinks in confusion, unable to see what he’s done wrong.
“A fang bunny then, not dinner,” the final vampire suggests.
“Excuse Soonyoung and Joshua,” Jeonghan sighs, addressing you again, “looks don’t account for manners. How about I take you down to the bar for a drink and Wonwoo can explain to our friends what’s going on,” he leans closer, lowering his voice, “Wonwoo’s never brought a girl home, I’m sure you can understand the surprise.”
You’d promised Wonwoo you’d stay by his side all night, and you can’t help but look at him for permission to leave with Jeonghan. Your vampire mate meets your gaze with a steady look, and he gives you a quick nod before turning to his friends again.
Jeonghan takes your hand, pulling you away from the table and back toward the bar. “You two look good together,” he muses. “Fragility looks nice next to Wonwoo’s controlled chaos, it’s a good balance.”
“What’s with you vampires and hating human fragility?” you ask.
“I can’t speak for all vampires, but I can tell you it’s a trait of our fledgling group. Our old master was… brutal, to say the least. It left its scars.” Jeonghan looks down, and you can see an unreadable emotion cross his face. But he’s forcing a smile a moment later. “It doesn’t matter, Sung is gone, we’re free now.”
So Wonwoo hadn’t only freed himself and you when he’d killed his maker. How many people had he saved? You’d seen the act as something of a bloodthirsty move of defiance, but you  hadn’t been aware of the domino effect of it all, hadn’t been aware that Sung had been cruel to humans and vampires alike, even his own spawn. 
The bartender comes over with two glasses of red wine, and you reach for yours, only to have Jeonghan’s cold fingers latch around your wrist. “Don’t drink that,” he warns you, eyes shifting to the human bartender. “She’s not a red wine lover.”
“I can drink this-”
Jeonghan leans closer, voice lowering. “It’s blood, darling.”
Your eyes dip to the glass of red liquid and you pull your hand away, swallowing thickly. Something tells you this blood wouldn’t taste like Wonwoo’s had, there’d be no strawberries and stone fruit, only harsh metalics. 
“What would you like to drink?” Jeonghan asks.
You give your order and the bartender scurries away. Jeonghan moves both glasses of blood in front of himself, lifting one to his lips. 
“Stupid humans,” he mutters, only realizing his mistake a moment later. “Not you of course, as Wonwoo’s soulmate, you’re an extension of us.”
It’s very odd to be accepted like this. You’ve never met any vampires like these ones, and they’re reshaping your view of things that go bump in the night.
Your gaze moves back to the table of vampires, and you’re shocked to find Wonwoo standing with a new person you’ve not yet met. They’re comparable in size, and from your distance, it almost looks like they’re arguing. Then you see Wonwoo motion, pointing toward the hallway that leads to the alley he’d taken you last night.
“Jeonghan?” You tap on the man’s arm. “Who’s that with Wonwoo?”
“Shit,” Jeonghan cusses. “He’s bad news.”
And here you’d thought Wonwoo was bad news, can this new man be even worse?
You watch the two heated vampires begin to head through the crowd, clearly intent on taking this outside. Mingyu, Joshua and Soonyoung watch from the booth, but they don’t make a move to follow. 
“Does- does Wonwoo need backup?” you ask.
Jeonghan considers it for a moment. “Doubtful. He’d probably be mad if we went out after him.”
As you watch Wonwoo disappear, your heart clenches in your chest. “I think we should follow.”
“He’s fine,” Jeonghan assures you.
“I don’t care.”
“Wonwoo wouldn’t want you there,” the vampire tries to convince you. “You’re fragile, human, it would only make things worse.”
“Screw that.”
“Your drink isn’t even here yet-”
But you’re already moving away from the bar, and Jeonghan scrambles to follow you, grabbing both glasses of wine. “This is a bad idea,” he insists, but you’re done listening to him. “Wonwoo can take care of himself.”
To be fair, that might be true. However, there’s a pull, deep in your chest. Something tells you Wonwoo will need you soon, although you’re not quite sure in what capacity. 
Your pace quickens as you head down the dark hallway, and you push open the exit door, quickly looking around. 
Wonwoo has the other vampire pressed to the brick wall behind the bar, and they’re grappling at each other, practically snarling. You have no clue who’s the aggressor, but you know who the winner will be, and you reach into your jacket for your blade.
“Wonwoo!” you scream, catching his attention for a moment, but it’s all you need to toss the weapon toward him. He catches it easily, driving the stake into the other man without a second thought.
A choked sound leaves you, and a hand covers your eyes. Jeonghan presses against your back, cradling you while you hear the sounds of your vampire mate eviscerating his opponent. 
Jeonghan turns you in his arms. “Don’t look,” he urges, removing his palm from your view. He’s still holding a wine glass, and you see the other sitting on the garbage can a few feet away. The sight of the blood makes your stomach churn. You try to take deep breaths to calm yourself, but it’s difficult in a situation like this.
Something moves in the periphery of your vision and you turn your head to see Wonwoo standing there, reaching for the wine glass. His skin is marred with red, his hair a tangle of curls. Your mate’s eyes are dark, and he closes them as he downs the red liquid, tossing the glass to the side when he’s through with it. The cup shatters across the alleyway. 
“Wonwoo-” you breathe, reaching for him, needing to check if he’s hurt.
“Why did you two come out here?” he asks, staring at Jeonghan.
“She insisted.”
Oh, to be thrown under the bus by a vampire.
Wonwoo cracks a grin, gaze shifting to you. “Brat.” 
“Killer,” you retort.
“He deserved it,” Wonwoo assures you, reaching out to grab you by the back of the neck, pulling you closer. 
He’s covered in blood and he looks like a sexy, wild monster. But he’s your monster, and you can’t help but react, leaning in-
“Jesus Christ,” you hear Jeonghan breathe, turning to give you and Wonwoo privacy while he presses his lips against yours hungrily.
At first, you can try to ignore the wet liquid on your fingertips as you grab at his strong shoulders, but you can’t ignore the taste on his tongue. Your body goes rigid and Wonwoo pulls back with a sigh, resting his forehead against yours. 
It’s an oddly peaceful moment amongst the chaos.
Wonwoo lets you go, turning to his friend. “Help me with the body,” he instructs.
“The club owner isn’t going to like this,” Jeonghan groans, although he does as he’s told, following Wonwoo toward the body crumpled by the wall.
The vampire has been practically torn to pieces- you shift your gaze again, wiping at your mouth just in case there’s any blood on your skin.
“I’ll explain what happened,” Wonwoo says. 
“Explain it to me then.”
You focus on the ground, not wanting to look as you hear the two vampires open a large dumpster. 
Wonwoo has lowered his voice to respond to his friend, but you hear the words soulmate and threatened. 
Had this killing been over you? The thought makes your stomach tie into knots again.
“You can’t bring her here again, not while she’s still human,” Jeonghan muses.
“You think I don’t know that?” Wonwoo snaps. “I didn’t even want to bring her today!”
“Then why did you?”
“It’s hard to say no to her, something you should understand. Can’t believe you let her come out here-”
“I didn’t let her do anything,” Jeonghan insists. “That soulmate of yours has a mind of her own. Besides, my hands were full.”
Your eyes shift to the glass of wine still sitting on a small trash can, and you move to retrieve it. 
“You’ll get this properly cleaned up, won’t you?” Wonwoo asks.
“Yeah, I got you,” Jeonghan sighs. “But you owe me one.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” 
You hear them walking over again, and you turn to face the approaching vampires, holding out the ‘wine’ for Jeonghan.
“Thank you, darling,” he offers you a smile, taking the glass. 
You can only nod, gaze shifting to Wonwoo, who still looks gorgeous even while covered in blood. 
He takes your hand gently. “Come on, brat, let’s get out of here.”
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Mingyu had come around with his car to take you home, helping avoid any uber drivers who would take one look at Wonwoo’s blood-speckled face and driven the other way. It had been a tense ten minutes, with hardly a word spoken.
Now, you’re in Wonwoo’s bathroom, helping him take off his shirt so you can wash him clean.
He watches as you ring out a warm soapy cloth, bunching it up and bringing it toward his shoulders first. It’s hard to focus with his intense gaze fixed on you, but you do your best, wiping away the blood from his throat.
“I have to turn you,” he says.
You sigh. “I know.”
“Are you upset with me?”
You shake your head, daring a look into his dark eyes. 
The vampire cocks his head, hands finding your hips while he leans back against the sink. “I’ll be gentle,” he promises. “One bite, I’ll nearly drain you, and on the cusp between life or death, I’ll give you my own blood. You’ll probably pass out, for a little while, and when you wake up, you’ll be like me.”
“Except you’ll be my master,” you point out, drawing the cloth across his bloody cheekbone. 
“I won’t abuse that power.”
For some reason, you believe him.
Silence fills the bathroom while you continue to clean him, but your mind is very much active. 
You’ve spent over ten years with one goal and one goal only, to avenge your parents. You’d been told it was a fool's errand, so you’d never quite planned for what came next. Part of you had always expected to die young- and if you’d been at the house instead of with a friend the day Sung had come for your family, you would have. 
The idea of living forever is a lot to grapple with, but Wonwoo’s the one that makes it possible.
He’d completed your life task, and now, he’s offering you a new path, one that’s rich with shadows, but also love. In a way, maybe you can’t ask for anything more than that.
“Do you think it will satisfy you?” you question. “Having me when you know I can’t refuse you?”
Wonwoo considers you for a moment, and his silence makes you anxious.
“I just mean…” you bite at your lip, cleaning the last speckle of blood from his skin before tossing the cloth down. “Wouldn’t it be better to have me for the first time while I’m still human? When you know I’m saying yes out of my own free will?”
“Darling,” his fingers dig into your hips, “are you asking me to fuck you?”
“I’m just- I know I want you, I think that much is obvious. I just think that if I wait to have you until after I’m a vampire, maybe there will always be a part of me that questions it. I want to experience you now, as I am, as a human.”
“It’s an interesting proposition,” Wonwoo admits.
“Just interesting?” you tease, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders.
Wonwoo straightens. No longer leaning against the sink, he towers over you again, and it takes your anxieties away. 
“Is this really what you want?” he asks.
You take a deep breath and nod. 
“I’ll be as gentle as I know how,” he reaches out, brushing his fingers along your arm, “but I can’t make any promises.”
“It’s okay,” you assure him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I like rough.”
“Are you sure about that, pretty girl?” Wonwoo grins, grabbing your hips and tugging you closer. 
It feels amazing to be pressed against him now, your palms coming to rest on his broad chest. He’s so beautiful, you can hardly control yourself around him anymore. 
“I want you to ravage me,” you tell him. “And when we both finish, you can turn me. I think… I think I’m ready for my life with you. There’s nothing for me with the old one anyways, not anymore.” 
The vampire studies you, and you avert your gaze, only for his fingers to find the bottom of your chin. He tilts your head up so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “I’m going to take care of you,” Wonwoo whispers, and then he leans in to press his lips against yours.
You melt against his chest, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. Your mouth parts much too easily for Wonwoo, and he drags his tongue along yours, earning a sigh of relief from deep within you. Your brain has been so full since seeing Wonwoo eviscerate that rival vampire, it’s good to be in your body now, mind going numb from your soulmate’s touch.
In one easy motion, Wonwoo turns you so you’re the one with your back to the sink. He bends down, tearing your pants off before grabbing your thighs and lifting you onto the counter, slotting between your legs while he kisses you harder. 
His hands find your shirt, and you break the kiss to tear it off, leaving you in your underwear. Wonwoo’s lips find your neck, and you tangle your fingers in his hair, groaning. You throw your head back, wrapping your legs tighter around his hips. “Bite me,” you urge him, missing the sensation.
The vampire grins against your throat, and you feel his fangs a moment later. He doesn’t tease you with kisses or licking this time, he simply sinks his teeth into you. The throbbing feeling courses through you and you gasp, digging your nails into his shoulders while Wonwoo drinks from you. 
You’ve never felt close to someone like this before. Wonwoo is grabbing your hips hard, leaning closer while he uses you for his own strength. He presses forward, allowing you to feel his cock growing in his jeans, denim catching against your panties. Then his hands slip behind you, and he undoes your bra, tearing it off. 
Your nipples pebble in the cool of the bathroom, and Wonwoo’s cold hands don’t help any as they move up to cup your breasts. Your soulmate pulls away from your throat, releasing a groan.
Warm blood begins to drip down your skin, he’d bitten you harder than last time. As the track of red makes it to your nipple, Wonwoo bends down, capturing the sensitive bud in his mouth and licking roughly. 
You whimper at the sensation, tangling your fingers in his hair as he drags his tongue up, collecting all the blood that’s just spilt from your neck. The vampire groans when he makes it to your bite mark, and he adjusts slightly, biting his thumb before pressing it into your mouth. “Need you healed or I might lose control,” he says, voice husky.
You can only suck in his digit, closing your eyes and enjoying the tingly feeling of your wound disappearing. 
Your soulmate pulls his hand from your mouth, bringing his newly spit-covered fingers to your panty-clad core. He applies a good amount of pressure to your clit and you cry out, grabbing at his jaw to bring his lips back to yours.
The vampire rubs you teasingly, working you up until you’re practically rutting against his hand. “Please,” you moan, feeling absolutely desperate now.
Wonwoo rewards you by pushing your panties to the side, sinking two fingers into your hot core while you groan into each other’s mouths. 
“Already so wet for me,” Wonwoo muses. “Is this how you always react to vampires, darling?”
You shake your head, whimpering as he strokes your inner walls expertly. “Just you,” you tell him.
Wonwoo lets out a growl. With his free hand he grabs your wrist, bringing your palm to his chest. “Can you feel what you’re doing to me?”
At first, you’re confused, but then you feel something, a rough thumping, as if his heart is clawing to get out of his ribcage. “I’m doing this to you?” you ask in wonder.
“And this,” he guides your hand down further, so you can feel how hard he is in his jeans now. 
“Fuck, you’re big-”
Wonwoo laughs, working his fingers into you even harder. “Think you’ll be able to make it fit?”
“Uh huh,” you nod eagerly. “We’ll make it fit.” 
His digits crook up, stroking a spot that has your thighs quivering around his hips. You squeeze his cock through his jeans, hoping to drive Wonwoo even a fraction as wild as he’s driving you.
Your soulmate lets out a satisfied groan, and the sound goes straight to your core, which squelches around his fingers. “I’m close,” you warn him, nearly panting now as the orgasm builds in the pit of your stomach.
“Yeah?” Wonwoo grinds his palm against your clit and you’re nearly seeing stars. 
You let go of his cock, needing to anchor yourself on his strong shoulders as he leans in to kiss your throat. He focuses on the spot he’d bitten, and even though it’s healed, you’re still sensitive there, sending throbbing tingles through your form.
“Fuck, Wonwoo-” You clench your eyes shut as you reach your high, your entire being now consumed with pleasure. You’ve never felt anything like this. It’s almost an out of body experience, your cries leaving your lips as you dig your nails into his shoulders, throbbing ceaselessly with ecstasy. 
“That’s it, pet,” Wonwoo coos, fingers continuing to abuse your hole even as your walls contract around him. “Who’s my good little human?”
“Me,” you whimper, threading your hand through his hair so you can keep him to your throat. You almost want to ask him to bite you again, but you hold yourself back, enjoying the last moments of your orgasm.
You finish with a gasp, breathing hard. 
Wonwoo takes his hand from your core, pulling away from your neck. He watches you with dark eyes as he brings his fingers to his lips, licking them clean. The vampire lets out a groan. “Everything about you tastes so fucking sweet, darling.”
God. You need him like you’ve never needed anyone in your whole life.
“Please,” you moan.
“Please, what?” he teases.
“Take me,” you whisper. “Make me yours.”
“Darling,” Wonwoo leans closer, his lips ghosting over your own, “I thought you’d never ask.”
He pulls you off the sink, tucking you close to his chest and carrying you back to the bedroom. The lights are off, and when he gently places you on the bed, his beautiful frame is illuminated from the glow of the bathroom. 
You can’t see his face, but you can see he’s smiling, and his fangs flash. His hands move to his belt and he undoes it. You bite at your lip, sitting up onto your elbows while you watch him. 
He pushes his pants down, and you can just make out the impressive size of his cock. “Wish I could see you,” you muse.
“I can see you,” he retorts. “When I turn you, you’ll be able to see in the dark too.”
“Are you really going to make me wait?”
“You won’t have to wait long,” Wonwoo reminds you. “You can be patient for this first time, can’t you, human? After tonight, we’ll have forever.”
You can’t even imagine what forever entails, and you distract yourself from it by pulling your panties down, tossing them to the floor. You spread your legs for the vampire at the foot of the bed and he releases a groan.
“You are beautiful,” he admits.
“Even for a human?”
“Even for a vampire hunter,” Wonwoo presses a knee to the bed.
“Thought you said I was a sorry excuse for a vampire hunter.” 
“I may have said something along those lines,” he grins.
“A vampire hunter with no kills under her belt-”
Wonwoo presses his hand to the bed next to your head, leaning over you while you wrap your legs around his hips. “Are you looking for an apology, darling?”
“It would help,” you sigh, enjoying the way he ruts his cock against your hot core.
“I’m sorry I called you a filthy little human who fancies herself a vampire hunter,” Wonwoo smirks, “I was having a bad day, and I misspoke… you’re a darling little human who’s about to become a vampire fucker.”
“Wonwoo-” you push at his chest, hating how harsh his words sound.
“You’re right,” your soulmate concedes, “you’re not a vampire fucker, I’m the one on top.”
“You’re horrible!” you screech, but at the same time, you’re giggling now.
“Tell me you love it,” he insists, leaning in to press his lips to your neck. “Tell me you don’t want me to fuck you stupid. That you don’t want me to sink my fangs into this pretty throat and make you mine, my eternal mate, untouchable to anyone but me.”
It does sound nice, and you shiver as Wonwoo presses his cold body down against yours.
“I’ll enjoy it once you’re turned,” Wonwoo breathes. “You won’t be able to be bratty with me. I’ll ask you what's on your mind and you’ll have to answer.”
“I’m just thinking how nice this is going to be,” you admit.
“Nice?” He laughs, pulling away to look down at you. 
“Obviously it will be a lot to figure out,” you back pedal slightly, “but… I don’t know, you really are my soulmate, and I know you’ll take care of me.”
The vampire simply blinks. 
“What?” you ask, cupping his face.
“This is the first time you’ve admitted it,” Wonwoo points out. 
“I wouldn’t let you bite me if you weren’t,” you remind him. “Wouldn’t let you fuck me-”
“I haven’t fucked you yet,” your soulmate grins, pushing his hips so his cock brushes by your clit as if to prove his point.
“And I’m devastated,” you say dramatically. “Please, Wonwoo- just fuck me!”
Wonwoo presses his lips to yours, and you love that he’s smiling into the kiss. You tangle your fingers in his hair, hooking your legs tighter around his hips. You’re still so wet from his fingers, and each small drag of his cock between your pussy lips feels like heaven. 
He’s such a tease, but you kind of love it.
The vampire adjusts slightly, reaching between your bodies, and then his cock slides into you. It’s just the head at first, but it’s enough to have you gasping and clawing at him. He thrusts shallowly, pushing deeper and deeper until his hips are flush to your own and every impressive inch of him is stretching you open.
“Fuck-” you whimper, toes curling from how full you feel.
Wonwoo collects one of your hands, linking your fingers and pressing it down against the pillow. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, my pretty human?”
“Uh huh,” you nod, swallowing thickly. “I told you,” you lean up, letting your lips ghost past his while you stare into his eyes, “ravage me.”
Your vampire lover groans, smashing his mouth to yours and squeezing your hand, then he begins to thrust into you and your mind goes completely blank. He fills you up perfectly- it’s like you were always meant to be full in this way. 
Now that you’ve tasted this, how can you ever get enough?
You can tell he’s holding back, can tell he’s still trying to be careful with your fragile form. You lock your legs tighter around his hips, a wordless encouragement to go harder. You wonder what it’s going to be like once you’re on his level, once you’re a vampire like him. If sex with him feels this good and he’s only at a fraction of his power, you bet undying fucking will kill you all over again.
Each snap of his hips presses his cock deep into your core, and your walls greedily eat him up. You’re moaning desperately against his mouth, squeezing his hand while tangling your fingers through his hair with the other. 
Wonwoo’s fangs drag by your lip, teasing you just enough to be on the verge of painful. 
You’re so lost in him you don’t even care, you bite him back, tugging on his curls and whimpering a sound of affirmation. This time, when his teeth make contact with your lip, it’s with enough force to pierce. 
Wonwoo groans immediately, suckling on your lower lip. It’s throbbing slightly, but unlike when he goes for your neck, his teeth aren’t still inside of you. He’s simply made a small incision, and now your vampire lover is making the most of it, kissing you so greedily that you can’t even taste the metallic proof of what he’s just done.
He simply can’t get enough of you, and you can’t get enough of him. You push on the hand capturing yours to the bed and Wonwoo relents, allowing you to grab at his shoulder while he fucks you harder, pressing you into the mattress.
With his fingers now free, he shoves them between your bodies, rubbing your clit and making your legs shake around his hips. 
With each lick and suck at your bleeding lip, he’s getting rougher with you. Your life’s blood is giving him strength, making him more feral, and you’re enjoying the show. 
Your pussy is throbbing again, just like your lip, and you know you’re achingly close to another orgasm. When has cumming ever been this easy? Wonwoo feels like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare, you’re still not sure.
“Close, darling?” Wonwoo asks, dragging his tongue across your teeth. You taste something on him, and realize he’s bitten himself, allowing his blood to heal your lip wound just as suddenly as it had been given. 
You nod, crying out as he rubs your clit harder. He stares down at you, in the dark there are angular shadows on his face, his pretty cheekbones all sharp-
“You look…” he licks his lips, “beautiful.”
“Wonwoo-” you whimper, body shuddering at the praise, your core twisting and aching as he continues to fuck into you wildly.
“That’s it,” the vampire coos, “cum on my cock, I need to feel you.”
You literally can’t help yourself. His voice is too sexy, his cock is too big, and you’re way too deep into the kinkiness of bloodsharing vampire sex to refuse any command he gives you. You let out a cry of ecstasy as your second orgasm of the night slams into you, ravaging your form and making you see stars.
Wonwoo buries his face against your neck, teasing you with his teeth and tounge while he fucks you through his high. With each second of overstimulated pleasure, you hang on the edge of anticipation, wondering if he’s about to bite you-
But he doesn’t. He simply works you through your orgasm until you’re a shaking mess.
You can feel tears in your eyes, but you’re not quite sure why they’re there.
When Wonwoo looks down at you again, he notices your tears, his brows furrowing. But he doesn’t question you on it, he simply brushes them away with his thumb while you shiver and recollect yourself after that mind numbing high.
You drag his face in for a kiss, pouring all your emotions into the merging of your lips. It must be clear to him that you’re okay, that you’re feeling just a little broken right now- but to be fair, you had asked him to ravage you.
There are underlying feelings being brought up, and in the periphery of your mind, you’re questioning your own mortality.
This is your last night on earth as a human, your last hour even- and although you know Wonwoo will take care of you, there’s something scary about it.
You’re diving into the deep, dark, unknown with your new soulmate, entrusting him as your guide after living an entire life without trusting anyone.
Trusting feels foreign to you, but you do trust Wonwoo, and that’s a scary thought in and of itself.
“Okay,” you say, swallowing thickly and letting out a shaky breath, “I’m ready for more.”
“I’d almost worried I’d broken you,” Wonwoo admits, pressing another soft kiss to your lips.
“It was a good broken,” you tell him, heart swelling in your chest at the fact that he’d been concerned for you. 
“And now my little human wants more,” Wonwoo muses. “You’re not as fragile as you look, are you, darling?”
You shake your head.
“Think you can get on your knees for me?” the vampire asks, pushing his body weight off of you.
“Uh huh,” you nod, whimpering a little at the loss of his cock from your core. You get into position, turning your back to him and adjusting on your knees, wiggling you ass gently to entice him.
“Pretty human,” Wonwoo breathes, hands ghosting down your sides before taking two fistfuls of your bum and squeezing. 
You feel his cock at your entrance again, and he pushes into you, making you both moan. In this position it almost feels like he hits deeper. You go fully doggy, resting your face against his pillows and arching your back.
“I’d tell you to be good for me, but I’m pretty sure I’ve fucked the brat out of you already. Isn’t that right, darling?” He lands a gentle smack to your ass that has you whimpering. 
He’s such a cocky asshole and it makes you groan. You can feel yourself throb around him at his words, betraying what you really think about the line he’s just used on you.
“That’s what I thought.” You can practically hear him grinning, and his hands move to your waist. His touch is almost bruising, but it feels so good as he begins to thrust into you again. Each movement has his hips hitting your ass, and the sound of sex fills the room.
You love the noises he’s making, soft, breathy groans, and deep rumbles that border on growls. There’s no time for talking anymore, your mind is much more preoccupied in the pleasure building within you both.
You’re still sensitive from two orgasms, so when you slip your hand under your body to rub your clit, your pussy immediately reacts. You clench tightly around Wonwoo, who lets out a moan at the sensation, fucking you even harder and faster.
Each thrust has you crying out now, whines of desperation slipping out of you while you rub your clit, eyes shut. 
Suddenly, Wonwoo is wrapping a hand around the front of your throat, pulling you up onto your knees with your back to his chest. His lips ghost by your ear. “So eager to cum again?” he asks.
You can only nod, grabbing at the forearm now pinned against your front while Wonwoo’s other hand tightens around your neck. He’s buried deep inside of you now, unmoving, and you’ve never felt this full.
“You know what happens when you cum, don’t you, darling?” 
“I-” You’re so delirious from his cock you can’t even think.
“‘When we cum, you can turn me,’ that’s what you said, wasn’t it, pet?” Wonwoo lets out a chuckle. “Are you really that eager? Or just a little dim with my cock buried so deep in this perfect pussy of yours?”
“I remember,” you gasp, head beginning to swim with how hard he’s gripping your throat.
“So you are eager,” the vampire confirms. “That’s cute.” 
He lets go of you, pushing you down to the bed. His hand finds the back of your neck and he holds your face down, grabbing your hip with the other. “I guess you can cum as fast as you want, little pet. I’d be happy to taste you again.”
You’re gasping against the pillow, enjoying how rough he’s being with you now. There’s something about having his hand on your neck, keeping you down while he begins to fuck into you again. 
“Are you close?” you ask, enjoying the groans leaving his own lips.
Wonwoo laughs. “When you cum, I cum.”
“Lucky me,” you whisper, reaching for your clit again. Your pussy pulses with ecstasy as you begin to rub the sensitive nub, your eyes closing from the pleasure. 
“Naughty human,” Wonwoo states, but there’s something like pride in his tone. “I guess I haven’t fucked the brat out of you just yet.”
“You love that I’m a brat,” you insist. “It gives you something you want to control, and we both know how much you like control.”
Wonwoo’s thrusts falter ever so slightly. “I didn’t realize you knew me so well, little soulmate.”
“I do,” you groan. “Just like I know that if I start begging, you’ll really lose your head.”
Wonwoo lets out a laugh, and you see it as a challenge.
“Please,” you whimper, rubbing your clit harder and cutting off your soulmate’s laugh. “Please, Wonwoo, I’m so close-”
The vampire behind you lets out a growl, fucking you faster. His grip on your neck pushes you down against the bed more, but it does nothing to muffle the begging that’s beginning to tumble past your lips.
“Want you to fill me up. Want you to make me see stars. Want you to bite me like only you can-”
“Fuck-” Wonwoo groans.
Suddenly he’s letting go of your neck and flipping you over. You’re not on your back for even a moment before he’s pushing into your core again, his lips eager against your own. His tongue invades your mouth, shutting up your begging while you tangle your fingers through his hair.
One of his hands is planted on the pillow next to you, and the other is on your hip, digging into your skin while he fucks you so hard the bed shakes.
“Please,” you whimper, so close to the edge you can almost taste it again.
Wonwoo’s mouth moves to your throat and your entire body tenses with anticipation, teetering on the edge of pleasure that you know is going to be nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before.
You drag your fingers against his scalp, panting hard. “Bite me,” you beg. “Bite me, please- I’ll cum so hard if you just bite me-”
The vampire lets out a primal groan, and then his teeth are sinking into your flesh. The throbbing sensation erupts through your entire body, going straight to your core, which clenches desperately around Wonwoo’s cock. 
A strangled cry leaves your lips as your orgasm overtakes you. Your grip tightens in Wonwoo’s hair, holding him to your throat as you ascend to a height of pleasure that has you weak all over- 
From the noises leaving your soulmate, you know he’s just cum too, and the thought makes your body tingle as he drinks steadily from your neck. 
His thrusts begin to slow, but the speed to which he’s devouring you remains a constant. Suddenly, you realize that there’s no coming back from cloud 9, you’re simply floating- floating, floating, with only his hair as your anchor, but soon, you begin to lose your grip on even that.
Your throat is really pulsing now, but it’s getting noticeably weaker, and the heat of the bite is dying down. Maybe it’s not the only thing dying, you realize, with your eyes closed and your lids too heavy to lift.
Something presses to your lips, filling your mouth with a familiar flavour. 
Strawberries and stone fruits.
You do your best to swallow, but it’s kind of difficult. You’re so tired, so very tired-
“Drink up, darling,” Wonwoo says. His voice feels far away. “Come back to me. I’m not done with you yet.”
Part of you wishes you could simply drift off, but your soulmate's words are enticing. You push yourself to do as he says, drinking the sweet nectar and regaining your strength, drawing you back to him. 
When you’re finally able to open your eyes, Wonwoo isn’t on top of you anymore. He’s laying in bed next to you, watching. 
You roll onto your side, mirroring him. “Did I pass out?”
“I warned you that might happen,” he reminds you, reaching out to push a strand of hair away from your face. 
His touch sends sparks through your body and you lick your lips, feeling pulled to the man in front of you. That’s when you realize, the lights are still off, but you can see Wonwoo perfectly. “I’m like you now,” you whisper.
“You’re like me,” Wonwoo agrees. “Do you have any regrets?”
“No,” you shake your head. “Do you?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Just one.”
“Yeah?” You shift closer, palms flattening against his cold chest. 
“After you passed out, I realized there’s one thing I never said to you while you were human, not in so many words, at least.” 
“It’s not like you’ve known me long,” you try to assure him.
“That doesn’t matter,” Wonwoo insists. “I still should have said it. Like you wanting to experience me while still human, I should have said it while you still had a heart that beats.”
“I hate to break it to you, mister vampire,” you grin, taking his hand and pressing it to your chest, “but my dead heart is beating for you the same way yours beats for me. Just say it now.”
Wonwoo takes his hand from your chest, reaching up to cup your cheek. “I love you, even though I thought I’d never love anyone. I thought I’d be alone forever, but now… here you are. And I… I love you.” 
You grin at your vampire mate, adoring how vulnerable he’s being with you. “I also thought I’d be alone forever,” you admit. “Thought I’d die young and bloody, which, I guess is kind of true, but you’ve given me something new, something I could have never imagined, and I can’t wait to explore this second life with you. I love you too, Wonwoo, as crazy as it sounds.”
Wonwoo grins, and you return the expression. His thumb moves up to drag past your teeth. “The fangs suit you, my love,” he muses.
The petname makes you smile wider, shifting closer and wrapping your leg around his hip, mounting the pretty vampire. “Hungry,” you whisper, leaning down to press your lips to his neck.
“We’ll have to go get you some food.”
“Not for that,” you laugh, licking his throat. “For you.”
“Are you sure you’re strong enough, darling?” Wonwoo asks. “You’ve just been turned, maybe you should rest-”
“I’ve got strength enough to have you again, that is… if you have the energy, my big, scary, vampire master.”
Now it’s his turn to moan at the new petname, even if it is said slightly in jest.
“Still a brat,” Wonwoo muses, fingers skimming down your sides. 
“You’ll be entertained forever,” you insist.
“And what if master tells you to be a good girl and keep your pretty mouth shut?”
You laugh. “Then you’d miss me after a minute and ask me to start begging again.”
Wonwoo sighs in defeat, then he’s rolling the two of you so you’re on your back, pressed between him and the mattress. “I guess we might as well start your new life off with a bang, shouldn’t we, my love?”
“I’d be mad if we didn’t,” you admit.
Wonwoo only laughs, pressing his lips to yours. You might have forever with him, but right now, you’re as eager and needy as you’ve ever been, and he doesn’t mind catering to you, not one bit. 
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☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! Vampire Wonwoo just bites different- I know I say that about every new fic but for real, I'd initially planned on this being a more slow burn but Soulmate sexy vampire asshole Wonwoo? as if we all wouldn't be climbing that man like a tree
🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 
🔮 preview. “Tell me what you want.” You kind of hate it when he uses his vampire master abilities on you, but at the same time, it allows you to dish out your darkest fantasies with no fear of disapproval. “I want you to make me cum so hard I can’t even think.”
cw/ tw. Oral (f receiving), blood play/vampiric drinking from each other, biting, roughhousing, fingering, orgasm control, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, overstim, man handling, pinning, unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, size kink, soft dom wonwoo, mentions of wandering eyes, multiple reader orgasms, thigh grinding, hair pulling, etc… I pet names: (hers) brat, darling.
👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.8k I teaser wc. 300
🌙 staring. Wonwoo x afab!reader
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bonus
“Bratty baby is at it again,” Jeonghan says fondly, watching you saunter away from the table with Mingyu toward the bar. “Serves you right for staring at that juice box.”
“You’re not going to take my side on this one?” Wonwoo laughs, amused at the night's turn of events.
“Not a chance,” the long-haired vampire grins. “I don’t know why you’d even need to look at any of these fang bunnies with a soulmate like her.”
Wonwoo sighs, knowing his friend is right. He still can’t help but defend himself. “A man gets thirsty.”
“That’s what this is for,” Jeonghan retorts, swirling the liquid in his wine glass. “You gave up fang bunnies and juice boxes the moment you met your soulmate, and we both know it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wonwoo shakes his head, eyes shifting to you again. He supposes it’s only fair that you get to flirt with the bartender after he’d just been caught looking at a scantily clad woman, but the fairness of the situation does little to lessen the fire building inside of him.
You should know by now that he only has eyes for you… even if his gaze wanders from time to time. He can’t help his predatory instincts, although, he should get more of a manage on them. In fact, he should stop bringing you to vampire bars altogether, but it’s difficult to resist a night out amongst his brood mates. 
“We all know this is a kink of theirs,” Joshua muses. “They fight a little, piss each other off, and then they fuck in the back of Mingyu’s car while he drives them home like a chauffeur.”
“That’s only happened twice,” Wonwoo insists.
Joshua scoffs loudly. “Mingyu had to implement a no fucking in his jeep policy, it definitely happened more than twice.”
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general taglist
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@kissesfrmwonwoo - @wonuskie - @yunjinified
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daenysthedreamersblog · 2 months
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ONLY ANGEL
she's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see
when it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets
and there's nothing she can do about it
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summary: you've been 'betrothed' to felix ravinstill since before he could remember, and as that official engagement day draws closer coriolanus is tired of pretending you don't belong to him
parings: academy!coriolanus snow x academy!reader
warnings: MDNI! swearing, mild violence, infidelity, smut, thigh riding, fingering, oral sex, p in v sex, lil exhibitionist kink, mild daddy kink, breeding kink, discussion of murder, reader is a huge slut for coryo, coryo is also a slut for reader, idk probs some more that i forgot
notes: this one was fun :) hope u enjoy!!!
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Felix Ravinstill was his natural born enemy. He remembers deciding it when he was younger watching your small hand hold Felix's even though neither of you knew what it meant, he remembers it settling into his bones that very first day at the Academy when Felix had his arm around your waist and you had turned to look at Coriolanus, a small smile on your lips, a cherry sucker in your teeth as you spoke with the voice of a candy coated temptress, "Hi Coryo."
He hated Felix Ravinstill for having you, always had, always will. Today, he especially hated him. It was an ordinary day, most of the students crammed in the academy library to work on their most recent assignments. That's why he was there, stack of books next to him, mindlessly staring at a blank sheet of paper. He could hear the rest of his table too loudly to focus, hear as Festus made some crude joke, listen to how Arachne told him off, as Felix's hand was making its way over to you.
You.
Sweet, pretty thing you. He didn't understand what you saw in Felix enough to let him touch you, nor anyone at that table. But that was the only reason he truly hung around that crowd of elite children, so he could slither in closer to you.
You.
With your cherry sucker rolling between your lips, Felix's hand around the back of your chair as you leaned back the top buttons of your uniform shirt undone, sweat glistening slightly along your chest. It was a hotter fall day, the AC not working in the library, but he didn't mind, not with how revealed it made you. He glanced down, his pants uncomfortably tight as he imagined what your sweat would taste like. He sighed readjusting himself glancing up to see you looking at him. Felix was looking down at a book Festus was showing him as Arachne scribbled something down on a sheet of paper.
You pushed it into your cheek, tongue peeking out at the movement, your fingers dancing on the edge of the white stick. His eyes darkened as the wicked smile played on your lips, he knew you did things like this on purpose; sweetest torture one could bear. He palmed his hard cock, eyes quivering with the little bit of relief it gave him and all he wanted was it to be your hand rubbing him. He wanted to drag you by your hair and slam you on this very table in front of everyone and shove his co-!
"Coriolanus." Arachne Crane drawled .
He blinked up at her, the whole table now looking at him. "Yes?"
"Are you coming to the orientation event tonight?"
The event. The first event of the school year where the Academy stuffed all its students in a room to kick off the start of the year. "Of course." He nodded. "I have to give a speech for the underclassmen." And there would be food, and probably you.
His eyes met yours for a moment as your cheeks sucked in to roll the sucker back the other way. "Always the overachiever Coriolanus." Felix joked his fingers toying with the collar of your shirt and he fought the urge to snap his wrist.
He watched as you popped the sucker out of your mouth, lips a shade redder from it, and he knew if he licked into your mouth he would taste the cherry.
Felix Ravinstill's days were limited.
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He knew it would go well, his speech, it was never what he was worried about, he was top of the class for a reason, he knew most of the students didn't care for being spoken to, but he knew once he saw you it would be over for him. He knew you were out there somewhere, maybe listening to him, maybe with your stupid boyfriend's hand around your waist.
And you were, staring him down while your lips wrapped around a strawberry.
He hid his throbbing erection behind the podium.
He wanted to wrangle your neck sometimes, wanted to curse the blood pounding in his cock as he watched you drop the fruit carcass onto your plate and lick your lips. He cleared his throat, his skin too hot, trying to avoid looking to see you pick up another one.
The words felt useless and he forced himself through it letting your eyes bore into his, letting himself press his cock against the podium just to ease the pressure.
You picked up another, taking another bite a little bit of juice sliding down your chin and he fought the urge to run off this stage and lick it off, to suck your chewed up fruit into his mouth. You took your hand, wiping it off your jaw, and sucked it off your own fingers.
He wondered how your mouth would feel around his cock, how warm and soft your tongue would be against him. He wanted to fuck his cock deep down your throat until you gagged, drowning in his cum.
He cut his speech short, getting to the point to get off the stage. He busied himself with food to avoid thinking of you even though that was impossible. He would stay for an hour, eat, drink a glass of posca, and then head home before he shoved a plastic knife into Felix's throat.
You all knew each other, grown up together, and it was always set in stone that you would marry Felix. It was something older families had set up before either of you could talk. You two were always together after that, and he kept you on his arm like a pretty accessory. Coriolanus figured you probably felt indifferent about the whole thing, he had never been able to really ask you about it, and you never gave him straightforward answers if you didn't want to.
He turned finally seeing you across the room. It was cruel of you really to wear a skirt that short in front of him and have Felix's greasy fingers pawing you. A skirt he wished he could push up and bend you over in front of your stupid boyfriend. You would let him too, he knew you would, it's what bothered him the most.
Your eyes met his and held them as you took a sip from your glass eyes burning into his over the rim. You turned, whispering something to Felix, motioning to your cup, and peeling off of him walking straight for Coriolanus.
"Hi Coryo." You smiled brushing past him to where all the food was being kept along the table setting your half eaten fruit down. He loved the way you said his name, how it rolled off your tongue like golden honey.
"Hey." He sipped on his drink.
You refilled your cup, "Your speech was nice."
"Not too boring?" He joked as your body turned to face his.
You smirked against the rim. "I don't think your boring." Your lips were still red from the strawberry and Coriolanus wanted to taste that sweetness, you're so close he can smell it off of you. He clenched his fist instead. "You're the most interesting man I know."
Man. You had said man as if your loser boyfriend wasn't 20 feet away no doubt watching this whole encounter. Coryo leaned down a little closer, "I don't think Felix would like to hear you say that."
You fucking shrugged, "Then he won't." You turned your hair brushing his chest at the movement. "Bye Coryo."
This was the game the two of you played, you would make your eyes, say little comments, accident brush into him, and then you were gone leaving him achingly hard.
You were walking away hip swaying as you walked. You were trouble.
You were his trouble.
Sweet, irresistible you who was forced to leave ten minutes later by your boyfriend leaving Coriolanus to steal your plate of half eat fruit simply to taste your leftover spit and take a long walk home alone to go over what needed to be done.
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"Trouble in paradise it seems." Clemensia slid down into the seat across from Coriolanus motioning to you and Felix, upset expression's on both of your faces. "Daddy must have picked out the wrong ring."
Coryo furrowed his brow, "Ring?" He knew it was coming soon, but he'd thought he'd have time to climb his own ladder to take you from Felix by right.
“Oh you haven’t head the news?” Clemmie cocked an eyebrow a sly smile on her face. “They’ve been ring shopping, or their parents have been. They'll be engaged by the end of the year.” She chuckled peering over at the two of you. “He’ll head off to University and she’ll be at home getting fat with his child.”
The food on his plate went sour. “What?”
Clemmie rolled her eyes, “Her father is pushing hard to set the marriage in place. He wants his daughter to be First Lady of Panem, and he is President’s Ravenstill’s direct heir.”
Coriolanus Snow, future President of Panem, I salute you.
Well if your father wanted you to marry the president, he was selling you to the wrong son.
He pushed his food around watching you storm away from Felix. And because he didn't like to waste food, nor look that suspicious he finished his lunch. He waited a few minutes, excused himself, and he was on his feet following where you ran off too.
He looked for a while finding you deserted at a lone table in the library.
"Hey." He said softly to not spook you.
He watched you slowly look at him expecting red eyes and tears, but instead your expression was blank another sucker in your mouth. "Hi Coryo." You still said his name so sweetly like the sugar from your candy laced your vocal cords.
"You alright?" He stopped in front of you.
"Yeah." You sighed rolling it along your teeth. He wanted to ask why you were arguing with Felix, if you truly enjoyed his company, or was this one big farce to appease your family. Instead he stared at you waiting for you to fill in the gaps themselves. You wouldn't, you never did, you never liked to reveal your cards, and he could only assume the argument had everything to do with postponing the engagement and nothing about a ring. You only cocked your head to the side hair falling over your shoulder. "Did you need something?"
He did, desperately. And he was tired of denying it to himself.
He walked over, pushed your chair back and settled his hands on either side of the chair's arms, towering over you. "Where do you get all those?" He asked finger bouncing off the stick.
You smirked up at him your knees sliding between his thighs, "My daddy." He was hard. He felt his pants fighting with his cock as he stared into your eyes. "Do you want one?"
He was sick of this game you played, and he was running out of time.
He didn't answer, but his lips parted as he reached forward and pulled the one from your mouth. He thought you were sick of the game too because you let him, let him slide it off your tongue, watching the trail of spit still attached, and into his own mouth. He pushed it past his lips feeling his cock twitch as he finally tasted that sticky sweet sucker you always had on you. "Cherry."
"Hmm." You had a smug smile on your lips as you stared up at him and slowly he felt your legs begin to part between his own. He glanced down, glanced down as your uniform skirt began to ride up bare thighs. He wondered if he reached his hand under there if he would find you naked and drenched. He thinks knows he would.
"Your boyfriend will be upset if he finds you like this." He says leaning down a little closer to you.
You feign innocence. "I'm not doing anything."
You settle into the chair more you shirt collar widening as he views the dainty gold necklace around your neck with the letter 'F' on it. His fingers go to it, tracing the letter, then he's trailing up your neck tilting your face up more by your chin. He wants to strangle you with it. "Do you enjoy teasing me angel?"
"Do you enjoy getting hard by it?" You ask back and he shoves your sucker deep into his cheek to grid his teeth. Your eyes go to the bulge in his pants.
His hand tightens on your jaw, "Let me come over."
"My daddy won't like that." You shake your head.
His cock throbs. "I don't care."
Your hand splayed against his chest as you sit up more, "Why do you want to come over so badly?"
"You know why," His fingers dig into your skin fighting the urge, forcing restraint into his body.
You move forward more your face inches from him, "Do I?"
"Because you want me to." His eyes flicker around your face. "That's why your always making those eyes at me hmm? Rubbing against me like a bitch in heat?"
Your hand goes to his wrist to pull it from your face, and then your dragging it down between your legs. He can't look away from your face, not as you trail his hand up your thighs to brush his fingers against your soaked pussy. He was right, you weren't wearing anything under your skirt and he knew it was just for him, and him alone. "I can't help it." You pout rubbing his knuckles against your folds. "You make me so wet all the time Coryo."
He curses as you shutter when his fingers bump against your throbbing clit and he losing the battle of self control. He wants Felix to find you like this, find you screaming out for Coriolanus as you cum. Instead he runs his hand along your arousal one last time and straightens up, "Let me walk you to class."
You watch with a flush on your face as he sucks your wetness off his fingers, letting it mingle with the tart cherry of your sucker still on his tongue. He's surprised you don't force him to give it back before Felix's sees. "Okay." You say standing up and he sees your own wetness sliding down your thigh. You let him tuck your hand into his arm so he could walk you out and back towards class. "I think I'll sit with you today if you don't mind." You tell him as you cross the classroom's threshold together. He's not surprised after the earlier argument you seemed to be reeling from.
You take the seat on his left when you usually sit a row down with your stupid boyfriend. And when said stupid boyfriend walks in later a glare settles in his gaze watching him look between you and Coriolanus who still sucked on your candy. Felix grumbles, but sits down anyways with no more fuss, Coriolanus chuckled silently to himself. You don't speak much more to Coryo, just mindlessly doodle on some paper with you head resting on your hand.
But then class starts, and your knee knocks into his.
At first he thinks it's an accident, but a couple minutes later you do it again leaving your leg to rest against his. He wants to reach out, rub his hand up you thigh to bury in your cunt. He wants to watch you squirm and fight the noises he was pulling from you. He wants to make you cum a row behind your boyfriend, and you would let him.
He knew why Felix kept such a tight leash around you, if this was how you behaved off of it.
By some form of grace or luck of whatever watched over Coriolanus Snow, the class assignment required partners. He usually would partner with Clemensia, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up as he turned to look at you, an expecting glint in your eye, "I'll come over tomorrow night?"
You only laughed a little, but you didn't say no. And he watched as Felix came stumbling up from his chair to grip his hands against the edge of the table where you sat like the desperate swine he was, struggling for scraps. "Come over, we can work on it together."
You frowned sweetly, almost looking truly apologetic. "Oh I'm sorry. Coryo already asked me to be his partner."
Felix's angry eyes burned into Coriolanus, "We're always partners though." He leaned forward to whisper. "If this is about our argument earlier I can just..."
"No." You patted his shoulder. "Of course not, but really I can't say no to Coryo now that would be awfully rude."
"I'm sure Clemensia needs a partner." Coriolanus added. "Sorry Felix."
Felix only motioned for you to get up so he can take you home. You stood up and smiled down at Coriolanus, "Bye Coryo."
He watched you walk away wetness still glistening on your legs, the taste of it still on his tongue.
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He arrived five minutes sooner than he was supposed to. He knew your parents were home, and wanted to impress them, wanted your father to realize how much better than Felix he was, it wouldn't be a hard task. He knocked, his hand lying limp at his side waiting for someone to answer.
It was your father.
He was a wealthy man, not as wealthy as Strabo Plinth, but enough. It was all about where he had put his money during the war, investing in the right places, unlike the Snows. You kept up with the league of elite children in school, you belonged there in the thick of it all. Snow did too, but he had to work harder to keep that image and he hated that that was the only thing keeping him from you.
He reached a hand out to shake your father's hand, “Coriolanus Snow.” He introduced.
“I know.” He offered a tight smile as he shook Coriolanus’s hand. “She told me you were stopping by to help with some…assignment.”
He nodded. “Yes, sir.”
But your father never moved as he took back his hand, never invited him inside leaving Coriolanus to stand awkwardly in the door frame. “Daddy.” Your sweet voice piped in shoving past his tall frame to open the door more. “Stop scaring him.”
Daddy. It sent a cool chill down his spine as you stared up at your father. “I’m not.” He held up his hands, “ Just wondering why you need help in school in the first place.”
“It’s a group assignment.” Coriolanus added as your eyes flitted up to him. “We got paired together.”
“Oh,” You father relaxed stepping away from the door. “You can work a the table then.” He motioned to your dining room table.
You walked away from him leaving him to follow you into your home and close the door. “We were actually goi-!”
“No bedroom.” You father shot at you without even looking as he disappeared into your home.
You sighed finally turning around, you motioned to the table, “You can set your stuff down here.” You instructed. “I’ll be right back.” You left, no doubt going to gather all your school work from your room. “Are you hungry?” You asked once you returned with your piles of books and papers. You were wearing one of you cute little plaid tweed mini skirts that hugged your thighs and he knew you weren't wearing anything under it.
“I ate before I left.” He lied.
“You can stay for dinner if you want.” You sat down next to him your leg sliding against his. He knew you did things like that on purpose just to touch him, just to drive him insane as your perfume wafted into his nose. He began to protest, he wanted to stay, if only to convince your father he was the better man. “Stay, please.” You set your hand on his wrist as you smiled.
He nodded. “Okay.”
The two of you did get to work after that as he educated you through what was needed for the assignment, your shoulder against his as you watched what he wrote down. Sometimes he truly thought you never payed attention, maybe you thought you were too pretty for school and it wasn’t needed. You were too pretty for it. You didn’t need it. He knew your father had set you up with someone wealthy to ensure you have a long profitable life without having to work for it. Yet, here you were working towards it anyways. He admired it for a moment, but your hand fell on his thigh and he knew he would end up having to do the whole assignment by himself.
He didn't mind as he listened to the quietness of your house. You glanced up at him, and he met your eyes realizing how close your face was, and he knew what you wanted as you bit your lip. "Does your daddy know what a little slut you are?" He whispered.
"No." You breathed slinging your leg over his thigh to straddle it.
His hands went your thighs, "Then you better be quiet angel." He glanced down as your skirt rode up your thighs your bare cunt pressed against the meat of his leg, he felt your wetness seeping through. He leaned back, watching as you rocked your hips against his thigh. He took a second, just one second, to enjoy the feeling of your body against his, enjoy the fact you were riding him, getting off to him, then he was sliding his hands up your bare thighs to wrap around your body. You were so soft under his touch like you had bathed in rose petals. His fingers dug into your waist forcing them to roll against him harder and you made a small noise from the back of your throat.
"Felix can't get you off can he?" You whine as your clit rubs against him, the sweet friction of it all making your head fall back slightly, "No he doesn't know how to handle you does he?" He stared up at you, at your open mouth, and he runs his hand down your hair. "That's why you came crawling after me." You grind against him faster chasing your own high as your hand goes to his pants palming his hard cock through his pants.
You're such a whore, he knows that about you, he knows you hide it so fucking well and yet here you were, fucking his thigh, hand halfway down his pants when your father could come find you any second. It makes him want to slam you back on the table and sink his cock into your wet heat just for him to see, just to prove he was the man of this house, of you. "Coryo." You moan out quietly and he thinks its the sweetest way you'll ever say his name. You slid your hand down his cock. He groans out taking in the sight of your hand working him, swirling your hand around the shaft pre-cum leaking out of the tip.
He wants to bury his face into your mouth, your neck, your breast, but he can only watch you, watch you get yourself off on top of him. He flexes his thighs the same time you tilt yourself forward and your grip tightens on him. He stares up at your face, eyes glazed over as you grind your pussy down hard against him, lip tugged between your teeth pumping his cock at the same rhythm as your body. He feels you clench your thighs and soon enough you cum, drenching his pants with your pleasure. He wraps his hand around yours to fuck your hand faster, harder, and then he's planting it against your soaked thigh to cum against you, hot white ropes of it splashing across your skin. You don't move off of him, you both sit there for a while breathing heavily against each other until you straighten up to stare down at him.
"I don't let Felix touch me." You say hands coming up to toy with the ends of his curling hair.
"Why?"
You only smile and he's never thought you looked more beautiful, sweat on your hairline, red cheeks, and his cum on your body. You glance down at the clumps of white covering your skin, and then you run two fingers through it, gathering it on your fingers, and shoving them in your mouth sucking his cum off. He's mesmerized as you groan gently popping your fingers out and licking your lips. You climb off his body to settle back into your own chair glancing down at the wetness staining Coriolanus's pants seeping down onto his skin a satisfied feline grin on your face.
Your mother came through the next second, “I’ll set the table for four?”
You smiled up at her, “Yes ma’am.”
He dined with your family, a deliciously huge meal, one he hadn’t had in a while and he wondered if your parents could smell your actions in the air. “She didn’t give you too much trouble son?”
Your father’s voice made him look up as he asked, “No sir.”
He turned to you, “Why wasn’t Felix your partner?”
“He went with someone else.” You shrugged pushing your food around.
“I’ll speak with him.” Your father said.
“Daddy no.” Coriolanus shifted in his seat at the whine. “Please don’t.”
Coriolanus cleared his throat watching both eyes snap up to him. “I asked to be your daughter's partner for this assignment, and she was too kind to tell me no.”
Your father relaxed as Coriolanus had saved you from some lecture. You gave him a sly smile as your mother chimed in, “I made apple pie.”
After desert, and a minor interrogation from your father about his plans after The Academy, you walked him to the door. He didn’t like that your father felt the need to exert his power over him. In all honestly he didn't trust your father's intelligence if he thought Felix was a good option for you. You stepped outside with him closing the door behind you. You leaned against it staring up at him biting your bottom lip. He planted his hand next to your head towering over you.
"Are you gunna kiss me goodnight Coryo?" You tilted your face up for him.
"I don't think Daddy would like that very much." His hand comes up to your chin.
You smirk, going onto your toes to brush your lips against his. "Oh I think Daddy will."
He attacks your mouth tasting the sticky sweetness that was you, always would be you. The taste of apple is still on your tongue from your mothers pie, apples and cinnamon everything that was nice layered your lips as he licked along it feeling you part your mouth for him to slip inside. His hands were in your hair pulling you closer as you braced your hands on his chest melding your lips against his. He swept his tongue into your mouth meshing it with yours. He yanked your head back to stick his tongue down your throat feeling your back arch so your breast press against him, and the salty remnants of his cum lace your molars. He nips at your bottom lips your moan vibrating through him as he sucks and tugs on it until he knows it will bruise. Then he pulls back, "Are you going to let me fuck you angel?"
You give him a breathy laugh, "See ya, Coryo." Then you disappear back into your home.
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By the time next week hit you were back in your normal spot next to your boyfriend. It shouldn't have surprised Coriolanus, he knew you were just rebelling against the mold your family had forced you into, and he just happen to enjoy letting you use him.
But you turned around, that cherry sucker that tasted so good between your lush lips, and you would smile.
"Hi Coryo." You said it like you had a secret only he knew and he was sometimes forced to jack off in the men's bathroom just to take the edge off. Just to avoid wanting to fuck you right then and there in front of the whole class, and he knows you're waiting for the day he finally does it.
As he tucked himself back into his pants exiting the bathroom you were standing there, back against the opposite wall watching him. Your eyes met and he only leans his shoulder against the door frame of the bathroom. "Felix is mad at me."
He looks you up and down, "Why?"
"Because I told him you were coming over tonight." He chuckles to himself, your eyes studying him as he walks over to you.
"I am?" He asked as you trail your fingers up the buttons on his shirt.
You frown, "I'm needy."
He scoffs, "I hope that isn't the reason you gave him."
"Please," You whine your hand running down his arm to guide it to the middle of your skirt and he can't help himself, even your begging is sweet.
He guides his hand up your bare thighs, your soaked cunt greeting him like it had missed him too. "You need me that bad hmm?" He runs a hand up your center watching you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. He leans his head down taking your lip between his own teeth and sucking on it tasting that lingering cherry sugar as he pushes two fingers into you. Your mouth parts in a gasp as you part your legs more for him. "Does your boyfriend know his girlfriend is a dirty whore? Fucking soaked for me all the time?" You tilt yourself forward sucking in his hand deeper as he curls up against a sweet spot your quiet moan echoing around the empty hall. "You want someone to find us don't you, you want them to see what a fucking slut you are for me."
"Coryo." You whimper nails digging into his shoulders and he hopes you mark his skin forever. He presses his forehead to yours feeling you pant against his face as he presses his palm to your clit.
"That's right." He grazes his teeth along your jaw as he fucks you faster with his hand. "Call out my name when you cum angel." He growls out, "My angel." Because you were, his, he knew that long ago, remembering glaring at Felix when you all were children and he had his arm around you when it should have been Coriolanus. His tongue lolls against your damp skin of your neck and your hand twist in his hair as he pulls your leg up more around his waist.
It's a test of restraint to not wrap your legs completely around his waist and sink into you, to take what is so rightfully his. Instead he shifts his hand, thumb pressing into your clit to listen to your mewls, to the sound of his wet fingers dipping in and out of you at a brutal pace. He sinks his teeth into your neck rolling his tongue along the mark he knew he was giving you, and you love that it will be there.
He feels you clenching around his hand as you moaned out his name cumming against him. Your chest hits his with every panting breath as he slowly lifts his head to gaze down at you, hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed, blissfully dazed out from the orgasm he gave you. "I'm making cookies."
Of course you were, he groans as he presses his face into yours capturing your lips with his own hand still buried inside of you. "What kind?"
"Chocolate chip." You smirk against his lips. "I'll let you lick the spoon."
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You opened the door for him this time and he wanted to yank you from the frame to run away with you forever. You wear wearing a pretty black minidress with a white long sleeve underneath it, an apron covering you, flour splattered across your cheek, and a pink ribbon tied your hair at the base of your ponytail. It's like you worked so hard to persevere girlhood and innocence to hide the adultery lurking under your skin.
"Hi Coryo." You batted your eyelashes at him as you opened the door for him more to come inside.
He did love the sound of you closing and locking the door for him, "Where's you father?" He asked watching you walk in front of him.
"Working late." You replied leading him towards your kitchen waving a hand around. "My mother is off doing something unproductive."
He leaned against your marble island watching you throw a cup of sugar into the large bowl, "They left you in here all alone?"
You chuckled, "I'm not alone, you're here with me." You cracked an egg your eyes glancing over towards his, "Do you think your parents would have liked me?"
Coriolanus looks you up and down. He thinks they would and maybe in a perfect world where he wasn't an orphan your father would have wed you to Coriolanus. "I could never take you home to mother in a dress that short." He smirks as you slowly begin to stir the batter. He sometimes was surprised Felix let you leave the house if this is how you acted, how you dressed.
"Oh yeah?" You pop your hip out a little.
He straightens up stalking over to you until your back was pressed to his chest, nose buried in your floral scented hair. "She would disown me for bringing home such a brazen slut."
"But her son loves when I dress like this." His hands find the hem of your dress as his fingers trace with the curve of your ass.
He plants his mouth against your neck, "Does he now?"
You push your ass back into his hard cock. "Oh I think he adores how I dress for him." His hand splays across your backside as his teeth graze the flesh of your jugular and he wants to sink his teeth in to stake his claim. "How I never wear any panties for him."
His nails dig into you because he fucking knew it. "All for me." He repeats sucking on your skin until you wince away hoping the mark is deep and purple and Felix knows it's from him.
You turn suddenly eyes flickering up to his face, "The trick is a little extra vanilla.” You motioned to the dough sitting on top of two fingers. "Try some." He wraps his hand around your delicate wrist and brings it to his mouth. He sucked in your fingers eyes never leaving yours as your mouth parted slightly the blush forming on your cheeks as his tongue swirled around your flesh. It tasted delicious, but your skin tasted better like sugar had ingrained itself into every pore. He let your fingers glide deeper on his tongue before he popped them out of his mouth.
"Hmm." He ran his tongue up the sides until all that was left on them was his spit.
You breath. "All for you." He's kissing you then, consuming your validation that you knew what he knew, you belonged to him. He taste the scoops of dough you had stolen, the chocolate and brown sugar mingling on your tongue and he adores that extra teaspoon of vanilla you added. He licks it off the roof of your mouth sucking on your tongue, and then your arching into him on your toes as his hands trail down your body cupping your ass as your dress rides up.
He reaches his other hand back pushing aside your large bowl of batter and then he's lifting you onto the counter loving the way he fits in between your legs. You were made for him, he knew that long ago, cut perfectly from that juicy forbidden fruit Eve ate. His hand goes to your chest kneading your breast over fabric as he slowly lowers you to the countertop spreading your legs open for him. He breaks the kiss descending down your body to peer at you decadent wet cunt. He knows you'll taste sweet down here too, his mouth waters taking in the sight.
"Oh she's pretty."
He can't help but moan into you as he licks up the center prodding your clit with the tip of his tongue feeling your hand find his blonde curls. Your feet come up around his shoulders as he passes over it gently at first savoring the taste of your arousal and knowing he would never taste anything better than you. He traces circles around it slowly feeling you squirm under his touch, hearing your pretty whines, nails scraping against his skull. He dares a glance up at you, at your agape mouth, your eyes squeezed shut as he begins to move his tongue faster.
He decides then he won't wash his mouth out tonight. He wants you stuck between his teeth forever and when tomorrow comes he hopes Felix will smell your cunt on his breath.
He tilts your hips up wrapping his lips around your clit pressing down on it with his tongue as you breath heavily beneath him. He's slithering his arm up your body squeezing your breast. "Coryo." You moan out pushing your pussy into his face more, grinding it against him. He's moving his tongue side to side, hard pressed rhythmic motions that have you a mess in his hands. Your thighs clench around him as you whimper one last time before you cum against his face. He drinks you up, everything you have to offer, lapping up what you give him as his tongue pushes into you for a moment feeling your walls spasming from your orgasm.
You yank his head up by his hair and you shoot up encasing his mouth with your own tasting yourself on his tongue as you sweep into his mouth and he groans pressing his groin into your island.
"Tell me how you like it." You pant out into his mouth teeth knocking against each other.
Coriolanus takes your expression in and he realizes, yes you never let Felix touch you, but you never touched him either. You have never touched another man besides him, saving yourself for him, and it makes him want to shove his cock down your throat even harder. He helps you off the counter onto shaky legs and your going down onto your knees in front of him. He lets you unbutton his pants and unsheathe his hard length running your hand along it.
"Put your mouth around it." He tells you as you bring it up to your lips, and you fucking lick the tip like it's one of your cherry suckers.
Then you open your mouth and wrap your lips around him sliding him inside. He always imagined what your mouth would feel like after so many times of seeing you suck on that hard little candy. It's even better than he thought. He hisses as his hips buck forward a little letting him hit the back of your throat. You bob along his cock once, twice, three times before you pop off blinking up at him with that coy little act, "You're so big Coryo."
He shoves himself back in your mouth, "Wrap your hand around it." That was all you needed to know as you worked his cock, taking him deeper, hand swirling around the shaft tongue lolling against the head. You work him faster, grip hardening around him, sucking in your cheeks as you look up at him with big doe eyes. "Fuck." He gritted out hand tangling in your ponytail to move your head against him, force his cock deeper watching the water well in your eyes, but you never stopped. "You like my cock in your mouth don't you angel? Want my cum down your throat yeah?"
You moan against him in response teeth gently grazing his skin. Your mouth too soft, too hot, hands gripping him so tightly, his hand in your hair holds harder as his thighs tighten. Your tongue sweeps out along his shaft and he's cumming, hot ropes of it shooting down your throat shoving his cock deeper to make sure you took it all.
And you did, greedily, your hand still softly gliding along him as he thrust one final time into your mouth. He wraps his finger around the ribbon in your hair and tugs it out slipping it into his pocket. You popped off, wiped your lips with your finger, and sucked it clean keeping your eyes locked with him.
His hands come around your face as you stand up. "Break up with Felix." He whispers out thumb tracing your puffy lips. He's sick of seeing you with him, not being the able to claim you in front of everyone like he wanted to.
"I have to preheat the oven." Is all you say back stepping out of his hold to go over the the oven.
He clenches his jaw, "I want Felix to know."
You shrug, your back still to him, "Then tell him." You turn after turning on your oven. "It won't change anything." You walk towards him a hand coming up to push his curls away from his face, "Unless..." You peered up at him manipulative innocence in your eyes. "You were the President of Panem."
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Coriolanus couldn't get enough of you at that point, he had become addicted to your sugar sweet taste and once was never enough for him.
All it took was one little smile while you licked up the red ball of your cherry sucker, and he was pouncing on you, meeting you in the hallway every time.
In between classes he would shove you into random closets to force his cock down your throat. You two would time bathroom breaks unsuspectingly and he would have you up against the stall wall fucking you with his hand.
His favorite moments were when he hunted you down in the library pretending to read a book. You would look up with a little shy smile. "Hi Coryo." You'd purr and soon he'd have you sprawled out on the table like his own personal meal drinking your pleasure like it was nectar from the Gods.
He came over occasionally too, lying about some assignment or help with a test. Your mother always invited him to stay for dinner, and he would, of course, shove his hand inside you under the table until you came while he spoke to your father.
Felix was suspicious. It wasn't hard to be when you showed up with marks on your neck, the same neck still wearing that ugly 'F' necklace, and the pretty ribbon from your hair wrapped around Coriolanus's wrist. He would only glance back at Coriolanus, and Coriolanus would smirk back at him, but he never said anything.
Everything was wonderful.
Then one day things began to change.
"Let me fuck you." Coriolanus told you kissing your open mouth as you came down hard on his hand. He wanted to be inside you, wanted to trap you to him forever. You would let him.
Your head falls back against the wall, "No Coryo."
"Let me fuck you." He kissed you again. "Come on baby girl, I know you want to."
"I'm waiting until marriage Coryo." You unravel yourself from him fixing your skirt. He knows you're lying, "I'm a good girl."
He scoffed, "Yeah a real angel."
You sighed running a hand over your face. “My father is having Felix and his uncle over tonight.”
“President Ravinstill?” You cringed when he said it. "Why?"
"Because Felix thinks you're up to something and wants to speed things along." His jaw clenched, he was going to murder Felix and his stupid uncle. You flash him a smirk, "He thinks you're trying to corrupt me."
Coriolanus chuckled, "I don't play well with others."
You came closer, hand dipping under his shirt to rest against his bare chest. You kissed his jaw, "You play well with me, Coryo."
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He waited outside your home watching through your windows as you ate dinner. You sat next to Felix, fake laughing, hand sometimes brushing his wrist with affection. It boiled his blood and he curses his father for dying, for investing in District 13 to make him poor. You were his. He should be sitting at that table with you planning your engagement.
He knew the only way he would take you from Felix was winning the Plinth Prize at the end of the year, going to University, and stealing that Presidency out from under him.
It was the only way.
He watched you kiss Felix on the cheek as him and his uncle left. He watched you arguing with your father, storming off no doubt to your bedroom. And then he was moving, sticking to the shadows until he was around your house staring up at your bedroom window. He scaled the wall ending up on your small balcony staring into your sheer curtains.
You looked so beautiful sitting at your vanity combing through your hair still in your dress from dinner.
He pushed the balcony door open quietly, but your eyes met his through the mirror. "Surprised you didn't storm into dinner earlier." You set the brush down. He took a seat on your bed raising his eyebrow, "I always know where you are Coriolanus Snow, even if its creeping outside my windows."
"Who gave you these?" He motions to the vase of fresh flowers.
"Felix." Your smile drips in sweetness. "My boyfriend."
You turned to him, "How was dinner?"
"Boring." You sighed leaning your elbows against your vanity. "He's going to propose after graduation." Coriolanus's blood heated. "The ring was beautiful though."
His eyes followed you as you stood, "I could buy you a better one."
Your hands rested on his shoulders as you cocked your head to the side. "With what money?" He glared at you. He didn't like that people suspected he was poor, let alone you.
"Would you say no if I asked you?"
"That's not up to me." You chuckled hands toying with the end of his hair. That 'F' necklace around your throat dangling in his face.
Coriolanus narrowed in on it, "I could just...kill your father, Felix, anyone that got in my way." He reaches up and rips the necklace off your neck hearing it clatter to the floor, broken.
You leaned down, nose pressed to his cheek, the words brushing his mouth in a sweet caress, "Then do it."
His hands went around your back pulling down the zipper of your dress feeling it loosen around your body until it fell around your feet. You stood up stepping out of the dress and Coriolanus looked up your body slowly, taking in every naked inch of your body. He landed on your face, "What do you want angel?"
"Even when you were a boy, you were a man." You slid onto his lap naked body pressed against him hands running through his hair. "I want a man. I want you."
He flipped you onto your back crashing his mouth to yours engulfing your lips with his own. You were unbuttoning his shirt, peeling it off his shoulders, running your hands down his bare chest. His tongue meshes with yours mouths gliding along each other as you burst open the button on his pants. He wants his skin against yours, to feel your warm softness against every inch of him. He pushes his pants down his legs until the two of you are nothing but flesh.
You capture his lips once more as his hand travels up your side his thumb brushing the underside of your breast. You blissfully sigh. He cups your breast, hushing your mouth with a harder kiss. His thumb passed over your nipple, rolling the pad along it, feeling it perk up to his touch a low whine in your throat that he swallowed up nails scraping against his skull. He moves his mouth off of yours trailing down your neck, tasting every sweet part of you until his mouth wraps around your perked nipple lavishing it with his tongue as your back arches pushing it further into his mouth. His teeth nip down on it, licking and sucking as your squirm under him.
He feels your wetness against his thigh and he shifts to run his hand along your folds. "Did you think about me fucking you all throughout dinner?" He presses a finger slightly against your clit. "Thought about all the pretty noises your Daddy would hear down the hall."
Yours eyes darken as you gaze into his. "I wanted you to fuck me during dinner; storm through my front door and take me in front of Felix and his stupid uncle."
"You're such a little fucking whore."
You smirked, "Daddy's little fucking whore."
He shoves his fingers inside you, lips parting at the intrusion. He wants to be inside you, wants to claim everything you are as he thrust his hand in and out of you, stretching you open, the room thick with the scent of your arousal and squelching sounds of your pussy. You buck your hips into his hand to meet him as his palm presses down on your clit and he already feels your walls clenching around him.
He presses his face into your chest, your heart thumping rapidly for him. You were breathless, your legs spreading open more for him as your body tightened around him as he brought you closer to your peak. He curls his fingers against that spot he knows you love and you came undone with a soft cry, clamping down around his hand, nails digging into his scalp. He straightens up admiring you. You looked so beautiful sweat forming across your chest, cheeks red, lips parted to catch your breath as you stared up at him. You simply glanced down at his long, hard length and then back up at him. He knows you're a virgin, knows you'll take his cock like a slut.
He lined himself up with your sopping entrance and pushed into you. He can't help but groan as he closed his eyes moving slowly into you, letting your tight walls adjust to him, squeeze around him. He pauses for a moment the only sound coming from either of you were broken breaths. And then he pushes in until he fully inside you. You gasp at the feeling, the fullness, as you gazed up at him.
Your pussy fluttered around him and he rolled his hips against you pulling his dick back and slamming back into. "You take my cock so well." You arched your back as he slammed into you moaning out for him, wrapping your legs around his body to pull him deeper. His mouth was on yours, a mesh of spit and tongue, your hands rooted in his hair as he fucked into you. He was kneading your breast with one hand, pushing the other into your mattress to fuck you harder. He glanced between you, watching his cock disappear into you soaked pussy, watching how well you took each brutal thrust. "Perfect fucking pussy, made just for me." He drags his teeth along your jaw as your breast press against his chest. He pressed his hot mouth to your ear, "You're fucking mine, you understand that angel?" His hips snapped against yours heels curling into his sides as you nod against him. "Not Felix's...not your fathers...mine." He growls in your ear.
You agree tilting your pelvis up allowing him to slid against that sensitive spot.
His curls spill across your face, he wants to hear you say it. "Say it."
Your brows scrunch as he slides his hand to your clit. You moan for him, "I'm yours Coryo." His grunts fill the room as he pounds into you as you cry out for him over and over again. He hears your bed knocking against the wall, the squeaking sound of the spring as it slides against the floor, neither of you care who hears it. You clamp down around him coming all over his cock squeezing him too tight.
"Gunna cum in this tight little pussy." He hisses out his thrust growing sporadic. "Gunna make you have my heirs." Your too fucked out to care as your teeth sink into his shoulder wanton pleas falling from your lips. He's spilling into you, cumming so deep inside you feeling your walls spasming around him, drinking in every drop of his seed. He thrust it further within you as your legs slowly uncurl from around him.
He pulls back to look at you his cock twitching one last time. "You have a lot of work to do." You tell him fingers twisting the curls along his face a devious smile on your lips and he knows you've never been an angel, not a day in your life.
You were the devil in a candied disguise.
"President Coriolanus Snow."
He will win that Plinth Prize. He will take you from Felix, from your stupid father, by right or by force.
He doesn't care what he has to do or who he has to kill along the way as long as he gets to have you at the end of it all.
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PART TWO HERE!!
im a whore for those blonde curls
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Growing up, food is always a bit of a sore spot for Eddie. Of course, Wayne does his best to make sure that Eddie never goes to bed with an empty stomach, but growing boys need lots of fuel. And while there always is food, there often isn’t much food. But it’s fine, Eddie knows Wayne is trying so hard, picking up all the extra shifts he can. Eddie would never hold it against his uncle, he knows how much Wayne already frets. And even though Eddie’s stomach growls every now and then, he learns to ignore it. Learns how not to be hungry.
While other kids experiment what herbs might go best with pasta sauce and how to caramelize sugar without burning it, Eddie tries to find out how to water down soup and stretch stew for days. Figures out how to make rice with beans still taste good on day five. Hunts down coupons and keeps an eye out for discounts so they can have hot dogs on the fourth of july and candy on Halloween. Food is never really pleasure or indulgence. Only something neither he nor Wayne try to worry about. Some days it’s easier than others.
It’s not really until after the upside down, after he has been discharged from the hospital and off the murder accusations, not until Steve that food becomes more than just another annoyingly human need. Thanks to the government hush money and Eddie picking up a mechanic jobat the local garage they don’t need to worry about food anymore. 
But it’s still just means to an end, there is no luxuriating in it, no big cravings, Eddie still cuts out coupons. Steve offers them to host Hellfire at his house and Eddie offers to buy snacks. It’s the least he can do if Steve is letting them into his mansion. But Steve declines, says he’ll take care of it. And he does. 
When Eddie and the rest of Hellfire show up the dining room table (Steve has a dining room Jesus H. Christ) is filled with all kinds of snacks. It’s everyone’s favorite kinds of snack. And not the store brand knock off snacks, no, it’s the real fancy shit. Or well as fancy as pringles and mountain dew can be. But it doesn’t stop there. 
Once the game is over, the kids help clean up, but none of them rush to get their shoes back on or slip into their jackets. Instead, they pile into the kitchen, dragging Eddie and the older kids of Hellfire with them where Steve is already handing them steaming plates of lasagna. 
“You running a soup kitchen, Harrington?” Eddie can’t help but tease as a  plate is pressed into his hands. 
There is a blush creeping over Steve’s face and Eddie instantly regrets his comment. It’s just the snacks, the dinner, it kinda makes him feel inadequate, like he was bad at hosting Hellfire because he never brought snacks let alone dinner.
It takes Eddie a while to understand that Steve doesn’t do it to show off, but simply because he enjoys cooking. He always provides snacks when they are at his house, be it Hellfire, movie night, or pool parties. There is always home cooked food and often even homemade dessert too. The day he bakes a bunch of lemon meringue cookies is a horrible day because those cookies are to die or fall madly in love for and Eddie can feel his stomach swoop. He ignores it like he has ignored all his cravings over the years. And it works for a while.
Until one golden autumn afternoon when Eddie is early and the kids are still at school. Eddie offers to drive around the block a couple of times, but Steve just laughs, tells Eddie not to be stupid. He leads Eddie into the kitchen and motions for him to sit on the counter.  Talks about how he likes company while cooking. The radio in the corner of the kitchen blares pop music loudly and Steve turns it down, no need for it to longer fill the oppressive silence. Eddie hops on the counter, dangles his legs and watches Steve cook. It’s so obviousthat he loves doing it. The way he hums quietly, sautees onions and garlic, stirs in herbs and spices, tastes his sauce, frowns and adds more salt. It’s horribly endearing and cute and dangerous and Eddie can’t tell if his stomach is growling or filled with butterflies. 
“Have you always loved cooking?” he asks, desperate to keep his thoughts from spiraling. Steve laughs again in response and the sound kicks up another storm in Eddie’s stomach. 
“God no,” Steve says and stirs his sauce. “I couldn’t cook for the longest time. Lived off tv dinners and take out for some years.” 
The soft smile of his lips faints slightly. Eddie knows what a bitter taste loneliness can leave in your mouth. Knows that while Steve never had to worry about food, he also never had someone to share it with. 
“Found some cookbooks inthe attic a few years back,” Steve continues. “Tired out some recipes, asked Claudia and Mrs. Wheeler for advice when I couldn’t get something right and well here we are.” 
“Here we are,” Eddie echoes, unable to tear his eyes away from Steve. He looks gorgeous in the golden afternoon light, a dorky apron that says Kiss the cook on it and god how Eddie would like to oblige that order. Steve catches him staring, but doesn’t call him out on it. The corner of his mouth twitches up as he dips a wooden spoon into the sauce, holds a hand under it and turns to Eddie.
“Taste this for me?” he asks, stepping closer, until he is bracketed by Eddie’s thighs. Eddie can just swallow and nod, not sure how to cope with Steve being this close. Steve lifts the spoon until wood touches Eddie’s lips. He parts them hesitantly, lets Steve push the spoon into his mouth, licks the sauce off it. All while looking in the gold honey and caramel of Steve’s eyes. Eddie wonders if Steve's lips would taste of spun sugar too. 
“It’s good,” he rasps once Steve has lowered the spoon. 
“Yeah?” 
“Yeah.”
Steve smiles and god if smiles had a taste, Steve’s would be Eddie’s favorite flavor. The kind of flavor that would teach Eddie indulgence. The same way Steve indulges in his cooking, lets all the time and care he puts in his food speak for how much he loves the people he prepares food for. Because for Steve food is more than just sustenance. It's love. 
Steve goes back to the stove, stirs some more and begins humming again. Eddie continues to watch him. And for the first time in years, Eddie allows himself to be hungry. 
.   
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dottyistired · 1 year
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welcome to the Murdersex zine, a zine celebrating all things sex and murder. but um. we don't want to romanticize it or anything so don't make your submissions too murdersexy. we will do extensive background checks on all applicants and if we decide a past work of yours has too much sexy murder we'll have to remove you, sorry. we have limits, you know, we want a tasteful gory spread you could put on your coffee table, and having the Wrong people in it would kill the vibe (and we condemn all killing! wholeheartedly!)
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hypnoswrites · 7 months
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Bad Taste
A commission I was allowed to post! I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you all enjoy reading it :D
WARNINGS: Yandere! Chrollo, PT member! reader, female! reader, explicit nsfw, casual sex, mentions of explicit violence, mentions of murder, mentions of character death, reader is kinda immoral but that comes with the pt territory, dubious consent
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"You have bad taste, you know that?" You said, lying on your side, tired eyes slowly moving over every choice that had gone into the design of the bedroom. At first glance, you would've called the excess of gold and silver gaudy, but then there was that minimalist abstract painting in the corner, or the classical bedside table made out of gray marble, and you decided even that descriptor wasn't fully applicable. The maximalism of a rich hoarder, was the only term that felt somewhat correct. "None of these pieces work together."
Chrollo smiled as he looked up from his book, participating in your critique of his interior design skills. "I'd call it the curse of having many interests. If you ask me, committing to a single style or type of art when there is so much variety in the world is as much a sign of bad taste as you consider this to be."
"The art nouveau brutalist bathroom is an abomination, Chrollo."
"Or so you continue to remind me. Would you rather I hang the Klimt with the byzantine sculptures?"
"No. I'd rather you throw those away. Or sell them." You sat upright and pulled the sheets off your body, sitting on the edge of the bed so you could stretch properly, your fingers tapping against the side of the mattress while you thought of what you were going to do next. Shower or get dressed and leave?. "Such a waste letting them get water damage."
"Stop suggesting we have sex in the bathtub then."
"No." Something about the clumsiness of sex in bathrooms had always appealed to you, and if you liked seeing Chrollo with his hair wet while he was bent over you, who’d judge you? "I don't think I will."
"I figured."
You stretched your arms over your head, feeling a delightful pull on your sore muscles. You’d slept badly, you always slept too lightly when other people were around, but the calm and laziness of the morning made the slight exhaustion lingering on your body feel less bothersome. There was nothing on the agenda today, so you could truly just go your own way. Perhaps you’d train a bit later in the evening, or visit a botanical garden if the weather was nice. Visiting gardens was always your go-to activity on lazy days, since you always felt truly at ease feeling your nen curl around so many different specimens, all responding to your commands. Controlling flora was a tricky ability, especially in less habitable areas like the dusty deserts surrounding Yorknew, so to be in a location where nothing would ever be able to truly harm you was comforting. You didn’t know whether that comfort came from the security or the control. 
At the thought of your ability, you wondered when you’d use it next. The last time had ended a bit anticlimactically. You’d wrapped nettles around a man’s throat, only for him to suffocate and die in mere minutes, apparently allergic to the plant. You’d gotten in a bit of trouble, since he’d been meant to give information, but luckily his colleague knew enough to save your hide. When you’d started to master your own ability, you’d never considered allergies being relevant so often. 
You lowered your arms and rolled your shoulders, looking back at Chrollo who was smiling ever so slightly. “So when’s the next heist? Or are you leaving to find new members first?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You are under the impression that killing Hisoka has no priority?”
Ah. You should’ve figured.
“Didn’t want to assume. Aren’t you supposed to be quite strict with the ‘no leg matters, just the spider’ philosophy?” You suppressed a smile at the mention of Hisoka, knowing any sign of affection, as small as it was, wouldn’t be appreciated. You didn’t particularly care about Shalnark and Kortopi, only having worked with them in passing for a few years, so it wasn’t like you felt betrayed by the magicians actions. If anything, you’d found Chrollo’s continual leniency on the magician’s schemes to be surprising, and retrospectively quite an obvious mistake. “Well. With eight or so members it’ll surely work out fine.” 
It would. You’d only seen a handful of them in combat, but if they managed to corner Hisoka, he was dead, an opinion that was supported by the fact that Hisoka was already supposed to be dead, having lost to Chrollo in the arena. 
You’d watched the show on television, a bit disappointed when it had stopped being broadcast due to the deaths of most of the camera staff. Either that, or the producers had chosen not to show such a massacre, as exciting as it had been. Even with gyo constantly activated, you had barely been able to keep up with the quick movements and techniques displayed, which had definitely increased your respect for Chrollo, the trust and belief the rest of the spider had in him definitely not unfounded.
You’d asked Hisoka in private shortly after his quasi-death and expulsion of the spider how he intended to fight them all off, certainly in close quarters, but he’d just kept it vague and acted indignified at your lack of belief in his capabilities. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe him to be capable of somehow pulling off something most would deem impossible, but rather that you really wished to know how he was planning to do so. A mystery is only as compelling as the explanation that is served, and you were left only with curiosity and impatience. 
Still, you’d decided a while ago that you would bet on Hisoka. The odds were high that he intended to kill you along with the rest of the spiders if he ever got the chance, but you doubted he’d chase after you if you made yourself scarce before anything big could happen. The parts of the plan he’d clued you in on were compelling enough to bet on, since even if Hisoka failed miserably, you still had enough time to work out a second plan of your own. 
"Just to sate my curiosity on the matter." Chrollo asked, looking over the edge of his book as you grabbed a short satin dress you’d worn yesterday night that had been discarded next to the bed. Pulling it over your head, you were relieved to not fully be naked anymore, not out of a sense of decency or prudishness, but because Chrollo’s stare tended to be a bit too appreciative for your liking. "Are you two close?"
You didn’t need to ask for clarification.
Truly, you liked Hisoka. He was an interesting figure and so upfront with his betrayals that you wondered how he still managed to fool anyone into trusting him. His style, his humor, his fighting style. It was all so uniquely him and yet at the same time so inhumanly distant that you had trouble seeing him as an actual person. Instead, he felt more like a character you could enjoy watching, and you would be lying if it hadn’t flattered you that he’d enjoyed watching you too. 
"We're not intimate, if that's what you're asking." This was edging a bit too close to a discussion on your relationship with him for your liking. Chrollo, ever the achiever, didn't bore you with such things usually. Instead, he'd either lure you into some quasi-intellectual debate or just leave you be. Your favorite ending to one of these meetings had been when he'd expressed interest in some blockbuster that was airing, and you'd surprised yourself into inviting him to come and watch it with you. The movie theater experience, complete with popcorn and a soda, had been fun in a domestic way you'd not experienced in a while. Ranting about the bad quality of the film was also a fond memory, though you were not the type to grow attached to domestic activities. "Didn't think you were the jealous type."
"I wouldn't call it jealousy." He said earnestly, chuckling when he saw the disbelieving tilt of your head. "If anything, I'm trying to see whether you've betrayed the spider too."
You forced your eyebrows to lift in surprise. "Oh. I'd never. How little faith do you have in me?"
Whatever playful tone you’d placed in your words, it seemed to be the wrong choice, as you were pulled back into bed by your hair. The casual atmosphere had ended, and the pretense of this just being a chat was broken. His fingers curled around locks of your hair, pulling at your scalp, and the book was discarded somewhere on the bed. 
You let it happen, finding the sting of his grip on your hair more comfortable than this conversation, especially since it ended up with your barely covered upper body sprawled over his lap. He looked down at you, and if he spotted your gratitude at this turn of events, he did not show it. Instead, he actually seemed angry, his entire face frozen on a blank slate. If he could not even find the state of mind to force a neutral expression, you’d definitely crossed a line. 
Luckily, he acknowledged his own anger too, which saved you from having to navigate what exactly he was taking offense to. 
"You've chosen a bit of an unfortunate moment to joke with me. Safe to say, I wouldn't call myself completely stable at the moment." It was at times like this that you truly appreciated his features, his face and body made to be cast in marble. Bloodlust only enhanced the image, washing off the false domestic and normal air that he clothed himself in to blend in. "It'll pass, but for now I'd urge you to give me a serious response."
That made sense in retrospect. Last night he’d been quite a bit more rough than he usually was. His hand had found your throat on many occasions, and while you did not mind being manhandled a bit, the force with which he sucked hickeys into your neck and the pressure of his arms around your waist had proven a bit intense at times. You’d just explained it away as a mood, but this made quite a bit more sense. 
"How about this, I’ll give you a quick rundown of everything I know: I haven't spoken with him ever since that entire mess with Shal and Kortopi," His hand tightened around your hair, and you figured he didn’t like you minimizing the events that had occurred, but to be fair, he would’ve been more suspicious had you acted all respectful to his dead friends. "But he did tell me something beforehand which I think you might find interesting."
His expression did not change, but Chrollo did seem a bit irritated that you were playing coy. "Well?"
"The boat led by the Kakin Empire heading towards the dark continent. Apparently there will be some kind of contest held on board during the trip, and Hisoka seemed quite interested in it. If I had to guess, he's going to be there, trying his best to make the entire affair about twenty percent more complicated." 
If you felt any regret having spoken those words, you didn’t feel it yet, though you kept the possibility open that you’d feel a bit bad about it later. If only, if only.
The seed had been planted. Chrollo probably had an inkling that you telling him this was intended by Hisoka, but that didn’t really matter. Hisoka wanted a fight, so it’d be out of character for him to suggest a fighting stage and not show up. The spiders would crawl on board, head toward the dark continent, a place so dangerous every expedition you’d heard of had stellar mortality rates, and hopefully they’d never return. 
On the day of the departure, you’d stay behind. You liked excitement and part of you wanted to explore the dark continent and its mysteries as much as any other, but it’d be certain death for you if you went. There were too many things left to experience on this planet, and dying at the hands of either Chrollo or Hisoka left a bad taste in your mouth. 
They were both dear to you, but you really hoped they’d kill each other and sink the boat. 
"A hobby you two seem to share."
"As if you don't." You lightly admonished, smiling as his fingers were still pulling at strands of your hair, his eyes murderously intense as he stared down at you. "Well, are you going to kill me or am I free to go?"
"You seem to be misunderstanding something." He grabbed your face and made you face the wall, a multitude of painted faces in varying degrees of realism staring back at you. "Whatever I don't get rid of, I collect. And since I am quite fond of you, even if I deem your betrayal to go too far, I won't kill you. Instead, I'll pin you to these walls like those paintings you seem to hate so much and enjoy the sight of you until I feel ready to throw you away. Act with that in mind."
You suppressed a sigh and realized you'd been right in your assessment of where this was headed. A shame, even if it was way too late for you to take back your countermeasures anyway.  "Chrollo, do you hear yourself speak right now?"
"I do. I know what I sound like." He sighed and let go of your face. When you slowly remade eye contact with him, he was looking quite pensive before he bent forward, closing the gap between you and him. For a second you hoped that he'd kiss you, just to cut this conversation short. You knew what was at the end of that road, while this was inching further and further into uncomfortable territory. “Don’t act like this is coming out of nowhere. I think you’re quite aware of the effect you have on me. I myself find it quite interesting at times, and in all honesty, it would be much easier to see exactly what you’re made of if I keep you a bit incapacitated.”
"That sounds quite scary." You said, less sarcastically than you'd intended, the sincerity of his words sending a shiver down your spine. The slight quirk of his lips, the complete nonchalance with which he'd admitted to his plans for you if you betrayed him, all made you believe that he was not kidding in the slightest. You'd always known it was a bit risky sleeping with the head of the spiders, but that danger had been part of the enjoyment. What fun was there in hooking up if there wasn't a risk of death involved? "I wasn't aware you felt about me like that."
"You have your moments."
"I see."
Being proven right was a bitter victory in this case, as much as you wanted to pretend it didn’t bother you in the slightest. You and Chrollo had spent many a night like this, and a few months ago, you had been quite pleased with the set-up, your post-heist adrenaline and bloodlust always being channeled in the best way possible, but in that same period you’d felt something start to change. 
During heists he rarely deployed you, something that was even beginning to be noticed even by other spiders. Your abilities were being questioned, and you’d even heard that little black-haired shit wonder whether you always slept your way to the top. Three members had to remind you of the rule not to fight other spiders, because otherwise you would’ve gouged out his eyeballs and thrown his guts to the dogs.
It was insulting, and the mere idea that Chrollo was in love with you was even worse.
It made you uncomfortable to see a man you had so much respect for debase himself in chasing you. He never did anything outwardly romantic, but he stared, and you could tell that any time you spent with him was intriguing him. It wasn’t supposed to be like that. He was supposed to be better than that. You couldn’t stand it when he sighed after kissing you or left books on the dinner table for you to take when you left. 
He couldn’t betray the spider, not in such an awfully human way. 
And so you’d decided one morning while waking up in his arms, his heartbeat thumping underneath your ear, that you’d prefer it if he died. Death would freeze the image you had of him, of the ruthless and constantly shifting leader of the Phantom Troupe. Death would freeze all of them, since after Uvogin and Pakunoda’s deaths you’d noticed more and more cracks in what used to be a perfect formula. 
Feitan and Phinks, who used to go off on their own in between heists, now seemed bound to the hip, their cruelty and ruthlessness a mere façade for what even a blind person could see. Franklin called Shizuku every few hours, checking in on her location and how she was doing. Nobunaga had completely lost it, even if everyone pretended to not see it, and you weren’t someone who generally empathized with unknown faces, but the civilian woman he’d fixated on after the death of Uvo was clearly having to deal with a lot of delusional bullshit.
The changes spread gradually, but the spider was not what it used to be. Most of the members had grown up together and preferred not losing one another, the recent deaths of those close to them proving they were not as okay with being replaceable as they’d pretended to be all this time. None of them would ever utter such a thing, but you noticed it regardless. 
Being annihilated on the way to the dark continent, or at their destination, would be the best way for the spider. All in order to hold onto its principles. In some way, you felt like you were saving the man whose death you were planning, whose body had been pressed against yours so often. You’d never been the sentimental type, but the idea that you were saving a legacy from dying out painfully was beautiful to you. Chrollo wouldn’t ruin himself in your name. The others wouldn’t slip away into insanity and sentimentality. 
Hisoka was the only one who knew how you felt, and had even agreed with your views, meaning he was the sole ally you had in this perspective. You’d spent years with the Troupe, and in some distant way, you loved the spider. Vaguely, you realized you’d accept it if Chrollo killed you now. Maybe he’d prove you wrong. Maybe he would get rid of your traitorous self, kill Hisoka and purge the spider of all that had desecrated it. 
You would accept it gratefully. 
Chrollo let go of your hair and his thumb traced a line across your forehead. 
“Fine.” He breathed out. 
“We’re leaving it at that?” You asked, cursing yourself for even responding, and even more for the desperation you felt at the loss of his aggression. Chrollo immediately moved, languidly shifting your body and his so you were below him once more, your legs on either side of his hips. He pushed his hair back and rubbed his eyes a bit before taking another good look at you. You couldn’t decipher his expression fully, but decided a mix of exhaustion and exasperation came closest.  
“We’re not.” A hand moved under your waist and lifted up your lower body, slotting you against him. He bent forward over you and out of the corner of your eyes you saw him slowly wrap a hand around his cock and pump himself a few times. When he was sufficiently hard, he moved the hand with which he’d touched himself up to your mouth, two fingers patiently waiting on your lips to be licked. Knowing this song and dance, you opened your mouth, your tongue searching and finding his fingers instantly. Whilst you were sufficiently coating his fingers in spit, his dark eyes moved over your body. “We’ll be done once I say we’re done.”
The authoritative comment did little to turn you on, his possessive and romantically laced comments from earlier still making you feel weird. Still, when he pulled his fingers from your mouth and lowered them to your pussy to lubricate your entrance, the few flicks he performed against your clit did make your chest rise from the mattress a bit. 
Pressing his forehead to yours, he quickly grabbed his cock and pushed it inside you, a satisfied sound leaving his throat as he successfully entered you. The pace he set was slow, gentle in a way that made you want to cry.
“Don’t betray me.” He said, and you felt your stomach turn at the pleading tone accompanying it. It was hard to enjoy the way he rolled his hips against yours, pushing his cock further into you, when your mind was miles away. How could you be present when all you wanted was to leave and forget he’d ever disappointed you like this. “I’ll do much worse than kill you if you do.”
That wasn’t a lie. He’d probably lock you up, steal your ability and hurt you until you didn’t have the strength to fight him anymore. Maybe he’d cut your legs off, maybe he’d bind you to a bed until malnutrition and muscle decay did the work for him. That part didn’t scare you, it was what he’d do after that that terrified you. He’d keep you with him, sleep next to you, and trace your injuries. He’d insist you read with him, watch movies with him, make love to him instead of the distant sex you preferred. He’d love you, earnestly and in his own way, and you’d rather die than experience it, since it would mean the man you loved was utterly gone.
“You know, don’t you?” He asked. “Please tell me you know.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, desperate for him to shut up.
2K notes · View notes
cherienymphe · 5 months
Text
I Know What You Did Last Summer (Rafe Cameron x Reader)
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WARNINGS: NON-CON, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATHS, MURDER, ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP, MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, BLOOD, KNIFEPLAY, STALKING, ANGST, voyeurism, underage drinking, JJ x reader, pogue!reader
➥ Happy Halloween weekend!
➥ banner by @maysdigitalarts​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ ​​​​​​​​|  ➥ divider by @/kimjiho1
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summary: When your friends start dying one by one, you're not exactly honest when the police ask if you know of anyone who'd want to hurt them. You do...but he's dead. You know this because you buried him.
~
You stared out into the water, a rare morning in which you woke up early enough to watch the sun rise over Outer Banks. This time last year, you might’ve tried to catch a wave or two, a way for you to often escape and clear your head. However, the problems of last year were gone and there was nothing left for you to escape from.
No one left for you to escape from.
Your gaze fell to the dock beneath your feet, eyes glazing over as memories of a tumultuous relationship plagued your thoughts. The memory of bruised skin and aching limbs made you shudder, wrapping your arms around yourself, the cool North Carolina breeze having nothing to do with it. You tensed for half a second at the sound of a familiar voice on the wind before realizing that you were only imagining it as you often did these days.
Some days you thought you were going crazy, but then you reminded yourself that no sane person could do what you did and walk away with no baggage whatsoever. Then again, it could be argued that no sane person could do what you did period. Thoughts of that night left a sour taste in your mouth, and for the past year, you constantly worried if you did the right thing. It didn’t matter if you did or didn’t because it wasn’t like you could take it back, but still…
Analyzing your past decisions made you feel less like a sociopath or something.
When you heard your mom calling you from the house, you pulled yourself away from the water. Your dad was just heading out for work, and he exchanged a quick hug with you on the way to his truck. You could tell that your 180 within the past year stumped them, but it was in that good way that always sparked a bunch of compliments—you’re so much happier or you’re talking more or you’re around a lot more.
The difference was noticeable to anybody who knew you…and everyone knew why.
Even if they didn’t want to say it.
“You know I leave for work in a little bit, but I put some bacon in the oven, and I just wanted you to know so you could take it out.”
You smiled at her, leaning against the counter.
“We’ll see how long it lasts once JJ gets here,” you told her.
Your tone was mocking, but you both knew you were entirely serious. After telling her that you might be staying at Kie’s tonight, you bid her goodbye, gaze focused on the oven as you checked the bacon. You knew it wouldn’t be long before half of your friends burst through that door, and so you didn’t hesitate to take it out the moment it looked like it was done.
It was when you were placing the pan on the stove top…when you heard it.
It was a light thump that came from the back of the house, and you paused with a frown. It was hardly anything—could’ve easily been a limb falling out of a tree or something—if it wasn’t for the fact that it sounded like it came from inside of the house. Your frown deepened the longer you stood there, listening some more without success. With reluctance, you wrote it off, and you only just relaxed when you felt hands on your shoulders.
“Jesus!”
You pressed your hand to your chest, frowning over your shoulder as both a familiar blond and brunette made themselves comfortable at your table. You hadn’t even heard them pull up, oblivious even to the door opening.
“No, JJ,” the voice behind you corrected with a chuckle, and you rolled your eyes.
“Hilarious,” you commented. “I didn’t even hear you guys come in.”
“Kind of figured when you grabbed your chest just then,” Sarah said with a small smile. “What were you looking at, anyway?”
Her question reminded you of the noise, and realizing that it was probably them you heard, you shrugged.
“Thought I heard something, but it was just you guys.”
By now, JJ had joined them, leaning back in a chair.
“You’re still coming to Rose’s little ‘fall festivity’ right? Somehow Wheezie got out of going by talking our dad into letting her go to a sleepover instead, and I don’t really wanna be alone.”
Her words quieted some near the end, a brief awkward silence as your eyes met hers, both of you ignoring the obvious.
“Of course,” you assured her. “I told my mom I’d probably be staying at Kie’s since it’s closer to your house. Knowing Rose, this thing could go on all night.”
Sarah agreed with that, interrupting John B and JJ’s conversation.
“You can still change your mind, you know,” she told him with a pout, bumping his shoulder with her own.
The face he made was answer enough, and she huffed.
“Besides, even if I wanted to, I’m sure Ward would be thrilled about that,” her boyfriend mumbled.
“You know he’s better, now. He’s not so against you ever since…”
Your best friend trailed off, and your gaze found the floor just as all of theirs traveled to you. The silence was short—not so much awkward—but definitely far from light. You all knew what Sarah was going to say, how Ward stopped caring about so many superficial things. How he was the kind of man who focused on things that actually mattered, now.
He was the kind of man who carried grief, now.
…and it changed him for both the better and the worst.
“I’m going to go and grab my purse and change of clothes. Bacon’s all yours,” you mostly said to JJ, quick to leave the room.
Once inside your room, your eyes landed on your mirror, gaze lingering on the bare space where dozens of pictures used to be. It had been a little over a year since you’d taken them down, but sometimes, when you recalled the happier times before it all went up in flames, you missed them. You missed looking at them when you did your makeup or even just lingering on them when you were on the phone.
Chest aching for so many reasons, you forced yourself to turn away.
It was as you were grabbing your purse and the extra bag with your dress for tonight did you glance up. You blinked at your window, a small frown forming between your brows. Approaching it, you reached out, slowly pulling it back down and locking it shut, desperately trying to remember if you’d even let it up the night before.
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“I swear to God, Rose is about to lose her shit,” Sarah chuckled from next to you. “She bought that dress months ago for this stupid party only for her to show up wearing the same one.”
You sipped on your drink that you were definitely not supposed to be having, a light laugh of your own escaping. The little soiree was everything Sarah said it would be, and you could see why Wheezie took the opportunity to bail. It wasn’t Halloween yet, but like every year—or almost every year—Rose was having a series of parties leading up to the last night in October. You were just about to drag Sarah to the kitchen in search of those little finger sandwiches when a loud clanging noise caught everyone’s attention.
Ward stood in the center of the living room when you looked over.
The older man had a glass in his hand and was setting down a fork with the other. You couldn’t get over how much he’d changed in a year, and something in your chest ached, guilt eating at you. There was a small smile on his lips, but the rest of his expression didn’t exactly match up. Somehow, you knew that you weren’t going to like whatever he had to say.
“Um…sadly, we weren’t blessed to partake in one of Rose’s fabulous get togethers last year…”
You swallowed at the way the mood in the room seemed to sink, and you didn’t need to look over to find Sarah glancing at you.
“As you all know, my only son Rafe went missing around this time a year ago.”
Somber murmurs filled the room, and your hand tightened on your drink. Tuning Ward out, the only thing you heard was white noise, probably missing another tangent about how he wished he’d been less hard on him and had done more to heal their relationship before he had to file that missing person’s report that fateful morning.
Crossing your arms over your chest, you fought to keep a frown off of your face.
Memories of dark blond hair and intense blue eyes plagued your mind, making your stomach turn. If Ward’s memories with Rafe were less than fond, then yours were absolutely gut-wrenching. The hairs on your arm stood on end as you thought about the last time you’d seen your ex-boyfriend, and you felt your feet carrying you down the stairs just as Sarah reached for you.
The backyard was empty when you made it outside, and the fresh air did so little to calm you down.
You could hear the blood rushing in your ears at the thought of Rafe, a cold chill passing through you. With a huff, you stepped out of your heels, tears kissing your eyes as you thought about Ward in there giving some grand speech about Rafe and their relentless efforts to find him. You were pulled out of it by the sound of your name, and you wiped your face, oblivious to the fact that some tears had even spilled over.
Sarah’s sympathetic gaze met yours when you turned around.
“Are you okay…?” she whispered, and you sniffed.
“What do you think?” you lightly wondered, a humorless chuckle escaping as you shrugged. “Who knew that a felony was all it took for Rafe to finally get the love he always wanted.”
Your words were scathing, and Sarah slowly approached you, reaching for you.
“Hey…hey,” she repeated until you looked at her. “You’re safe, now. Rafe can’t ever hurt you ever again.”
While those words brought you comfort, they did nothing to diminish your anger.
“It’s not…fair,” you breathed, shaking your head. “He was nothing short of a monster to me…and they talk about him, now, like he was some angel come to earth.”
You knew it bothered Sarah too—she was there that night after all—and she sighed. The blonde pulled you into a hug, holding you tight and rubbing your back. You sometimes wondered if her feelings on the matter were as black and white as yours. Rafe was her brother, after all, and despite their less than enviable relationship, she had to have still loved him.
“Do you think they’ll ever find him?”
You said the words so quietly, as if paranoid someone would hear despite the fact that you were alone. Sarah tensed for half a second, probably because for the first time in months, you were explicitly talking about what you did that night—what all four of you did. She pulled away, gaze somber and resolved all at once.
“It’s been a year,” she said as if that were answer enough. “…turns out the police are even more useless than we all thought.”
You swallowed, and Sarah fought to calm you.
“If they haven’t found him by now then…”
She trailed off with a shrug, but you weren’t so convinced. While plenty of people got away with murder, plenty of others did not, and it didn’t matter that Rafe’s temper had escalated so badly one night until it came down to your life or his. Nobody would care that he used to threaten you and choke you and harm you so bad that you could barely walk sometimes. They wouldn’t care about any of that.
All that would matter was that he was Rafe Cameron, Ward Cameron’s son.
…and you’d killed him.
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John B was the first to die.
…and maybe that was why the horrible truth didn’t even cross your mind then.
Your sleep-addled brain fought hard to make sense of the words pouring out of Cleo’s mouth, and despite how unbelieving they were, the feminine wails you could hear in the background told you they were true whether you wanted them to be or not. Sarah’s choked sobs were the last thing you heard before Cleo was forced to hang up.
You didn’t even remember throwing on clothes, only knowing that you somehow managed to leave the house looking halfway decent.
When you made it to the hospital, Sarah was nowhere to be found.
“She was…” Kie trailed off, shaking her head. “They had to give her something.”
You took in the way Kiara was shaking, and unable to keep standing, she collapsed in a chair. You wanted to ask her what happened, but you could see it on her face that she couldn’t handle that, right now. Her eyes were shiny and glazed over, and she looked like she was going to be sick. She looked like she could barely even breathe.
“What…? I don’t…”
You couldn’t get it out, feeling wholly numb as your gaze met Cleo’s. The dark-skinned girl ran her hands down her face, her own gaze tearful.
“They found him in the water, man.”
Her soft words made your heart sink, and you frowned.
“Said he got tangled up somehow… Drowned.”
At that, you did finally sit down, reaching out to hold the armrest. Somehow, any other cause of death would’ve made it feel less real, preposterous maybe. You just couldn’t see John B. dying at the hands of some asshole or choking on his food or run down like a dog in the street.
…but drowning?
John B. dying in the water—a place he loved and often frequented—made sense.
That you could believe.
“Pope and JJ are on the way,” Kie mumbled so low you almost didn’t hear her.
Nothing about any of this felt real. It was only yesterday that you were talking to John B., tossing a beer at his head after some slick remark. You couldn’t quite process that you’d never be able to do that again. Your best friend was gone. Sarah’s boyfriend was gone, and you wouldn’t see nor talk to him again. It didn’t make sense, and maybe that lack of reason was what kept you numb, kept you staring at the white floors of the hospital until two familiar figures made themselves known.
It wasn’t until your eyes lifted and met JJ’s did it really hit you.
The pain in his face from losing the friend he’d known practically since birth seeped into you too, and you were on your feet before JJ’s legs could fail him. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tight for both of your sakes, and your tears finally spilled over when you felt JJ’s hitting your skin.
You never really saw JJ cry much—it just wasn’t like him. You didn’t know if that was just the way he was or if he took it upon himself to be the obligatory goofy friend who was almost always in a good mood. Today, however, JJ cried harder than you’d ever seen him, the death of his best friend a thousand times worse than anything Luke could do to him.
He held you like a lifeline, even well into the night when everyone was forced to retreat to their homes, nothing more anyone could do. Even if JJ could find some comfort in his own home, you wouldn’t dare ask him to, feeling that same refusal to be alone. You had only been able to shake your head at your mom when she came to see if you wanted—needed—anything.
You didn’t miss the way her sad and heavy gaze fell to JJ in your arms, the blond boy sobbing into your chest as you held him on your bed.
Neither of you talked for what felt like days. There really wasn’t much to say, anyway. On the off chance that JJ moved, it was purely to use the bathroom or eat something that would keep him off the brink of starvation. You couldn’t really tell if you were handling it better than him or if you were just coping in an equally unhealthy way.
There was just this understanding that grief had kind of taken both of your voices.
JJ leaned on you throughout the entirety of John B.’s funeral, and when your eyes met Pope’s, you shook your head at the silent question in his dark eyes. They flitted to JJ at that, and you weren’t surprised to see them holding each other at the end of the service. John B. was like a brother to both of them, and maybe they could help each other in ways the rest of you couldn’t.
“Why was he out there so late?”
That was what Kie wondered as you all sat at The Chateau, still fighting to understand your new reality without John B. only hours after his funeral.
“We all always go swimming whenever,” you told her, and she shook her head.
“…but never that late…and if so, never alone,” she argued, looking at all of you. “They think he died around one in the morning. There was no alcohol or anything in his system. Why would John B. be out there at one in the morning?”
“What does it matter?” JJ spat, making you flinch. “Why are we sitting here trying to analyze this when John B. is dead? Huh?”
Kie looked taken aback, and you could see her mentally reminding herself that JJ was in pain.
“I’m just saying-.”
“No, I know what you’re trying to do.”
The blond was standing, now, angrily staring down at her.
“Trying to make sense of this, trying to find something or someone to blame because that’s easier to swallow than the truth,” he nastily threw at her. “John B.’s death doesn’t make sense…and sometimes that’s just life.”
He stormed off before anyone could respond, and you swallowed at the sound of his bike starting up. You took Kie’s hand at the sight of her forlorn expression, gently squeezing it and sending her a smile. JJ was angry, probably angrier than any of you, and he wasn’t keen on how Kie was trying to deal with it either. The silence after he left was thick, and you felt almost afraid to speak your mind too, because now that Kie had said it, you couldn’t stop thinking about it.
It didn’t make sense for John B. to be out in the water that late.
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You shouldn’t have been surprised when JJ kissed you only a few days after John B.’s funeral, but you were.
You all were grieving, and besides Sarah who hadn’t left her home in days, JJ wasn’t coping well. He was so angry and confused and hurt, and truthfully, you’d just been happy he wasn’t going off on some bender or starting fights. He didn’t exactly grow up with the best example on how to cope with anything, and so when he pressed his lips to yours on your front porch, you could only think that there were worse ways to handle this.
Your breathing was uneven as he ran his hands over you, backing you up into your house. Your parents weren’t home, adulthood stopping for no one in the midst of tragedy, and you held onto JJ to keep from tripping over your own feet. You’d wondered what it’d feel like to kiss JJ sometimes, but only ever in passing, and you could count the number of times on one hand. It was bound to happen at least once or twice when you were friends for as long as you had been.
The kiss was rough but not unenjoyable, and you moaned into his mouth when your back met your couch. To your surprise, you liked the feel of JJ’s body on yours, keeping you trapped between him and the couch, and the blond sighed into the kiss when your fingers ran up his back, dipping beneath his shirt. When his lips ghosted along your jaw, your gaze landed on the ceiling, and you arched your chest up into his. His lips were pressing open mouth kisses to your throat, and when your gaze roamed—landing on the window behind him—you violently flinched.
“What’s wrong-?”
JJ cut his own words off when you sat up, lips parted as you stared at the window.
It was dark, and the longer you stared outside, the sillier you felt. Your heart was racing so fast—much too fast—and for a moment, you were scared you were having a heart attack. You felt overheated, and your skin was fighting to get back to normal instead of clammy. JJ said your name again, and you merely shook your head at him, struggling to stop your hands from trembling and your vision from swaying.
For just a moment, you could’ve sworn that someone was outside and standing right outside of that window. It was brief, quite literally a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ moment, but it wasn’t solely that that had you fighting to calm down, right now. You reached up, rubbing your chest and blinking back tears, hardly paying attention to JJ’s concern.
The way the person stood—their height, their build, their stance—it was all too familiar.
It looked eerily similar to your ex-boyfriend.
That thought had you standing, and you pressed your hand to your forehead. A few tears escaped without your consent, and you licked your lips, finally admitting to yourself why this whole John B. situation had you numb. The thought of John B. now had your chest aching, and for a brief moment, you weren’t seeing your best friend be lowered into the ground.
It was Rafe.
“Are you okay…?”
You finally acknowledged JJ, and you looked at him with a tearful gaze.
“No, I don’t think I am,” you choked out. “It’s not…it’s not your fault, I promise.”
“I shouldn’t have done that-.”
“No, JJ, it’s okay! You didn’t do anything wrong,” you assured him. “I’m just not handling this as well as I thought I was.”
He seemed to understand that, nodding at you.
The silence wasn’t tense or anything, but it was a little awkward. After all, one moment you and JJ were clearly about to have sex, and now, you couldn’t get rid of the cold chill that came over you. You glanced at the window again, so sure that you’d seen someone there, only looking away when JJ pulled you down to sit with him.
“You know I like you,” he whispered, making your eyes widen a bit. “Well, now you know.”
You blinked at him, oddly thinking that whatever this was tonight was some combination of grief and loneliness and the result of a violent confrontation with his own mortality. JJ ran his hand through his blond locks, sighing.
“First it was the whole Pogue on Pogue thing,” he said to which you snorted, recalling the day Pope and Cleo waltzed into The Chateau holding hands. “…then it was Rafe.”
You looked down at that, tightening your arms around yourself at the mention of your ex.
“Then Rafe went missing, and it didn’t seem right even though you didn’t seem…sad about it.”
You swallowed at that, a wet and muddy night coming to mind.
“…but now my best friend is dead, and I’m scared that if I wait another minute, it’ll be too late.”
Your gaze softened at that, looking at him, and it really didn’t take you long to realize that deep down you’d liked JJ too. You first noticed the feeling after the third or fourth time Rafe had hit you, and you just remembered thinking that JJ would never. You hadn’t lingered on it, but now you were wishing you had. Maybe if you felt like you had a way out, you would’ve left Rafe sooner. The relationship might not have continued.
…and that night never would’ve happened.
With the death of John B., you understood exactly what JJ meant. John B. hadn’t been some old man pushing ninety who lived this long and fulfilling life. He was eighteen, unable to even get the chance to start. It was unexpected and heartbreaking but most of all scary, so when you took the blonde’s hand, you didn’t hesitate to pull him closer, pressing your lips to his.
You had no idea that while taking the first step with JJ into the second relationship you’d ever have, Pope’s body was being dumped in the water.
When you all collectively made the decision the next morning to go and see Sarah, no one thought too much of it when Pope didn’t answer. Sarah was allowed her solitude to grieve, you felt she was owed that, but none of you wanted your friend to deal with this alone for too long. Considering how early it was, everyone just assumed that he was still asleep when you decided to meet up.
JJ—now in the possession of the Twinkie—made the decision to slow down at the sight of so many squad cars near the water. It was strange, and there was a sinking feeling in your stomach that you just couldn’t shake. Outer Banks was not without its fair share of crime, but you’d never had the misfortune of witnessing a coroner’s van pull up to the scene.
“What do you think that’s about?” Cleo wondered.
You spoke without thinking.
“Call Pope again.”
You could feel several pairs of eyes on you as you looked out of the window, and there was a beat of silence before they all reached for their phones at once. That twisted feeling only tightened when none of them got an answer. You didn’t voice your thoughts, partly because you didn’t want to be the one to, but you also didn’t want to make them true, somehow.
…but they were true whether you said them aloud or not.
You’d never been inside of an interrogation room—or Kildare County’s version of one, anyway. You never thought you would be, but in this moment, you were thinking of a lot of things you never thought would be. Shoupe—a man you’d grown used to seeing all your life—handed you a cup of water, and your fingertips only grazed it as it sat on the table.
With the discovery that Pope was now dead too, the numbness you’d felt was forced to crack and shatter. While Cleo had to be restrained and held back from ambushing the crime scene, you’d been unable to keep upright, collapsing right there on the side of the road. The entire gruesome debacle had attracted a crowd. After all, Outer Banks just wasn’t used to this, and several people tried to help you remain conscious—namely JJ.
You didn’t even remember breaking down, didn’t even remember being approached by the cops. You actually could barely remember a thing after witnessing a familiar body being pulled from the murky water. You knew that you cried, had to, because your eyes were tight. You knew that you screamed because your throat was raw. You knew these things because of how you felt…not because you actually remembered any of it.
Shoupe’s sigh made you blink, and instead of laying on the side of that road, you were surrounded by four walls.
“Do you know of…anyone who’d want to hurt Heyward’s son?”
His words gave you pause, and you lifted your gaze with a deep frown.
“…what?” you choked out after some time.
His gaze was soft—Pope was your friend and he’d watched you both grow up as thick as thieves—but also inquiring. You watched him briefly lick his lips, sighing to himself as he pressed a hand to his forehead. He seemed to be conflicted, having some kind of internal battle before reaching out to you across the table.
“Pope was dead before he was in the water.”
You merely blinked at him, not quite processing his words.
“Someone…someone cut his throat.”
At that, your vision blurred, and you could see on Shoupe’s face that he was predicting what was about to happen before you even tried to stand. The older man reached for you again, attempting to keep you from falling, but your feet tripped over one another as your legs lost their strength. When your knees hit the hard floor, your brain didn’t even register the pain.
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Burying two friends within two weeks of each other was something you would’ve never predicted. Not until you were in your seventies, at least. It felt like the opposite of unreal. It felt too real because all you could feel was pain. It was numbing and excruciating all at once somehow, and having the whole town look at you like some walking magnet for tragedy didn’t help.
In truth, all of your friends got the stares. Two out of the group were gone—one drowned and one brutally murdered—and people looked at the rest of your friends like they didn’t know what to think of them…but you? Oh, they looked at you like they both feared and hated you, and you knew why.
It was only a year ago that your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—had gone missing, and now two of your friends met the same fate everyone suspected Rafe did. There was something in their eyes that held blame, and you might have found it funny if you weren’t so angry and sad and miserable.
You were only responsible for one of them.
“No fingerprints, no footprints, no nothing,” Kie whispered, angrily. “It’s like Pope was just killed and dumped by a ghost.”
JJ was silent as he stared out into the rich girl’s yard, and you worriedly eyed him. Cleo too. It’s not like any of you were doing okay, but JJ had lost the two people he was closest to in the world, and Cleo was now in the same boat as Sarah. It was then that the blonde girl shifted, a noise leaving her throat that had you all looking over.
“Do I have to be the one to say what we’re all thinking?”
She looked between you all with a heavy gaze, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.
“That John B.’s accident wasn’t an accident…?”
Your lips parted at that, and you looked around to see that no one else had expected that either. No one else but Kie who simply wrapped her arms around herself. You recalled her words from last week, how she’d questioned why John B. was even out on the water that late. JJ had been so quick to shut it down, and despite having the same question as Kie, you’d also forced yourself to let it go.
You hadn’t wanted to fathom that someone had killed John B.
“Now, hold on-.”
“Oh, come on, JJ!” Sarah cried. “John B. drowns at one something in the morning, and a week later one of his best friends is murdered?”
You swallowed, hating this conversation.
“This is too coincidental,” she whispered, wiping her face.
The silence was loud as her accusation—and the implications that came with it—just hung in the air. You all looked between each other, and you could see it then. It was sinking in that this was too much of a coincidence, and Cleo spoke up.
“Why would anyone want to hurt them?”
“I think you mean why would anyone want to hurt us,” Kie threw out, and you all froze. “If someone did kill John B. and that same person killed Pope…isn’t it safe to assume they’re working their way through the group?”
You stood, really hating this conversation now, and stared out into the yard.
“I mean, what? Only John B. and Pope happened to piss this person off?”
“That’s even if what you’re saying is true,” JJ argued, visibly disturbed, now. “I mean, think about this. Who the hell did all of us piss off this damn bad? Huh? That doesn’t make any sense.”
It was then that your gaze met Cleo’s, and something passed through her eyes that you also knew passed through yours. You didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that the other girl was thinking about that night, recalling a bloodstained carpet and shovels that would never see the light of day. Your lips parted as your gaze lowered, and feeling like you might be sick, you sat down. No. There was nothing you could think of that all of you had done to collectively anger someone this much. However, there was something that came to mind that four of you had done.
…but Rafe was dead.
He’d been dead for a year, and so what Cleo was obviously thinking was clearly not possible.
Even with that fact, it still didn’t prevent you from being terrified, and it was no surprise that none of you wanted to be alone. Even if John B.’s accident was just that, someone had still killed Pope, and Outer Banks now had a murderer in their midst. If people looked at you with disdain before, then it was nothing in comparison to when a curfew was enforced.
“First it was Rafe…”
You tensed at the sound of the voice.
“…then John B. and now Pope.”
You cut your eyes to Kelce as he walked by you.
“We don’t need a curfew. What we need is to search your damn house,” he sneered, turning his back to you as he strode away.
You crossed your arms over your chest as you waited for Sarah to exit the shop. You knew that Kelce wasn’t alone in his sentiment. It was only just the day before when your eyes had met Topper’s, the blonde’s gaze unreadable despite the clenching of his jaw. Topper was never the kind of guy to evoke intimidation, but that was before he thought you had something to do with the disappearance of his best friend.
When Rafe went missing, you were questioned. It was expected. After all, you weren’t just his girlfriend but also the girlfriend who everyone knew he would literally get crazy about. Your rocky off-and-on relationship was no secret, so naturally you were the first to be brought in. The police hadn’t been able to find anything though, not then and not for the past year, so any suspicions anyone might’ve had were probably long forgotten about.
Until now.
The only difference was that now not only did they think you killed Rafe, but also your best friends.
“They’re assholes. You know that,” Sarah told you as she drove you back to her place.
The Cameron household was where you’d been staying when you weren’t at home with JJ. Ever since that night, something in you felt wrong about accepting the Cameron’s hospitality and even setting foot into their house. That night was complicated, this much was true, but the fact remained that you were responsible for their pain. Ward would never be reunited with his son because of you.
Smiling in their faces and eating at their table left a sour feeling in your gut.
“…but I did kill Rafe,” you whispered.
Sarah glanced at you at that.
“We all did,” she finally said. “…and it wasn’t like that. He was choking you, he was…he was killing you. It was self-defense.”
“Yeah, I’m sure the cops will think rolling him up and burying him in the woods was self-defense,” you scoffed.
Sarah was parked in her yard, now, and she gripped your arm. Her expression was hard as she stared at you, lips pressed together.
“Stop that,” she bit out. “Rafe… Rafe wasn’t going to stop. We had no choice, and do I sometimes wish things had ended differently for him and for us? Yeah. Even the most estranged of siblings don’t actually want to kill each other, but what’s done is done.”
She looked between your eyes, and you swallowed, recalling that silent conversation with Cleo. You licked your lips, touching your forehead and swallowing down a sigh.
“What if it’s not done?” you wondered, almost inaudibly.
When you looked at Sarah again, there was a frown on her face.
“We definitely know of someone who’d want us dead,” you whispered, and you watched the color drain from Sarah’s face.
“…and he’s dead.”
“…but what if he’s not?” you choked out. “What if…? I mean, sure, there was blood and we hit him twice and we buried him, but what if-.”
“Stop,” Sarah breathed, resting her hands on the wheel. “Stop talking.”
“Sarah-.”
“I said stop!”
The blonde girl looked visibly distressed, eyes wide and lips trembling as she stared ahead.
“We killed him. He’s dead…and he can’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
Sarah sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than you. You could see how upsetting this conversation was for her, and again, you wished that night had gone differently. Getting your friends caught up in your relationship problems was your biggest regret, and no matter how many times they insisted they’d never take it back, it did nothing to ease your guilt.
Repeating Sarah’s words in your mind, you put thoughts of Rafe behind you.
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You were having a horrifying case of déjà vu.
Around this time a year ago, you were also out in the middle of the woods at night, repeatedly stabbing at the dirt with a shovel. It had just rained then, and the ground had been wet—soft. You’d been less calm then, but also somehow less terrified than you were, now. A year ago, it had been four of you digging a hole.
Tonight, it was three.
Sticking together was the plan. Even if you didn’t collectively agree on it, there was the thought in all of your minds that someone was after you. Even JJ, who was in denial, didn’t turn down Sarah’s offer to sleep over at her place. Any other time where Rose and Ward would’ve vehemently opposed several Pogues taking up residence in their house, they were now a lot more welcoming.
Any doubt that you were being hunted like animals was nowhere to be found the night you discovered Cleo’s body.
The four of you were sleeping in Sarah’s room—JJ in the guest room right next door—when you heard the faintest thump. It seemed like forever ago, but in the night, it was oddly reminiscent of the day of Rose’s fall festivity or whatever—before John B. died. You recalled the noise you’d heard that day, your open window, and where you had written both of those things off, you now looked back in fear.
You’d sat up, rubbing your eyes and looking around. Noticing Cleo’s absence, you told yourself that she was getting something to drink or going to the bathroom. However, your effort to lay back down was halted when you heard it again—a faint thump from downstairs that made your hair stand on end for some reason. Glancing at your remaining best friends, you pushed yourself to your feet.
“Cleo?”
Your kept your voice low as you stood at the top of the stairs, not wanting to unnecessarily wake the whole house. Only silence met you, and you frowned. The stillness of the house felt heavy, suffocating, and it unnerved you. It was just moments ago that it wasn’t so silent, and you walked back to Sarah’s room.
Glancing inside, there was still no sign of Cleo, and facing the fact that she wasn’t in the bathroom, you made your way downstairs.
The whole house was dark, and telling yourself that a light would be on if she was in the kitchen, you flipped the switch. An empty kitchen met you, as you expected, and your frown deepened. Walking back to the staircase, you looked up, a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach as you climbed them. There were only so many places that she could be, and wondering if you’d missed her somehow, you checked all of the bathrooms. She wasn’t back in Sarah’s room either.
As you stood in the hallway, the complete darkness made you freeze.
It didn’t register, at first, and you stood there wracking your brain. Goosebumps completely covered your skin, now, and as you stared ahead, something in the back of your mind was screaming at you—sending off alarm bells. Something about this picture wasn’t right, and once it clicked, your heart sank to your gut.
There was no light coming from downstairs.
The kitchen light was now off.
Stumbling into Sarah’s room, you shook her and Kie awake.
“What, what?” the tan girl mumbled, Sarah’s huff coming from behind you.
“Something’s wrong,” you said, words tumbling over each other. “I can’t find Cleo.”
Both of them were wide awake, now, and Kie was frowning at you when Sarah turned her light on.
“What…?” she asked, disbelieving.
You tried to keep calm.
“I heard something, and I saw Cleo was gone, but she’s not in the bathroom, and she’s not downstairs,” you rushed out.
Sarah was still for half a second before she ran out of the room. While Kie went with her, you took it upon yourself to wake JJ, and once past his confusion, he was right on your heels as you made your way downstairs too. Kie was looking out the windows while Sarah searched each room.
“This doesn’t make any sense,” JJ said. “Don’t you guys have some alarm code or something? It’s not like she could’ve left without waking the whole house.”
JJ was right.
“So, what? You’re saying she’s still in the house? Hiding and playing some sick joke?” Sarah wondered, visibly stressed and scared. “That’s insane.”
You wondered if you should speak up about the kitchen light, about how someone had blatantly turned it off when you went upstairs. That car conversation with Sarah was on your mind, and your vision swam for a bit as you fought to keep upright. It might not be Cleo, but someone was definitely playing some sick joke.
“I’m going to wake my dad,” Sarah breathed. “This…this isn’t right.”
As she made to go upstairs, you slowly made your way to the back door. You stared out of the windows, scanning the yard for anything that might make sense of all this. The yard was empty, and you could hear JJ and Kie behind you as they talked and tried to make sense of what was going on. Too busy scanning the trees and what you could see of the neighbors, your gaze was focused much too high.
When you saw her, you wanted to be sick.
“Oh my God,” you choked out. “Oh my God, oh my God!”
You were scrambling to unlock the door before JJ or Kie could question you, and the house alarm was loud as you threw the door open. The grass was dewy and slippery, and you quite literally fell a few times before you reached her. You collapsed right next to her, and Kie’s scream was even louder than yours once she fully registered what she was seeing.
Your arms shook as you held Cleo’s broken body, and if it wasn’t for the fact that you were too busy trying not to choke on your own sobs, you might’ve been screaming too. You could feel JJ’s hands on your shoulders as he tried to get you to let her go, but you felt possessed.
You couldn’t not hold her.
By now the rest of the household was outside too, and you could hear Rose on the phone, frantic and horrified. Mr. Cameron’s voice was in your ear as he too tried to get you to let her go. You couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t like you were hurting her any more—she was dead. Any hope for otherwise died the moment your wide eyes met her equally wide ones, dark gaze focused on the sky above. You felt like the least you could do was hold her—some kind of apology for not finding her sooner.
You were only convinced when the police showed up, Shoupe practically begging you to.
“We have to take her, now,” he said to you, his eyes meeting yours. “We have to do right by her and try and figure out what happened. You want that, don’t you?”
You remembered just staring at him, lips parted and chest heavy, before finally letting her go. JJ was quick to pull you beside him, his own hands trembling as he held you close. You knew that it was partly for you and partly for him. You completely leaned on him, feeling like you were moments away from fainting.
Especially so when you glanced up…your eyes landing on the open window of the second-floor bathroom.
You weren’t surprised the next day when you were face to face with Shoupe again and he said:
“She broke her neck.”
That wasn’t news to you. You found her…you held her, after all. You saw what she looked like, so his words were expected. His next, however, were not.
“Now, that could’ve happened when she fell…or it could’ve happened before.”
Your gaze lifted then, watching the older man heave a sigh and lean in closer across the table. His gaze was completely serious, lips pressed together and jaw clenched. He clasped his hands together as he regarded you.
“Now…I asked you this before when we pulled Pope out of that water…”
You swallowed.
“…and you gave me your answer then, and I believed you, but now I’m asking again.”
Tears kissed your eyes.
“…and depending on how you answer, I may not believe you this time.”
Dark blond hair and blue eyes filled your vision, a smooth and almost raspy baritone bouncing around between your ears. For just a moment, you weren’t in that room face to face with Shoupe. You were one year younger and rolling a lithe frame up in a bloody carpet. You and three other girls were carrying it to a familiar truck, determined to bury it where no one would ever find it. Even before Shoupe asked his question, that was all you could see.
…and yet, when he asked if you knew of anyone who’d want to hurt you and your friends, you still told him no.
That was two weeks ago, and now you were back in the woods…in a familiar spot…hoping to dig up a familiar face.
“This is insane, you know that, right?” Sarah spat, huffing as she stabbed at the dirt again.
“Look around!” Kie yelled, her voice bouncing off of the trees. “Three of our friends are dead! They’re dead, and you know what? When the cops asked if I knew of anyone who’d want to hurt them, I almost told them Rafe.”
You and Sarah paused at that, staring at her.
“Can you believe that? That sounds crazy, right because Rafe is dead, and..” she threw her arm up. “I would know!”
She was breathing hard, fighting to keep it together.
“…but Cleo was pushed. We all know that she didn’t fall. She was pushed, shoved, thrown, however you want to call it! Her neck was broken…and you all can say that it happened when she hit the ground, but I just don’t believe that.”
“Unless you’re saying one of us did it…” Sarah shrugged. “Someone would have to know the alarm code to not only turn it off, open the window, and toss her out…but also turn it back on as soon as they did it.”
“Sound like anyone we know?” Kie sarcastically wondered, pointedly looking at the ground beneath them.
There was a brief pause between you three as the horrifying possibility set in. Sarah was right. The requirements to pull something like that off fell to any of you, and you knew for a fact that none of you would ever, and so that was where Kie’s suspicions came in. Determined to face the truth one way or another, you continued to dig.
It felt so silly, attempting to dig up a man you’d most assuredly killed. You still had nightmares some nights about the feel of Rafe wrapping both hands around your neck, squeezing so tight that you were sure your neck would snap at any moment. Even when Sarah and Cleo had walked in, shocked and horrified at the sight before them, he hadn’t stopped.
He’d only been focused on killing you.
As you dug, you could remember their screams and the sound of them hitting him and trying to get him off. Nothing had worked, even when Kie came in, attempting to jump on his back. You didn’t know if it was the coke or alcohol that night that made him so determined to kill you regardless of witnesses. Either way, for your sake, you needed Rafe to be in this grave.
You could handle a lot of things, but you couldn’t handle Rafe still being out there.
“I don’t think we have the right spot,” Kie finally said after some time.
You yourself had briefly thought the same, but you remembered that night like the back of your hand. This was the right spot, and the longer you kept being greeted with dirt and more dirt, you could feel an internal panic setting in. Sarah stopped digging after Kie, but you kept going. You had to…because he had to be here.
“Y/N…”
“He’s here,” you breathed. “He has to be.”
Right now, there was only the sound of you frantically digging, and you hadn’t even realized you’d started crying until a sob bubbled up in your chest. You could hear Sarah calling your name again, but you paid her no mind, tossing the shovel aside and falling to your knees. You clawed at the dirt, looking for any sign of bone or clothing or even the damn rug!
“Y/N-,”
“No,” you screamed, throat hurting. “He has to be here, he has to be here.”
You felt like you were going to throw up, nails chipping and breaking as they only came in contact with dirt and sticks and rocks. Hitting your fist against the ground, you screamed again, this one dying into a fit of sobs. You felt Kie’s hands on your shoulders, and you struggled to breathe.
“This can’t be happening,” you heard Sarah breathe.
You pressed your face into your dirty hands, inconsolable as you were forced to face the truth.
“This doesn’t mean he’s alive,” Kie whispered. “Someone…someone else could know. I don’t know how, but it could be anyone else doing this, somebody who dug him up and is messing with us.”
“Or it could be Rafe!”
Your vision was blurry as you looked at her.
“It could be Rafe who wasn’t actually dead when we buried him. It could be Rafe killing my friends and torturing me and coming back to finish what he started!”
You pressed your forehead against the dirt, hunched over as the most awful wailing noise left you. You felt insane, like nothing in the world made sense, and you could hardly stand when Kie pulled you to your feet. If Rafe was still alive…your life as you knew it was over. You struggled to walk as Sarah put the shovels in the trunk, and when she closed it, she just stood there, hand pressed to the top with the other on her hip.
“So, what do we do? Do we go to the police and tell them that Rafe is doing this?”
“…and when they ask why?” Kie wondered, holding you upright. “What do we say? Y/N didn’t want to be with him anymore, so he ran off and came back a year later to kill her and her friends?”
You completely sank against the car, forehead pressed to the vehicle.
“…or better yet, what happens when we tell them we think Rafe is behind this only for his body to turn up? If everyone isn’t suspicious of us now—and they’re pretty fucking suspicious—they’ll definitely be then.”
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled after some time, continuing when you felt their gazes on you. “I’m so  sorry.”
“What-?”
“This is my fault,” you choked out, forcing yourself to straighten. “I should’ve left him the first time he hurt me. I should’ve…should’ve told someone, I should have called the police.”
“Y/N, this isn’t your fault,” Sarah argued.
“Yes, it is,” you cried, attempting to wipe your face and only succeeding in putting more dirt on it. “You hit him to get him off of me, but… I didn’t have to hit him again. I didn’t have to do that. He was already passing out, and I could’ve just called the cops and-.”
“…and deal with Rafe again when he was inevitably released?” Kie threw out. “Look, Sarah, your family is okay and all, but let’s face it. Rafe would not have stayed in jail long, if at all with Ward backing him up with his money.”
Neither of you argued against that, and your gaze found the ground.
“We need to get back,” Sarah said in a small voice. “It’s way past curfew, and if someone catches us out here, we’ll be even bigger suspects than we already are.”
Sarah was right, and when it became apparent that you needed help moving your feet, she guided you to the passenger side. Kie settled in the backseat, and all of you were quiet, minds no doubt occupied with the possibilities of what tonight meant. Either Rafe wasn’t dead…or someone knew what you did and was getting even on his behalf.
When Sarah turned the car on, the lights shined into the trees before you. You lifted your head, gaze landing in front of the car, and your lips parted. You blinked at the trees, eyes narrowing when Sarah turned on her brights, putting the car in reverse. There’d been a split moment when Sarah’s lights came on—and your gaze wasn’t lifted all the way—that you thought you saw something next to one of the trees.
It looked like a person, standing and watching, but they were gone so quickly that you knew you had to have imagined it. The discovery of Rafe’s empty grave was getting to you, and you wrapped your arms around yourself. It seemed farfetched that Rafe hadn’t actually been dead that night. Murder weapons and such aside, you’d buried him, and how likely was it that he’d woken up to claw his way out instead of simply suffocating and bleeding to death?
It made more sense that this was someone else’s doing, but even still…
Despite burying him yourself, you never felt like Rafe was truly gone.
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With three of your friends dead, the remaining four of you were not only being watched like hawks, but also refused to barely leave each other’s sides. Despite the fact that the police still couldn’t determine if Cleo’s death was murder or an accident, the popular opinion seemed to be the former. Walking through Outer Banks as everyone’s main suspect made a place that used to feel like home unbearable.
Deep down though, some part of you felt you deserved it.
Yes, Rafe was abusive and horrible, but it wasn’t up to you to play God. It wasn’t your place to determine whether or not he deserved to live, deserved to see his family again or redeem himself or go on to be even worse. That wasn’t your call, and despite how much relief you felt when you buried Rafe that night, something in you wanted to be punished for what you’d done.
…but not like this.
You never wanted this to come back on your friends and their family. Looking in the faces of their parents and now knowing this was all directly because of you was heartbreaking. Even if it wasn’t Rafe stalking the streets of Outer Banks and picking your friends off one by one, it was clearly someone doing so for him in some weird way. This all came back to Rafe, you just knew it.
…and they were trying to mess with your head in the process.
What else would they get out of moving his remains?
Considering what happened at Sarah’s house, it came as no surprise that the next spot of choice was Kie’s. It wasn’t without difficulty, and you recalled the way both of her parents huffed and puffed as she fought to convince them. You didn’t disagree with their reasoning. After all, you didn’t need to be a genius to know they were wary of you on some level. Too many people around you had died and gone missing.
They just didn’t want the same for Kie…and you wished you’d listened.
“We could leave,” JJ said to you in one of the Carrera’s guest rooms, hand clasped with yours. “I didn’t really want to believe it before but…”
JJ heaved a sigh.
“Someone’s after us for some reason,” he relented. “…and since we have no idea who or even why… Why not just take off?”
He shrugged at you, and guilt ate at you for a whole other reason these days. After Cleo’s death—and the traumatic night in which you discovered Rafe’s grave was empty—you grappled with the thought of telling JJ the truth. He deserved to know why his friends were dead, and why he had a target on his back. You even started to one day.
…but then you thought about him knowing this was all your fault…and blaming you too. You didn’t think you had the stomach or the strength to look him in the face and tell him that your actions that night came back on half of your friends. You didn’t want to face his reaction, and so you swallowed it down.
“I would if I could,” you told him. “…but aside from just how fucking guilty that would make me and us look…my parents are here. Even if they weren’t and we left, I don’t think that would make this stop. Sarah’s here, Kie is here, and whoever is doing this clearly wants all of our heads. They’re not going to give up just because some of us leave.”
You couldn’t stomach the thought of just taking off and leaving Kie and Sarah to fend for themselves. JJ nodded at that, understanding, and you closed your eyes when he reached for your face. You placed your own hand over his, and something clenched deep in your chest. It was so unfair that the moment you and JJ finally decided to stop being cowards, someone put a bounty on your heads.
Even if you made it out of this alive, how could you ever look back on the beginning of your relationship with anything other than grief and trauma? The two of you got together because of John B.’s death and any attempt to try and heal and make something good of this was ruined by the subsequent deaths of Pope and Cleo.
“Do you think this has something to do with Rafe?”
JJ’s question gave you pause, and you pulled back, staring at him with a frown. His expression was entirely serious, telling you that you had not in fact imagined his words. When you blinked at him, you watched him run his hand through his blond locks, the fair hair still damp from his shower.
“I know you killed him,” he confessed.
Your lips parted in shock, and you fought to make sense of what was happening. Disbelieving, you pushed yourself to your feet, looking down at your boyfriend. His gaze was soft, and you watched him exhale, slowly reaching for you.
“Wha…? What do you mean you know? What are-?”
“I overheard you guys talking about it…what…? Maybe three months after it happened?”
You looked away, slowly shaking your head. When you looked at him, there was no malice or disgust in his gaze, and you felt confused.
“I never said anything because I figured you wouldn’t like anyone else knowing,” he whispered.
JJ didn’t look bothered at all, and for some reason that threw you for a loop. Once his hand was back in yours, he tugged you until you sat down with him again. He took your moment of shock to lean in and kiss you—slow and gentle, and his thumb brushed your skin as he pulled away.
“I know what you’re thinking…”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone,” you wondered, more of a statement, voicing your thoughts and confirming his assumption.
“…because Rafe was horrible to you, and not in that generic asshole boyfriend way, but…really horrible,” he told you. “The way he talked to you and treated you in public was disguising to witness, so it wasn’t hard to guess how much worse he was behind closed doors.”
You felt yourself deflating, hating that JJ had to come to grips with that terrifying truth.
“You don’t know how bad I hated him for treating you like that, how much I wanted to beg you to leave him, but you wouldn’t,” he spat, anger in his voice as he thought about the past. “You wouldn’t even come to any of us, and I just thought it wasn’t my place.”
You hadn’t realized how much of your tumultuous relationship with Rafe had been bleeding into other parts of your life almost since the beginning.
“I started to lose my mind over it, you know…just wondering if I was bad for not telling or bad for thinking about telling, but…”
He let out a humorless chuckle, pulling his lip between his teeth.
“Plenty of times I thought about killing Rafe myself, so why would I hate you for having the balls to do what I could only fantasize about?”
You held JJ’s gaze, feeling shocked but also oh so light. You felt relieved that JJ knew, and you’d no longer have to carry around this guilt, but at the same time… You hated that JJ had been carrying this around for months—almost a year. Unlike you and the girls, JJ didn’t have anyone to talk to about this, forced to carry the burden of your secret alone…and you hated that. You hated yourself for that.
Your eyes burned with tears, and you just pressed your lips to his when a blood-curdling scream made you wince.
You and JJ looked at each other for half a second before he hurried out of the room with you right behind him. The screams didn’t stop, echoing throughout the house and mixing in with harsh sobs. There was a knot twisting in your gut, a feeling of dread washing over you like a cold shower. You and JJ took the stairs almost two at a time, and when you both made it to the living room, you paused in your tracks.
Kie had her hands over her mouth, but it was useless—she couldn’t stop screaming and crying. Sarah stood by the couch, frozen in shock, and you didn’t miss what her wide and stricken eyes were focused on. Mr. and Mrs. Carrera were sitting on the couch, facing the blasting TV as they had been for God knows how long. However, something about their posture was off, and when you slowly brushed by JJ to join Sarah…you realized why.
Blood covered the entire front of them both, eyes open and unseeing, mouths open in mid-scream.
Their throats were slit.
Before the horror of what this meant could even settle in, the power in the house went out, bathing you in darkness. The lights from the neighbors and the street were not enough, and you heard Sarah telling Kie to get up. JJ’s hand was on your arm as he pulled you along too, all four of you heading for the door.
Sarah only just opened it when you heard her let out a choked gasp.
She was still, and you worriedly eyed her.
“Sarah?” JJ called her name. “Sarah, what’s…?”
He trailed off, his words dying in the air as Sarah stumbled back. She fell against Kie, and the other girl fought to catch her as the blonde reached up towards her chest. With what little light you had, your eyes focused on what she was gesturing to. Your entire vision swayed once you saw the knife protruding from it.
“Oh my God,” you breathed, and JJ yanked you back away from the door.
You in turn yanked Kie who was forced to let Sarah go. The sound of her body dropping made you wince. Unable to stay with her, the three of you now headed towards the back door. Behind you, you could hear the front door slamming shut, and the sound of it had bile rising in your throat.
The house was still dark, and besides your own heavy breathing, you heard the sound of footsteps coming from the living room. You were the first to make it to the door, hand on the knob when you heard the last thing you ever expected for some reason. The glass in front of you shattered, but your ears were ringing from the gunshot more than anything.
“Fuck,” you heard JJ curse, and you felt him wrap his arms around you, pulling you to the side.
You didn’t realize why until you looked back.
Kie was in a heap at the foot of the door, her blood decorating the remaining glass in the window and the floor too. She was completely still, and the knowledge that two more of your friends were dead within just minutes of each other had you ready to faint. Despite that, with JJ’s help, you were able to keep your feet moving.
He pulled you into the hallway that connected to the kitchen, and on the other side of the wall, you could hear the slow and heavy footsteps. When the crunch of glass was heard, JJ pulled you further along towards the kitchen—towards the front of the house. You were shaking as you slid along the wall, and when the footsteps stopped, so did JJ.
You both were completely still as you waited and listened. Both of your phones were upstairs in the guest room, but you recalled Sarah reaching for hers when she opened the door. It had to still be near her, provided that whoever was in the house hadn’t taken it. JJ seemed to have the same idea as you, because he slowly moved through the kitchen and towards the front door.
A gunshot stopped his efforts.
“Go, go,” JJ hissed, pushing you away from him so harshly that you stumbled and fell back.
You were half in the kitchen half in the hallway when a figure approached the blond who was now also on the floor, clutching his side. You frantically crawled back, vision blurring from your tears just as they stood over him. Your back was pressed to the wall, staring at the one before you with quiet sobs when you heard it.
JJ’s gasps were loud and pained as he was attacked. One, two…seventeen, you counted. You thought to yourself how angry and evil someone has to be to stab someone else seventeen times. You kept your hand pressed to your mouth the entire time, fighting the urge to be sick. When you could no longer hear JJ, you squeezed your eyes shut.
A defeated feeling washed over you, and it was the feeling of being utterly alone.
You could hear those terrifying footsteps again, and when it sounded like they were coming near you from the other side, you sprinted for the door.
Refusing to look at the bodies of your friends, you fought to run across the street. The neighbor’s lights were on, and your legs burned as you pushed yourself as fast as you could. You refused to look back—too scared to—and you practically collapsed at their door as you banged on it. Some of Kie’s blood was on you, and it marred the door as you repeatedly hit it like a woman possessed.
“Open the door, please, please,” you screamed, looking over your shoulder.
You couldn’t see anyone, but you weren’t fooled. Adrenaline was the only thing keeping you from completely collapsing on this stranger’s porch. You were beating their door so hard that your fists were beginning to ache, and your throat scratched from your screams—strained and raw. When the door finally swung open, you quite literally fell inside.
“What in the world-? Oh my goodness,” a small voice said from over you.
Small and brittle hands helped you to your feet, and you felt bad at almost knocking her over in your efforts to make sure no one was behind you. You slammed the door shut and locked it, chest heaving and feeling much too tight. You were sure that you were almost on the verge of a heart attack. You had to be.
“Sweetheart,” the old lady called. “Call the police!”
She took your hands, guiding you to the kitchen where she grabbed a rag.
“He killed them,” you sobbed, struggling to breathe. “My friends are dead.”
The words didn’t even sound real to you, like some nightmare you’d conjured up, but they were real. Your friends had been picked off one by one for weeks before the rest were finally taken from you in one night. You were alone, and that fact made you cry harder.
“The phone’s not working,” you heard another aged voice say.
You froze at that, looking up just as the woman wobbled to the kitchen entrance.
“What?” you breathed.
“What do you mean it’s not working?” she tutted, and you were quick to follow behind her.
She met up with a man who you assumed was her husband in the hallway, and he did a double take at the sight of you.
“Good lord,” he breathed. “What happened?”
“Never mind that,” she dismissed him, making her way past him. “My granddaughter bought me one of those smart phones, but I hardly ever use the thing. We’ll find that and then we’ll call the police, sweetheart.”
You didn’t want to let her out of your sight, terrified of being alone, but the elderly man reminded you of his presence. He guided you back into the kitchen with a strained but kind smile. You could tell that your presence worried him. You were in his house in the middle of the night covered in blood, after all.
“Thank you,” you managed to mumble when he handed you the damp rag.
The feel of Kie’s blood on you was both comforting and horrifying. Your friend wasn’t with you, but this small part of her was, but at the same time, it only reminded you of her gruesome and tragic death. The woman came back through the hallway, joining her husband in the living room, and you heard her mumbling something about hoping the cops would come quick when there was a knock on the door.
The sound of it made your stomach drop, and you stood in the kitchen, rag tight in your hand. What were the chances they’d be getting some friendly visit at this time of night? Right after all your friends were brutally murdered, and you were forced to seek refuge at this very house?
You’d only taken one step forward when you heard the door open, followed by a startled gasp. It happened quick, too quick for you to even process, and it wasn’t long before you could hear the woman’s husband yelping too, a loud thud reaching your ears. Before today, you didn’t know what it sounded like to stab someone or cut their throat. You stumbled back, eyes wide and heart so loud in your ears that it was all you could hear for a moment.
You felt so cold, and you had the shivers to prove it, and slowly but surely…you reached for the knife in the sink.
The house was so quiet, and you didn’t hear a single breath or footstep. Taking a hesitant step forward, you held the knife out in front of you, briefly squeezing your eyes shut. Stepping into the living room, you weren’t surprised to see the bodies of the poor couple who’d just tried to help you. Blood stretched from beneath them like a stream. You pressed your free hand to your mouth, swallowing down a sob.
You were surprised, however, to see an empty living room.
Your brain was completely empty, feeling like you were short-circuiting. You were being toyed with, that much was obvious, and your lips trembled as you slowly spun, fighting to see any sign of your tormentor. Slowly kneeling, you looked for the woman’s cellphone, and you had to swallow down a curse when you realized it was gone.
You stood in the living room, feeling like you were losing your mind with no idea of what to do next. You could run back across the street to Kie’s where you knew a phone was…or you could try another neighbor. A last resort of an option flitted through your mind, anger briefly filling you as you considered simply killing the person who did this.
The front porch creaked, and your gaze zeroed in on the door.
Backing up, you moved further into the house and further away from the door. You glanced over your shoulder, arm grazing the wall as you hid in the hallway. You could hear the door opening just as you disappeared around the corner, and as you slowly and quietly moved about the back of the house, you wanted to cry with the realization that they had no back door.
The house was so modest and quaint that you hadn’t even considered that possibility.
Tears of frustration and fear skipped down your face just as the upbeat tune of a whistle reached your ears. You didn’t know why, but something about it made you so angry. You were being played with, like a damn mouse in the grasp of some cat. How this person could snuff out life like it was nothing and be so giddy about it, you didn’t know. It disgusted you.
…and so the knife was tight in your hand as you stomped back towards the living room.
There was no doubt in your mind that you were going to die tonight, and you’d rather it be fighting and on your terms. The lifeless faces of your friends were all that plagued your thoughts, one after the other being taken from you so easily. As if they were nothing. You thought you were prepared for the person you’d grown to hate most in the world.
…but you weren’t prepared for the sight of Barry sprawled along the couch without a care in the world.
You actually came up short, stopping in your tracks in both shock and disbelief. You felt your lips part, and your hold on the knife wasn’t so firm, now, almost dropping it. A myriad of emotions hit you at once, none of them good, but the loudest and most prominent was…confusion.
You barely knew Barry, really only in passing. The only time you ever saw him was when you happened to be in Rafe’s truck when he needed to make some exchange, the dark-haired man always giving you a mockingly prissy wave. You never talked to him outside of pleasantries, and quite frankly you hated being around him. Somehow, he always managed to bring out the worst in Rafe, egging on any of Rafe’s disgusting behaviors.
He never called you by your name, it was always—
“Mrs. Country Club,” he drawled, that familiar cheeky half grin on his lips.
The gold in his mouth winked at you as you just stood there, and your stomach turned.
“Barry?” you breathed, and he simply raised his hands as if to say ‘the one and only’. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
He raised his brows at that, pursing his lips together to fight off a smirk. You looked around, trying to make sense of this before taking a shaky breath.
“Why?” you spat, gaze meeting his unreadable one. “I don’t understand…”
Your words died in your throat, getting choked up.
“Why?”
He played with his hair, a look of confusion on his face.
“Why what…?”
“You’re not funny,” you sneered. “You’re not. Why? Why? Why?”
You screamed the last one, face wet with tears, and all the while he simply…smirked at you.
“How about this… I’ll answer yours if you answer mine,” he proposed, gesturing between you. “Did you feel bad when you dumped your boyfriend in the woods?”
His question made so much click, and you sighed, eyes briefly closing.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
Somehow, someway, Topper and Kelce were like brothers to Rafe despite their differences, but Barry? You always hated how your ex-boyfriend managed to find a camaraderie in the dangerous drug dealer, both of them cut from the same psycho cloth. Only Barry could never go to the lengths Rafe did. At least, that was what you always thought…
The laugh that left you seemed to surprise both of you, and he blinked, brows raising again as he just…looked at you.
“That’s what this is about?” you breathed, voice shaking from anger and grief and disgust. “Revenge because I killed your bestie?”
Your tone was mocking, and all the while, Barry just stared at you.
“I guess psycho little rich boys must be hard to come by,” you spat. “Forgive me. Had I known you were going to take it so hard, I would’ve tried to make it look like some tragic accident instead.”
Again, he said nothing at all, and you recalled he’d asked you a question.
“…but to answer your question, no. I didn’t.”
The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly at that, smirk growing.
“Rafe treated me like his property, like he could do whatever he wanted to me…and best believe…he took full advantage,” you forced out. “That night it was him or me…and I chose me.”
The other man jutted his lip out a bit, nodding in a way that suggested he was almost impressed. You looked at the bodies of the poor couple who’d gotten caught up in your shit, and you wiped your face, more tears spilling over. You adjusted the knife in your hand, staring him down.
“So, are you going to try and kill me or what?”
He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow at you.
“That’s what this whole thing has been about, right?” you threw your arms up. “Tormenting me, driving me crazy, taking my friends from me and saving me for last so I knew what was coming, right?”
His silence actually angered you, now, and you roughly exhaled through your nose.
“What are you waiting for?” you brokenly questioned, startled by the sound of his chuckle.
It was genuine.
“I am offended,” he laughed, hands grazing his chest as he sat up straight. “Do I seem like a bloodthirsty murderer to you? Come on, now, Mrs. Country Club. You know that’s not my style.”
His words confused you.
“Truthfully,” he said, resting his elbows on his knees, a half-smile on his lips. “I’m just here for the show.”
You were so startled by the tight grip on your wrist that you dropped the knife, your lifeline clattering to the floor with a loud clang. Another knife—a bigger one—was at your throat, and you sharply inhaled at the feel of cool metal to your skin. In your attempt to get away from the blade, you pressed yourself further into the chest at your back. His hand on your wrist briefly tightened, so bad that you cried out in pain, but the tears that poured over had nothing to do with that.
You heard his deep breaths, and it wasn’t because his lips were at your ear, but because you’d stopped breathing. You couldn’t feel your heart, an icy emptiness in your chest where it was supposed to be, and the noise that finally left your lips was a cross between a gasp and a cry. The knife at your throat pressed harder into your skin, feeling a slight sting there, but it was nothing in comparison to the feel of his face pressing into the area where your neck and shoulder met.
He deeply inhaled, and a shudder passed through you.
“Word of advice…”
You closed your eyes at the sound of his voice, hoping for anything other than what you accepted as the truth.
“…if you’re going to bury someone,” his lips were at your ear again, and his tone was chilling. “Make sure they’re actually dead.”
A sob finally escaped, and your tearful eyes rested on the ceiling.
“Unlike you, I don’t make that mistake.”
Revulsion filled you, and you were certain that now you really were going to be sick.
“When I set out to kill someone, I get the job done,” he purred, a kiss to your neck. “…but you know that better than anyone, baby.”
You couldn’t even describe the feeling of being in Rafe’s arms again. There was too much going on within you to pinpoint one feeling, but above all else, you knew that you felt fear. Not once had you ever been able to actually heal from Rafe’s abuse. He was the thing you feared most in the world…and then you killed him.
That wasn’t healing.
That was just getting rid of the problem, but the fear and inferiority complex and damage still remained. You were happier with him gone, and you’d mistakenly took that for healing, but now that he was back… Now that Rafe was alive and well and a thousand times worse than you knew him to be, all of that came back, and you couldn’t stop crying.
“What? Nothing to say for yourself?”
It was so hard to breathe, and you couldn’t answer Rafe’s question even if you wanted to.
“Nothing to say about how you hit me upside the head and buried me in the woods like a fucking dog?”
He shook you as he said this, and you cried out. Evidently, that made him angrier, and you soon found yourself thrown to the floor. Your legs landed in blood, and your attempt to crawl away was halted by Rafe’s hand in your hair. He yanked you back until you were on your knees, and when you reached up, his other hand had the knife at your throat.
“Oh, wait, that’s right. What was it you said? It came down to you…or me…?” he chuckled, purposefully nicking your neck. “…and you chose you…right?”
He shoved you again, and you struggled to get to the wall, leaning against it and finally facing him.
It actually hurt you to see that he was just as beautiful as the day you buried him. Of course, he was sober, now, but what did that count for when he also had half a dozen literal bodies under his belt now? Blood stained his shirt, so much of it, and you wondered how much of it belonged to your friends. Your lips trembled as he pushed his hair out of his face, his other hand still holding the bloody knife.
“Sorry about your boyfriend,” he suddenly said although he didn’t sound sorry, at all.
Your face crumbled, and he chuckled.
“It wasn’t my intention for him to go like that, but…” he wiped blood off of his forehead. “I couldn’t quite get the image of him on top of you out of my head.”
Your eyes widened at his words, staring at him in shock as you recalled the day you told yourself you were imagining things.
“Truthfully, Sarah was supposed to be last,” he casually said, and you pressed your hand to your mouth. “My own fucking sister.”
He scoffed, and something passed through his gaze that told you he was genuinely hurt about Sarah’s so-called betrayal. His blue eyes rested on you, and you were suddenly thinking about the last time you stared into them…when he had his hands around your throat, choking the life out of you. Rafe seemed to be thinking about that night too, and you watched his gaze briefly fall to the floor, sniffing.
“I gotta admit,” he murmured. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
He looked into your eyes again, and you realized that you hadn’t stopped crying once since he revealed himself to you. Your gaze briefly landed on Barry who was still on the couch, watching the whole ordeal like this was some tv show instead of real fucking life.
“Rafe…” you choked out.
“…but I can promise you,” the blond sneered, pointing the knife at you. “I won’t be making that mistake again.”
You closed your eyes, fresh tears falling, and you struggled to swallow.
“Just get it over with already,” you breathed, so tired and…defeated. “Just kill me.”
When you opened your eyes, Rafe looked genuinely amused at the words that left your mouth. You weren’t surprised when he chuckled, and he glanced over his shoulder at Barry, still laughing.
“Oh, you’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
Your confusion must have been evident because he laughed again. Rafe stepped towards you until your eyes were level with his crotch, and you hated the way he looked down at you, like you were this helpless and hapless thing that he was just going to have so much fun with. When he slowly knelt before you, you flinched as he lifted his hand, the end of the knife lightly grazing your cheek before it trailed down your neck. Rafe’s blue gaze followed the descent, tongue darting out between his lips.
“Why would I do a silly thing like that?”
His almost inaudible words were loud and clear to you though, and you felt like you’d been shot.
“I won’t lie,” he said, staring at your collarbone. “I thought about. It was the first thing on my mind when Barry pulled me out of that grave you put me in.”
You swallowed when his gaze snapped to yours.
“I wanted to gut you like those fish my dad are always reeling in,” he spat. “I wanted to cut you open.”
You shook your head, letting it fall as you cried.
“…but this seemed soo much better,” he breathed, voice shaky, and you knew it wasn’t from fear nor anger.
Rafe was excited.
“…because you know what’s so much better than murdering all of your friends and forcing you to live with the fact that their deaths are on your hands? Hmm?”
He reached up, lightly grazing your lips with his fingers.
“Do you know what’s better than that?”
His hand tightened around your chin, and knowing him like the back of your hand, you knew he actually wanted an answer.
“No,” you muttered.
Rafe leaned in, brushing his lips against your cheek in a gentle kiss as he whispered his response.
“Having you all to myself.”
You didn’t have time to resist before Rafe was yanking you up by your hair, quite literally dragging you through this stranger’s house. Your feet tripped over one another, and several times you almost fell. Rafe finally wrapped an arm around your neck, keeping you in a chokehold as he forced you down the hall. The moment you tried to scream, his hand was there, forcing it down, and when he tossed you into the bedroom, your forehead hit the leg of the bed.
You heard him whistle.
“The old geezers have taste,” he praised. “…bet this is where that granddaughter of theirs sleeps when she comes to visit.”
You were a sobbing mess, just barely pushing yourself to your knees when Rafe tackled you onto your back. Not unfamiliar with this predicament, you fought against him, hitting him and scratching at his face. Any resistance was met with a genuine laugh, and when Rafe had both of your wrists pinned down beside your head, he tilted his own at you.
“You already killed me, baby,” he breathed. “What more could you do to me?”
The scream you let out was filled with equal pain and frustration, kicking out when he sank his teeth into your chest. It was done with the full intent to hurt, and he succeeded, pain blooming beneath your skin as he tore at your shirt.
Becoming reacquainted with his knife, you tried to scoot back as he sliced through your pants with it, pulling the jeans off of you in tatters. Fearful of the weapon in his hand, you tried to push at his arm, but when his free hand wrapped around your throat, effectively pinning you down, the knife found its way to your stomach.
You breath hitched as you froze.
“I’d be careful if I were you,” Rafe hummed. “I might just…slip.”
You yelped at the sharp feeling along your stomach, and the burn you felt told you there was a cut there. He didn’t let go of the knife as he undressed himself with his other hand, and when he reached for your bra, the blade was pressed to your throat the entire time. You couldn’t stop shaking even if you wanted to, and Rafe made a show of taking his time as he settled between your legs.
“I hope you know how much planning went into this…”
You squeezed your eyes shut.
“…and I hope you know that this was all that kept me going.”
When he pushed into you, you gasped in both pain and shock. You hadn’t been with Rafe—with anyone—in a year, and you struggled to adjust. Fresh tears escaped, and when Rafe’s bloody hand gripped your jaw, he turned your head to meet him in a kiss. It was gentle, nothing at all like the rough thrusts he started to give you.
Your back rubbed against the floor as he fucked you, and your crying was drowned out by the sound of his deep moans. Rafe sounded like he was in heaven while you felt like you were in hell. The feel of his cock pushing into you made your mind shrivel with disgust, but your body responded exactly how he wanted.
“I missed you,” he moaned, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “Fuck, I missed you so much.”
You sobbed louder, hating the way his thrusts became smoother, now. Your body greedily sucked him in with every push of his hips, and as his hands ran over you, all you could think about were these same hands killing your friends. These same hands that had done so much damage to your life even before that fateful night last year.
With a tug on the hair at the nape of your neck, Rafe forced your head back, and he took his time grazing his teeth along your skin. You could still feel the cool blade of the knife on your skin whenever he moved his other hand. His hips snapped against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room, and it seemed like every nightmare you’d had about Rafe had come true…only multiplied by one hundred.
He pressed a hand into your stomach, holding himself up that way while the other hand pressed the knife to your throat. A fresh bout of sobs escaped, and you swore that Rafe actually smiled. You were proven right when he laughed, a deep and raspy chuckle that made your hair stand on end.
“Sucks, doesn’t it?” he breathed. “…being so weak and at the mercy of someone else?”
It was sick how Rafe didn’t seem to realize that you knew this feeling long before today. Countless days filled with fear and yelling and manhandling plagued your mind, and the knowledge that Rafe had no intention of ending your suffering was enough to make you go numb.
As if sensing that, Rafe pressed the blade into your throat.
Your gasped turned into cries as you reached up.
“Uh uh,” he panted. “None of that. You are going to lie here…and you’re going to think about what you did to me.”
You gripped his wrist, eyes pleading. Rafe leaned in, nose pressed to yours with a knife pressed to your throat and a hand pressed to your stomach.
“You’re going to lie here, and take my cock, and thank God that I decided to spare your life.”
A particular hard thrust made you gasp.
“Every day, for as long as you live, I want you to think about your friends and remember that they are dead because of you…”
You closed your eyes, and Rafe dug the knife into your throat.
“Open your fucking eyes,” he breathed, continuing when you obeyed. “They are dead because you failed to kill me, and every time I come inside of you, you should take it with nothing less than gratitude.”
He kissed you then, roughly and lacking of any kind of love. It was purely done for show, to exert his power over you and remind you that you belonged to him. You tried to turn your head, and in doing so, you caught sight of Barry leaning against the doorway, arms crossed over his chest as he watched. The sight made you turn your head away, sobbing beneath Rafe.
“…because never forget that I wanted to cut you open,” he whispered in your ear, grinding his hips against yours and forcing a choked moan from your lips. “…but where is the fun in killing you when this is so much better.”
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sailoryooons · 7 months
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Angel | myg (m)
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☾ Pairing: Mafia!Yoongi x Sex worker! F. reader
☾ Summary: Yoongi never meant to keep coming back. You never meant to become Yoongi’s favorite. Being Min Yoongi’s favorite has dire consequences. 
☾ Word Count: 15,551
☾ Genre: Semi-established relationship, mafia, smut, surprising amount of fluff
☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 
☾ Warnings: Sex work and mentions of sex work, Yoongi and the reader are very confident in their relationship but also don’t want to ask for more, uses of the word whore negatively in some parts, vague references to dismemberment in an offhand conversation, intense action sequences, depictions of violence, reader is smacked around and kidnapped, depictions of injuries and pain, two sequences of detailed anxiety attacks, graphic depictions of blood, violent scene in which reader fights for her life and gores someone, depictions of murder/panicking while committing murder? Idk how to describe that one, mentions of nightmares/light reference to PTSD post-murder, explicit language, explicit sexual content including oral (m. and f. receiving) light throat fucking, nipple play, ass play (f. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, Yoongi… almost doing a strip tease but it’s not as goofy as that it’s more sensual?? Yoongi is a little bit possessive at the end. 
☾ Published: September 3, 2023
☾ A/N: You voted for it, you got it! Introducing the fic that came out on top for the Hali’s Happy Agust Bracket Challenge! Thank you to everyone who voted during the entire month of August, I had such an amazing time seeing everyone yelling and voting and sharing and having fun with it. It means the world to me that you guys have fun and enjoy doing these kinds of things! Here is mafia Yoongi in all of his glory - I did try to keep it tame with the murder/violence/criminal side of it because there are things in this genre I’d like to table in later (most likely on Hali’s After Dark) but I hope that you enjoy this! Somehow it really turned into two people who are just !!! eternally confident in one another, despite their strange trades. Shout out to the hurricane and covid for FAILING TO STOP ME FROM WRITING THIS I’M A GOD (not really I am very tired but I did it osifjdoigj). This is mostly edited.
☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.
Masterlist | Ask | Angel Playlist
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Yoongi would rather be anywhere else but the low lit, smoky club. The production team on the dancefloor below uses way too much cryogenic smoke for Yoongi’s taste, fogging the dancing bodies with thick clouds, the lasers reflecting off the smoke in dizzying patterns. From the VIP section, he isn’t choked by the haze, but he is choking on the cloying perfume of the woman in his lap.
She’s pretty enough, one of Kwan’s finest. No doubt trained from a very young age to please her employer’s most prestigious guests. Yoongi doesn’t touch her though, save for letting her sit on his lap, her hand cradling the back of his neck. She leans into his chest, her breath close to his ear as he watches Kwan consider Yoongi’s deal.
Yoongi doesn’t have to make the deal at all. Offering to become a minority owner of the club is a mercy, really. Yoongi could go after the investors who fronted the money when Kwan opened his business in the middle of the entertainment district, and he could wipe out the petty criminals pushing drugs in shadowy alcoves near the bathroom, damaging the cut that Kwan takes from them at the end of each night. 
Yoongi could even go as far as to sow chaos every night, sending in his followers to pick fights with the elite clientele, make it a nightmare for the celebrity clients and cities government officials who use the back rooms for more nefarious matters, exposing the underbelly of La Vie if he felt like it. 
Investments, Hoseok always insists. Investments, not enemies. They already hate that you’re taking a chunk of what they built - especially the seaside property.  Let’s try to play nice and show face. 
Forcing hands is exactly how Yoongi got to this position, sitting in a club and offering Kwan a rather generous deal: Kwan retains eighty percent of ownership, Yoongi becomes a twenty percent owner, the only person allowed to supply the club’s drugs, is paid for security services, and has access to the information funneled through those that work the private client rooms. He could just take it like he always has, and he still has half a mind to do. 
Men like Kwan who think they’re savvy in business and the nuances of the criminal enterprises that run the city make Yoongi’s lip curl. 
“These terms are bullshit, and I don’t have control of the back rooms.” Kwan looks up from the contract, glasses sliding down his nose. He’s a little bit older than Yoongi, and good looking. He has a traditionally handsome face that idols and actors like to get moderated to look like. He looks like new money though, with designer pieces that don’t quite match and a Patek watch that is flashy, but not coveted. “While it is under my jurisdiction, it is a handshake deal with Anya that she runs them the way she wants. They are her clients, not mine.” 
“Then Anya will have a handshake deal with me.” Kwan’s face darkens. Yoongi is tired of this. Is tired of the feeling of the girl’s hand stroking the hair at the base of his neck, is tired of the way she presses up against him, and is tired of Kwan’s dawdling.
“Take the weekend to think about it,” Yoongi insists and stands. The girl falls off him, letting out a surprised sound as she hits the booth. Yoongi adjusts his suit and frowns when he sees there is body glitter on it. He casts a harsh look at the girl who stares up at him with big eyes before turning back to Kwan. “There are no terms for negotiating. Thank you for the drinks and the entertainment. You’ll hear from me.”
Kwan’s face is red like the neon of Yoongi’s favorite motel when he walks out of the booth. Synth and base rattle the metal catwalk that makes up the VIP section, overlooking the dancefloor. Seokjin slides into step with Yoongi as he goes, an imposing shadow as they circumnavigate the walkway. 
It’s loud and raucous when they get to the dance floor. Members of the security team watch Yoongi as he goes, their eyes alert. He pays them little attention, just like the gazes of the people dancing in the ground when they catch sight of him.
Sometimes, Yoongi feels a little bit like a myth in moments like this. Out in public, Yoongi is an astutely dressed man who speaks quietly and says very few words. He wears nice but not gaudy jewelry, and he always styles his long hair slicked back, showing off the faded, red scar over his eye. What Yoongi lacks in height, he makes up for in omnipresent stares and quick reactions.
Everyone in the city knows exactly who Min Yoongi is, and they know that he doesn’t make threats. He simply acts. 
Outside, rain falls from the inky sky. Hoseok leans against the brick wall under the awning, clove-tinged smoke drifting from the cigarette jammed between his lips. When he sees Yoongi, Hoseok pushes off the wall and adjusts his suit jacket. Where Seokjin looks tall, dark and imposing, Hoseok is wiry and sharp, dressed in all white, looking pristine as he raises his eyebrows at Yoongi in question. Yoongi nods towards the idling SUV as an answer. 
They don’t bother with an umbrella. Yoongi ducks his head down as he quickly walks across the pavement and into the car. The interior is moderately cool in the SUV. He takes a seat in the middle, Seokjin sitting alone in the row behind him and Hoseok to his right. 
Outside of the rainy window, the world turns into a smear of wet neon. Checking his watch, Yoongi notes that it’s just past midnight. If he hurries, he can stop by the Red before he goes home for the evening. If he goes home for the evening, at that point. The thought of sinking into sheets that smell like almond and cinnamon ease him. 
“So?” Hoseok flicks through his phone, face lit up blue by the screen. He looks hauntingly beautiful, all edges and sharp lines. “Deal or no deal?”
“Giving him the weekend to think about it.” Hoseok sighs. “He thinks it’s a bad deal for him because it it is, and he’s stuck on the operation Anya runs in the back rooms. He doesn’t want to lose that connection to her. She feeds him information for his extortion of city officials.”
“How else would he have cleared that permit near the docks to build,” Seokjin mutters. Yoongi casts a glance into the back seat where Seokjin sullenly stares out of the window. “Fucker is sticking his nose in a district he has no rights to. At least we had the means to get that operation cancelled.” 
“Yeah, and it’s part of why he doesn’t want to deal with us,” Hoseok says. “Even so, offering the deal is the right move. If he doesn’t take it, crush him like a fucking bug. He’s an intelligent businessman, it’s no surprise that he’s going to try and find a way around you. He might sniff around or try and fuck up some assets.”
“Hobi, you better fucking hope he doesn’t go to that fucker Seo.”
“He doesn’t have the balls. Seo Changbin is unhinged and volatile. He’s more likely to send Kwan to his family in chainsawed pieces.” 
Yoongi grunts, amused. “Bang has kept him under control as of late. Seokjin, have Jungkook look into getting some people in there. I’m not interested in them linking up as permanent partners.” 
A headache presses against Yoongi’s temples. He doesn’t care to debate politics and machinations with Hoseok and Seokjin. He closes his eyes and rests his head against the headrest, letting their discussion fall to a dull sound. 
Yoongi feels like he’s bleeding at the edges, the color of him spilling out of neat lines and all over the pages. His empire is growing faster than he can keep up with, he’s playing politics more than he’s playing the savvy gangster, and the more capital he gains, the more of himself he loses.
When Yoongi had started to climb the ladder of crime and chaos, he didn’t know where it would lead him. An early grave, perhaps. But Yoongi has always been smart and knows how to pick his battles, knows how to innovate. He is not the most inspiring man to lead people in the underbelly of the city, but he does know what he’s talking about and he’s good at guessing what people want most.
People, he’s discovered, all want the same thing, whether they’re at the bottom rung or the top. 
The boy he once was wouldn’t recognize him. The new Yoongi wears designer suits, the carefully curated art collections in the opulent halls of his home, the shaking hands with political figures to help install certain assurances within the city. There are more officials that line Yoongi’s pocket than there are gangs in the city, but it’s a weapon he wields well. 
Old Yoongi might not be so impressed. 
Yoongi feels the phantom ache of the scar on his eye. It doesn’t matter what old Yoongi wants, though. This new version of him is doing whatever he needs to live another day and to install another brick in his kingdom. 
The driver drops Yoongi off at home. Tall gates with security cameras and guard house at the entrance keeps almost everyone away from the Min estate. There’s been a few idiots here or there who have climbed the walls and met the three lovely dobermans that roam the property freely. 
Erebus catches Yoongi’s eyes as he walks to the large garage. The eldest of Yoongi’s canines sits and watches Yoongi approach with keen, dark eyes. He grins at the dog, whistling lowly. Erebus stands and joins Yoongi on his way to the side door, jamming in a code to the garage.
Inside, the automatic lights flip on. Yoongi squints from the harsh lighting, closing the door behind him. Rows of vehicles gleam under the fluorescents. Sports cars, old collectibles, sturdy SUVs. Yoongi has an armada at his disposal, though he so rarely drives himself anywhere these days. Not after Seo put a hit on him a few months ago, the insane fuck. 
Yoongi pulls the tie loose from his neck and begins to change. He presses his finger on a thumb-print lock to a wardrobe and pops it open. Inside are casual clothes: jeans, a t-shirt, a riding jacket, boots and a gleaming black helmet. Nondescript clothes that can belong to anyone. 
Every movement feels heavy. He should go upstairs and swallow down something to help him knockout, but he doesn’t. Instead, he finishes going through the motions and tosses the worn clothes in the wardrobe and walks over to the parked H2R in, all sleek, black metal. 
Erebus sniffs Yoongi’s knee once, a sort of send off. Yoongi bends down and kisses the doberman on the head before shooing him, sending the dog through the garage and up the stairs that lead to the main house. 
Instead of starting the bike in the garage and peeling out the front of the home, Yoongi pops the kickstand up and walks it out of the side door, careful not to bang the tailpipe on the door or scrape the shiny black paint. Once outside, he walks it through the entire yard, arms aching a little as he keeps the bike balanced. 
Gravel crunches beneath his boots and the tires of the motorcycle. Crickets chirp in the yard until he makes it to the back gate in his home that opens up to a government only street. Being back-to-back with the minister has its perks, like an extra security measure that he doesn’t have to monitor constantly. 
Swinging his leg over the bike, Yoongi slides the helmet on, turns the key, and presses the on switch. It roars to life, vibrating underneath him. He revs it a few times before he pulls back on the throttle and shoots down the street like a bullet from a gun.
Iron gates, walls and security houses blur past him. He lives among the gods of the city, high up over the glittering lights and those who pay pilgrimage to the political, criminal and tech giants who loom over them. Yoongi was one of them not that long ago, rising faster than he could have thought possible.
Still, he descends often. Nightly, even. Like even the most powerful gods, Yoongi’s weakness is a vice he can’t - doesn’t want to - rid himself from. While he doesn’t think of himself as impervious, Yoongi doesn’t have many weaknesses. 
His biggest one, though, spends most days at the Red with a private suite in the luxury pleasure house disguised as a motel. 
Yoongi parks his bike in a secured garage that he has a paid spot in. The payment for it is discrete and in all cash, one of Yoongi’s several attempts at covering his tracks when he visits.
The garage is still a few blocks away from the Red. He tucks his hands into his pocket, enjoying the balmy evening, rain still clinging to the air though not falling now. This late at night, there aren’t many people out. Cars drive by, tires hissing on the wet road. Neon lights burn above fluorescent-lit windows of small food shops. 
At the end of a dead end street, a red motel sign buzzes against the night sky. The non-descript brick building doesn’t look like much, but Yoongi knows better than most. Instead of approaching the front door, he leans against the wall a few shops down, tucked underneath the shadow of an awning. 
Pulling his phone out, he dials and brings it up to his ear. As the phone rings, he looks up at the four-story building. There are windows with dark curtains pulled shut and never opened. Yoongi knows that the glass looks ordinary, but is bullet proof grade to protect the most private of clients. 
It doesn’t look like much. The brick is old, it’s bracketed by a laundromat and a hardware store, and across the street is a noodle shop and boarded up general store. 
“It’s late,” you answer, voice scratchy. Yoongi nearly shivers at the sound of your voice, eyes fluttering shut as he breathes in the rain-tinged night. “What’s a girl to do when a boy calls her this late, hmm?”
“Let said boy upstairs and out of the rain.”
“Hmm.” You don’t say yes, but Yoongi can hear the rustle of sheets and the soft creak of the bed when you get up. He waits in silence, though he imagines you’re walking across the bedroom to head to the main part of the state room. “It’s not even raining anymore, I bet.”
“It is. I’m soaked to the bone. Freezing. I might catch a cold.”
“Whatever shall we do?”
He grins, ducking his head. He can feel the warmth climb up his neck to his face, shaking his head. Only you can get him like this, heart skipping like he’s in grade school making out with someone behind the bleachers for the first time. 
“Come on,” you tease on the other line. “Your door will be open.”
“Thanks, Angel.”
“Mhmm.”
His door isn’t really his. But it is a private access door in the back of the alley that requires a keycard and has an armed guard sitting in a security room next to the entry way on the inside. Yoongi hangs up the phone and heads to the special door, avoiding the puddles dripping from fire escapes. 
Just as Yoongi reaches the heavy door, he hears the beep of the auto-lock and it swings open with you leaning on the frame. He wants to eat you whole. You’re not in work clothes, meaning you either wrapped up a while ago or didn’t work tonight. He doesn’t want to know so he doesn’t ask, instead walking up to you as you step to the side and let him in. 
Glowing light flickers underneath the security door to the left. You close the door behind you and pass him, letting your fingers grab his hand and link fingers. There are security cameras here, but it’ll look normal, with you pulling him through the halls and to the elevator. Touching is very much permitted here. Encouraged. Required. 
In the elevator, you stand by Yoongi. He leans into you, silent. You squeeze his hand, very small in his, but warm enough to soothe him. You smell faintly almond and cinnamon, making him go wild as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. You giggle, leaning into him fully, arm pressed to arm. 
Perhaps it’s stupid to be so open like this. When Yoongi first started coming here, he was still and awkward, never coming too close, never letting himself be too familiar. Now, the need for you is too strong. He doesn’t care if there’s a camera on him watching him melt into you. He doesn’t care if maybe it shows that this is a little more than money, a little more than just a quick fix.
Yoongi has been coming to you for almost three years. He doesn’t remember when it stopped being about sex, but it hasn’t been that way for a while. At first, he thought it was so silly. Mafia man in love with a woman he pays to have sex with him. Except it wasn’t so silly. You’d long stopped considering him a client and insisting he doesn’t pay you. 
He doesn’t dare. He doesn’t know what money you make from clients. He knows that it has to be good to be at the Red, which specializes in top clientele. He knows it has to be great, even, because you always meet on your terms. In this space. 
He also doesn’t dare to ask you to stop. He doesn’t know how many clients you take, or who. He doesn’t know when, he doesn’t know how often. He knows nothing about your work except that he doesn’t ask you to stop and you don’t ask him if he wants you too. 
It’s an unspoken rule between you. Yoongi is too afraid to ask you to come live with him, and perhaps you’re too afraid to ask him to take you. Whatever the reasons, neither one of you is brave enough to cross the line first. So instead, you dance along it, making whatever this is work. 
Inside the stateroom is clean and smells like expensive candles. The room is luxurious and is exclusively yours. A cut of your earnings go to holding the room, just like the rest of the workers in the other rooms. 
With the door firmly locked behind the two of you, Yoongi heads to the open kitchen and leans against the counter, facing you. You kick off your slippers and turn to face him, half shadowed by the darkness of the hall, half lit by the warm salt lamp in the living room. 
Yoongi drags his eyes up and down your frame. Soft curves, gentle lips, kind eyes. He was gone the first time he saw you, and he’s gone now. Even after all this time. 
“What?” you ask, fingers fidgeting with your t-shirt. He thinks it might be one of his, but he might be imagining it.
“Come here,” he instructs, patting his thigh. 
You grin and approach him. He opens his arms for you and he sighs as you press against him. Your arms wrap around his middle, squeezing him tight. Slotting your head between his shoulder and neck, you hide your face against him, breath warm against his throat. He envelops you in his arms, wrapped around your shoulders and draped down your back. 
Almond fills his senses. He closes his eyes for a second, breathing you in. You don’t say anything, content to sag against him in the low light of the room. This is what he comes here for more than anything. Everything else you offer is secondary. His foremost desire is this - you. 
“Everything okay?” you finally ask, because of course you do.
“Mhmm. Just a long night.”
“You smell like perfume.”
“Hmm?”
“Like peaches.”
He opens his eyes and looks down at you. You crane your head so that you’re peering up at him with one eye, brow arched. His mouth twitches. “Jealous?”
“Maybe.” 
“Interesting.”
“Not particularly.” 
He lowers his arms, letting them drape around your waist. He smacks the round of  your ass a bit, not enough to hurt but enough to make you pout. “We really going to get into the mechanics of this right now?”
Your smile is all he needs to know you’re not serious. At least, not enough to do something about it. “No, but it’s fun to tease you.” 
“Perhaps I should tease you back, then.” 
Hand in hand, you lead him to your room. Yoongi sees the white sheets and grins. White sheets are for him. Grey sheets are for clients, something you’d established in the infancy of whatever this relationship is. He appreciates the little layers of how you make things different for him. You make him feel special - and not the kind that he pays for. 
Falling backward into the bed, you look up at him with those fucking eyes that make him week in the knees. It’s dark in the room but he knows it well, standing at the foot of your bed and reaching down to snatch an ankle and pull you a bit closer. You squeal as he does, making a jolt of joy go through him, grinning. 
“How was your day?” he asks, lifting your foot to rest on his shoulder. He presses an innocent kiss to your ankle and he watches your brows furrow. “What?”
“Are you a foot person?”
“What if I was?”
You shrug a shoulder, watch him trail kisses down your calf. He nips the meat of your leg, an innocent bite but one that makes your leg twitch. “I’d say I’m surprised to learn something new about you after three years.”
“Yeah?” Yoongi lowers himself so that he’s on his knees, the carpet pressing into his slacks. The back of your knee fits perfectly over his shoulder, your leg resting along his back. You lean up on your elbows and look down at him, watching him settle between your legs. “Think you know everything about me, huh?”
Yoongi’s hands feel your warm skin. He marvels at the softness of your thighs, stroking his hands back and forth. Looking at you, he raises his brow in question. You’re too distracted by the feeling of his hands. It stirs something in him, and he cruves his fingers, dragging his blunt nails softly against your skin.
“Feels good,” you mumble, half-lidded. “I do know everything about you, Min Yoongi.”
“That so?”
“Yes. I could eat your heart if I wanted to.”
Yoongi’s stomach flips at how right you are, at how much you know it. Your confidence in his feelings never fails to make him feel like he is cut open and laid bare at your feet, waiting for you to step on him. To make him regret that vulnerability. 
You never do. At every turn, you’ve shown him that you won’t take advantage. That you have no desire to use the fact that one of the most powerful men in the city is in the palm of your hand. Power for the taking. You could wield him like a weapon, he thinks, and yet you don’t. All you want from him is for him to speak freely, to kiss you often, and to hold you tightly. 
So he does. 
Yoongi presses kisses up the softness of your thighs. You drop from your elbows to lay flat on your back again, your breath catching. He watches raptly at the rise and fall of your chest as you gasp a little. He knows exactly what you like, reaching for your sleep shorts to pull them off slowly. 
Tonight, he has nowhere else to go. Neither do you, letting him lean further up between your legs to press wet, open-mouthed kisses against your hips. You squirm a little, sensitive in the hip area. He loves it - would die for it - letting his tongue slip between his teeth to lave over your hot skin to soothe stinging flesh where he’s nipped you. 
His hands are familiar with every dimple in your skin and every curve. He traces them as he pulls your shorts down, grabbing the elastic band of your underwear as he does. He throws them on the floor, hands settling on the inside of your knees as he presses you open, dropping his eyes to your wet folds. 
Yoongi groans. You’re always so eager for him. That’s never been an illusion, the way your cunt drips slowly down to the curve of your ass at the most innocent of touches from him. It fuels Yoongi’s ego, knowing he has this effect on you. Knowing he’s the only one who can get you trembling in anticipation just by kissing the inside of your knees. 
He made the mistake only once asking if you ever get off with your other clients. The flash of anger and irritation had never made him ask again, but you at least gave him an answer: no. 
Thinking back on it now, Yoongi doesn’t know why he asked. He doesn’t care who you have before or between. All he cares about is being in the darkness of this room, your scent heady, his head shadowed between your legs. 
Leaning forward, Yoongi drags the flat of his tongue up your cunt slowly. You let out a moan and he hums, closing his eyes. He’s been craving your sweet tang all day, the tip of his tongue lingering just under your clit before he drags around it, missing your bundle of nerves on purpose. You let out a sound but he grins, removing his tongue to return to tracing sloppy kisses on your legs instead. 
Already lightheaded, he grounds himself by sliding his hands along the outside of your thighs, gripping you here and there as he lavishes you with attention. He knows he’s tired, but he at least wants this. Wants to taste you before bed, to have you melt in his mouth, fingers in his hair. He needs it. 
Yoongi doesn’t dip into the drugs that his operation injects into the streets. He doesn’t need to. There’s nothing that makes him forget who and where he is the way you do. Nothing that amounts to feeling your soft skin beneath his palms, smelling the barest hint of sweat beneath your vanilla perfume.
When Yoongi gets a taste of you, it’s an instant high. He feels lost, hands skimming up your thighs to hold your hips to the bed. Your hands seek his, linking your fingers and pressing your joined hands to your hips as he drags his tongue up the inside of your thigh.
This is why he keeps coming back. The intimacy. The reassurance that this is something more than an accident that Yoongi stumbled on a few years ago. That this is more than the roll of bills he will leave on the nightstand tonight, even when you say not to. 
There is nothing else he needs in these stolen moments with you. 
“Yoongi,” you murmur, voice soft. He hums in response. “Please, I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Good,” he shoots back, biting your knee. You twitch and curse at him, making him laugh. Your glossy cunt is a sure sign that you’re not lying, though. Clit swollen, hole clenching. “Fuck, you have such a wet pussy.” 
“Then put your fucking mouth on it, Yoongi.” 
He laughs. “As you wish, Angel.” 
A breathy whine in the shape of Yoongi’s name leaves your mouth when he starts to eat you out properly. He takes his time, eyes closed as he indulges, tongue rolling up and down your slick pussy. You turn liquid in his mouth, your hips canting as he flicks his tongue across your clit. You shiver in his hands and he grins, gently sucking your clit into his mouth. 
“Yeah,” you pant. “Fuck, like that.” 
Alternating between fastening his mouth on your pussy to suck gently and sliding his tongue into your hole, Yoongi goes with what he knows makes you a mess. Holds out his tongue and lets you fuck yourself against his face, your hand coming to grip his long hair. 
The wet slide of you against his face makes him ache in his pants. He ignores it, determined to hold you still as he buries his face in deeper, picking up the firmness and pace of his mouth and tongue. He feels your essence drip down his chin and his neck. Hears the squelch when he thrusts his tongues into your pussy. Can’t get enough of the way your thighs close around his head, muffling the sound of you whining and saying his name.
Yoongi’s scalp stings when you pull his hair. He doesn’t care. He whips his head back and forth between your legs, tongue pressed against your throbbing clit. You’re shaking underneath him and he pushes you further, dipping low to slurp at your pussy bottom to top, not letting an ounce of you spill out. 
“Holy fuck,” you squeak, voice high-pitched as you arch off the bed. He looks up at you, mouth attached. “Your fucking mouth.” 
He grins, and leans into you further, pushes your thighs higher. Your legs bend easily under his weight. His hips are pressed against the foot of the bed now, hips rolling slightly, seeking for friction. His eyes close as he gets the barest bit of friction against his cock, more focused on making you come into his mouth than getting himself off.
When you come, your whole body goes taut. Yoongi holds you tight in his hands, mouth moving against you messily as he licks you through your orgasm. You dissolve in his mouth, making him hum against your heat. You twist in the sheets, body twitching, muscles flexing. He avoids your clit, thrusting his tongue into your entrance until you’re gasping for air, hands pressing against his head to get him to stop.
Yoongi removes his mouth with one, lascivious lick. He sits backwards on his feet, panting as he looks at you melt into the bed. Your limbs are lifeless and tangled in the blankets, your hand over your eyes as you catch your breath. You look fucking beautiful. 
“Come here,” you rasp, voice rough. 
The bed creaks under Yoongi’s weight. He walks over on his knees, drinking you in. Your cum slicks your thighs, shining in the barest shaft of light escaping the bathroom from a nightlight. You turn to face him, face balmy with sweat. You reach up and work the zipper on his pants, making his stomach flip.
“You don’t-”
“Shut up,” you growl, tugging the metal down hard. He smirks as you press your fingers into his hard shaft through the cotton of his briefs. “Wanna feel your cock in my throat. Can you fuck my mouth?” 
“Fuck yeah, Angel.” 
Yoongi nearly falls getting out of his pants. You laugh, the sound so sweet that he feels himself blush. He’s hot all over, coming alive in the darkness of your room as he strokes his cock. You look innocent, splayed on the bed and blinking up at him. 
Precum drips from his dark tip and you open your mouth, tongue catching it. He curses under his breath, entranced by the way your tongue disappears between your lips. You hum, a glint in your eye as you smirk at him. 
“Vixen,” he says, shaking his head.
“Give it to me.”
One day he thinks he’s going to die of loving you. He knows that this is what it is. It’s more than you opening your mouth and sticking out your tongue for him. It’s more than him letting you suckle on the tip of his cock playfully, his eyes fluttering shut and his thigh muscles twitching. 
Yoongi loves you. It is an incredibly simple fact in his over-complicated world. Among all of the shit and the moves and countermoves he deals with every day, coming here to simply be in love with you is a relief. A home. 
A shiver crawls up his back as he slowly inches his cock into your mouth. Your mouth is wet and warm, your tongue rough on the sensitive underside of his shaft. He keeps one hand on the base of his cock and the other on your jaw, keeping your mouth open to make the slide easier. 
Everything fades away again. Yoongi sucks in a sharp breath as you open up for him. When he touches the back of your throat, he’s careful at first. He knows you can take it. You’ve taken so much more from him, gone so much harder. He doesn’t want to go hard tonight though. He feels soft at the edges, your taste lingering in his mouth.
The wet sound of your throat convulsing around him making him stroke faster. He knows you’re okay, breathing heavily through your nose as you gurgle around him, spit and precum slicking his shaft as he pulls in and out, marveling at the way you look at him, eyes watering.
Your eyes fix on him. Yoongi clenches his teeth, trying not to burst in your mouth. It’s hard when you look at him like that, gaze so dark and hungry and fathomless. You’ve never said you love him. You don’t have to. He knows. He knows in the same way he is aware you know he loves you. He knows enough to trust you with him. With everything. 
There’s not a single doubt with you. It is a rare gift to share this open trust with someone, especially in his position. It is an added bonus that you know he loves it when you swallow around his cock as he presses into the back of your throat. The tight heat of your throat constricting around him does him in, and Yoongi comes with a growl.
You take it in stride, gulping. Taking it down. His eyes roll back in his head and he thinks that if he didn’t love you already, this alone would make him fall in love. 
Pulling out his softening cock, he falls backward on the bed. He’s still in the top half of his clothes, but he is exhausted, lashes fluttering. Your hands are delicate as you begin to pull the jacket from his body. He rolls to the side and lets you, lost in the daze of a much needed orgasm. He feels at ease now, more than he has all day. 
“Come on,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to the spot under his ear. “Take a quick shower while I change the sheets, they’re sweaty. And I came on them.”
“I’d sleep in them anyway.”
“Hmm, too bad. Shower.”
“Meh.”
“Yoongi, you smell like a whore.” That makes him crack an eye and look at you. Your gaze is pointed. “And not like me. I don’t like it.”
“Huh. So you are jealous.”
“Get in the shower.” Your mouth twitches as you try to fight a smile. “Or else.” 
-
Getting up before the sun is your favorite thing. Even now, when you’re tired from being woken up in the middle of the night, you make an effort to crawl out of bed to make coffee. Your steps are heavy and you shiver in the freezing air of the kitchen as you open a drawer and pull out a coffee pod. You hold it up close to make sure you’ve got Yoongi’s favorite brand before sticking it in the machine and popping the lid down, punching the button to brew.
Yoongi is a sleeping mound in your bed. Leaning against the counter, you admire him from afar. He’ll be up soon, your body clock tuned to the hours of his operation. It’s been that way for over a year now, your circadian rhythm trained to be the most functional during the hours in which Yoongi is awake. 
When you were younger, you would have hated to admit that. Would have detested the thought of ever adjusting a single part of yourself for a man. Your entire job was to be moldable. To put on whatever face your client needed, to shape yourself into whatever person that you needed to be. 
You have been so many things. A wife. A mistress. A temptress. A lost loved one. And darker things still, sliding on the skin of client’s fantasies over-and-over again until you lost the substance that made up whoever you were for hours at a time. 
Back then, it would take hours and days to regain who you were. It wasn’t until you were more advanced that you were able to separate who you are from who you pretended to be. Now, it’s not necessarily. There is no other, no mask. Just you and Yoongi, the single client you decided was worth being moldable for.
The smell of coffee wakes him up before his alarm. You watch him sit up in bed, eyes not yet open. His hand spreads to where he expects to find you, only to discover open space. He swivels back and forth then, looking for you. Maybe a little panicked.
A pang aches your heart. It is so easy to forget that even after years of getting up before him first, Yoongi will never be trained out of the instinct that something of his has been taken. The day he doesn’t worry is the day he’ll lose everything and you know it.
“I’m over here,” you call gently. He relaxes and pulls himself together before getting out of bed and trudging out of the room.
Yoongi is pretty in the morning. His face is swollen with sleep, making him look so much younger. Like a dumpling, even. His mouth is fixed in a pout as he rubs at his eyes, steps uneven and dark hair sticking up all over the place. He looks at you, eyes glassy. The faded pink scar over his eye is less intimidating in the morning. You grin and open your arms. His reaction is automatic, sliding between them and sinking into your embrace, head thudding to your shoulder. 
“Hi,” you purr, your hands squeezing around his middle. His shirt is soft in your fingers as you play with the hem. He grunts back, not much of a morning person. You don’t mind. Instead, you let him lay his weight on you, unwilling to move even as the coffee finishes brewing. He smells like sage shampoo and something more unique to him. “You okay, sleepyhead?”
“Mhmm.”
“Can’t talk yet?” he shakes his head against you and you laugh. “Come on, coffee.” 
With Yoongi latched on to you, you walk over to the coffee maker. You giggle, elated as he clings to your front, letting you move him backwards. With his butt pressed against the counter and arms wrapped around you, you lean around him to grab the steaming mug and bring it in front of him.
Pouting, he drops his hands from you and takes it. 
Years of mornings and carefully pulling back layers of Yoongi has earned this rare silliness between you. You’re acutely aware of the fact that the sleepy man in front of you, no matter how soft and blushing he is in the mornings, is a murderer. He’s extorted people, has threatened them, sits at the top of drug trade, and has pushed people into political office with dirty money and blood. Your eyes linger on his scar, a memento of his violent youth. 
You don’t care. It doesn’t matter what Yoongi is and is not. All that matters to you is that he is Yoongi and that he is yours. At least, yours in the way it matters. You don’t dare ask him for more than what you have. It is the one thing you’re afraid of, because even though you know that he loves you, that you know he trusts you, asking for more is something you don’t want to do. Too many people want more of him. You just want whatever you can have. 
As he sips his coffee, careful not to let it spill over and burn you while you bury yourself in snuggling him, you close your eyes. A couple of years ago, you didn’t think a life like this was possible. Getting in at the Red was the first step in the right direction. Though still for sex workers, it was an upper level platform in the industry you clawed your way to. 
Both of you are similar in that regard. Yoongi started from nothing. A poor boy who dropped out of school to work a job and help pay rent at his apartment, too uneducated with not enough resources to make a dent in the world. It was the same story for you, though perhaps a little bloody around the edges, a hand that started selling you before you could make the choice yourself. 
At the thought of your mother, you feel your jaw clench. The bite of the memory is only soothed by the knowledge of Yoongi putting her down himself. Perhaps it makes you a monster, but you’ve accepted that long ago you were what the world crafted you to be, and you wouldn’t apologize.
If you were Yoongi’s shield, he was your sword. You protected him from the weight of his atrocities, and he slayed your monsters. 
It’s what drew Yoongi to you in the first place, the unapologetic approach to life. You appreciate it in him too. He doesn’t try to pretend that he is more or less than what he is, and you never try to hide the ugly parts of yourself. 
And here he is anyway, coffee-warm lips pressed against your forehead. It almost makes you ask for more, but you don’t. This is enough for now. 
The room at the Red isn’t where you live, but it’s yours in everything except lease. You long stopped using it for its intended purposes, now pleased to use it as a neutral ground to meet Yoongi and to stay where you know he is safe. His sprawling estate under guard and gun is surely safe enough, but you like having Yoongi where you can see him. 
After a mostly innocent shower together, Yoongi gets dressed and kisses you goodbye after you walk him down. It’s still dark outside when you swipe your security key. He puts on his biker helmet and gives you a little salute before jogging down the alleyway, splashing into the morning and vanishing around a corner. 
You linger for a moment, watching the empty space where he vanished. It would be nicer to be somewhere you didn’t have to escort him out. Somewhere you could be together all the time. You don’t think Yoongi would say no if you invited him over to your apartment, but you don’t have the security and the heavy protection that the Red offers. 
Collecting your things, you scribble a note for the cleaner before heading out. You’ll only return to the room if Yoongi intends on swinging by again. Though it is more than a suitable place to spend all your time, you like your small apartment tucked downtown above a coffee shop. It has a hominess that feels more like you. That is a little less sterile. 
Sun cracks over the city, spilling light like yolk over the buildings. You shield your eyes as you make your way down the sidewalk, shafts of light falling between buildings. The subway is full of people heading to work. Everyone shuffles without speaking, some buttoning collars of uniforms while others close their eyes in seats, headphones snug over their head. 
The lull of the train as it starts makes you drowsy, but you fight to stay awake. Now that you don’t spend hours sleeping in and recovering from servicing clients late into the night, you value your mornings. Want to be the kind of person whose business hours are during the day, to feel the sun on your skin. 
At your stop, you disappear in the flow of people going up the steps. The concrete above is still wet from the rain the night before, your steps tapping wetly as you go. It’s still summer, but the wind in the shade is cool as you enter the parking garage of your building, heading toward the elevator. 
It’s mostly empty, people having left for work already. There’s a single black SUV by the elevator that you don’t recognize, the windows too dark to see inside. As you approach the car, you realize that it’s on, idling quietly. 
Years of living in the wrong part of town have you slowing your steps. Your eyes flicker to the plate to see a metal shield over it, hiding the numbers on the vehicle. The back of your neck tingles. You come to a full stop, staring at the running vehicle. No one makes a move to get out and there’s no indication that someone is inside.
While you don’t live in the luxurious part of town, your neighborhood is relatively safe. It’s not without instances, but you live deep into Yoongi’s territory, his foothold on this block strong. You’ve never had to worry about walking down the road by yourself at night or making it to your apartment when drunk.
Now, you’re worried. Instinct needles you sharply. There is no reason to think the SUV means you any harm, but something is screaming at you to walk away. 
Then the elevator opens and a normal looking man and woman exit. They don’t pay you any mind as they get into the vehicle, shutting the back door. Your nerves ease and you laugh at yourself for being so ridiculous. There’s no reason for anyone to be doing something nefarious this early in the morning. 
Shaking yourself out of it, you walk the rest of the way to the elevator. As you reach your hand to press the button to call the elevator car, you hear the sound of the car doors opening. You whip your head to look over your shoulder as men get out of the passenger seat and the back seat.
Instinct kicks in. You turn and run, screaming shrilly for anyone that can hear you. They take off after you, steps thundering against the pavement as the SUV squeals its tires to back out of the spot and peel after you. There’s nowhere to go but out into the street. You head for the sidewalk only to be snatched from behind and lifted off your feet.
You react immediately. You throw your elbow back, connecting to one of the men’s faces. He screams and you hear bones crunch. He drops you but your knees buckle, a mix of fear and lack of coordination making you fall to the ground. The other man is on top of you, pressing you into the ground as you scream savagely, kicking your limbs to wiggle out of his grip. 
He grabs your hair and pulls. You yell out, eyes smarting from the sting in your scalp as he then shoves your face into the ground. It hurts. Pain blooms in the side of your face. You’re aware of tiny pieces of gravel digging into soft skin, cutting up your face. The sting is small in comparison to the throb that pulses through your cheekbone as he grinds your face into the pavement. 
Screams echo in the garage as you’re yanked backwards. There are several hands on you, grip like iron. You snarl and yank your limbs to no avail. Just as you’re pulled into the interior of the car, a piece of cloth is slapped hard against your face. You gasp in surprise, a pungent smell filling your nose before you feel a swift fog take over, your mind fading until there is nothing left. 
-
Pain. It’s the first thing you feel when you come to. It’s a slow sort of drift toward awareness, like sluggishly swimming to the surface of a deep lake. You manage to drag yourself there, but immediately want to sink back into the nothingness again once you feel how much you hurt. 
Your face perhaps hurts the most. Not only does your skin burn, but it feels like you’ve been rocked with a cinderblock on the left side of your face. You dully recall having your head pressed into the concrete with near bone-breaking force. It explains why when you open your eyes, the left feels a little swollen. 
The room you’re in is empty. Your shoulder muscles are on fire, hands tied behind your back in the chair you’re sitting in. It’s hard to pinpoint what hurts worse, body littered with bruises and injuries. Still, you’re alive and that has to count for something. 
A man leans against the wall across from you. He watches you curiously. When you become aware of him, you straighten a little in the seat. Your ass tingles with the numbness of sitting there for who knows how long, and your biceps strain with the movement, making you hiss. 
“I’d like to untie you,” the man offers. “But I need a guarantee that you’ll behave.”
You want out of the ropes, so you nod your head. He nods once and pushes off the wall, walking over to you. You use the nearness of his proximity to gather as many details as you can: Patek watch, a basic model. He smells like mandarin and something spicy like pepper - maybe an Arabian fragrance. The suit he’s in is well-tailored and when he pulls a knife out of his pocket to cut the ropes around your wrist, you see a mother-of-pearl handle. 
Money. This man has money. 
Relief makes you sigh, melting into the chair when the pressure in your shoulder blades releases. You immediately lift your hands and place them into your lap, rubbing your trembling fingers across your palms, pressing firmly to encourage blood flow. Your handles tingle as the circulation begins to return to normal, though you can’t make a fist or move all of your appendages immediately. 
The man backs away and leans against the wall once more. He’s incredibly handsome, the kind of guy who might be an actor or in the movie industry, perhaps. You continue to assess him, placing him a few years older than yourself. His hands are linked in front of him. No marriage ring, no tan to indicate there was once a band there either. 
The expensive cologne matched with the watch leads you to believe someone else picked them out, which leaves you with two options: a lover or a sales associate. Judging the make of the watch, you know it doesn’t look like a limited edition series, so not a very personal gift, if a gift at all. And while the cologne smells expensive, it’s too spicy for a day scent, indicating that he doesn’t have someone to tell him the difference between night and daytime colognes.
If you have to guess, they’re things he’s purchased himself on the advice of a sales associate or because of the amount of numbers on the price tag. It’s a habit that comes with new money.
“I apologize for the roughness,” he offers. “It wasn’t my intent to hurt you.”
“Intent matters little. Results matter a lot.”
“Well said.”
Feeling starts to come back to your hands as you flex them. You’re in some sort of construction building. It looks like maybe an apartment building in the making, with plastic tarps covering the windows and metal scaffolding exposing unfinished concrete. Outside, you think you faintly hear the sound of docks and workers.
“Do you know where we are?”
You look him up and down. “We’re in a building. You’re against a wall, and I’m in a chair.”
He scoffs. “Smart mouth.”
“You asked a question.”
“So I did. We’re in a building that was supposed to be my next venture. Someone, however, got in the way and created a bunch of red tape with the city. Now my funding has been slashed and this building has been sitting unfinished for a year, draining me of my property taxes.”
“Well,” you deadpan. “I’m a whore, not a lender. I can’t get you a loan.”
He grins, but you can’t tell if he’s amused. “You’re not just any whore though, are you? I have on good authority you service high profile clients. One of your clients is the reason this building is stuck in paperwork, and now he wants to take even more from me. I can’t let that happen.” 
Yoongi. He’s talking about Yoongi and you know it. You try not to squirm in your seat, meeting his dark eyes head on. Your mind is trying to make decisions and keep up as much as possible, funneling through the list of names Yoongi has mentioned, anything at all that can give you a leg up.
“High profile clients are where the money is,” you admit. You think perhaps this man is Kwan Daehyun, whom Yoongi has been playing chess with for the better part of a year. “I don’t like to sell information on my clients, but I suppose you know that since you kidnapped me.”
“Consider the sales price on this particular client’s information to be your life. I just need a little bit of information, and you’re free.”
You shrug. “You’ve got me there. What do you want to know?”
“Min Yoongi.” You continue to stare at him, giving away nothing. Your heart is racing in your chest and you try to keep your hands from shaking. When you continue not to answer, he clicks his tongue, annoyed. “What can you tell me about his weaknesses?”
You can’t help it, you laugh. Kwan frowns as you giggle. It hurts to laugh, face bursting with pain as you catch your breath and shake your head. “What a cheesy fucking questions. What, you think I just have a list of things that can hurt Min Yoongi?”
“I know how pillow talk goes. He must talk about his stress. Brag about his assets. What else do men go to whores for?”
“To get their cock sucked, usually.”
Kwan pushes off the wall and storms toward you. You sneer up at him, a little less afraid of him now. He appears small and gutless to you, kidnapping a sex worker to ask for pillow talk secrets to gain a fucking advantage. It means he has nothing on Yoongi and has resorted to pisspoor tactics to get anything usable against Yoongi.
Though how he managed to get to you is unsettling. You’re unsure how he made the connection, or how long he has been watching Yoongi. You find that to be the most irritating, to know that Yoongi has been under surveillance for any period of time. Not that you’ve been smacked around and put in an abandoned building on threat of murder. 
“I will fucking kill you.” 
There is truth in his words. Questioning you is a desperate attempt, but perhaps not his only. It occurs to you that he doesn’t thin you hold any value beyond questioning you, and though he’s said he’ll spare you life, you don’t think that’s true. He only sees you as a vacuum for information, and if you don’t have it or you give it to him, he’ll kill you.
You need to be valuable. And fast. 
“Kill me and you ruin any chance of that deal with him.” Kwan hesitates, eyes darkening as the words spill out of your mouth, “In fact, that was probably already off the table as soon as you had me physically harmed and dragged into a car here. So now, you should stop asking me about what Yoongi’s weaknesses are and start asking, what will Min Yoongi do if you call him and tell him who you kidnapped and tied to a fucking chair.” 
Kwan narrows his eyes. You see him assessing the weight of your words. You fight the urge to leap at him and reach for the folding knife in his pocket. Just because you can’t see a gun doesn’t mean there’s not one, and just because you can’t see or hear anyone else in the building doesn’t mean they aren’t there.
Outside you can hear the cry of a seagull. When you breathe in, you smell ocean water and salt. Definitely keeping you in a building by the docks. You think you know the one. Kwan takes a few steps back from you and crosses his arms over his chest. 
“You think he gives a shit if I have you?”
“You asked for Yoongi’s weakness. You’re looking at it.” 
“I think you’re bullshiting me. I think you’re a whore he won’t deal for.”
“One way to find out, right?”
Instead of answering, Kwan turns on his heel and walks towards the opaque tarp. He walks through it and two men replace him at the entrance. Both of them are armed, staring down at you. Ignoring them, you roll your neck in slow circles, trying to ease the soreness.
Tentatively, you reach a hand up to your face, pressing your fingers into your cheek. You hiss, the pain still raw and present underneath your fingers. You can feel small scabs from where the gravel broke skin, but thankfully it doesn’t feel like your eyes are too swollen. 
Time passes. You remain in the chair, fidgeting now that you’re awake. Your tongue is heavy in your dry mouth and your lips begin to burn from wetting them constantly, only to be dried out by the salty air. You feel itchy and irritable, trying not to squirm too much in the chair lest you disturb the guards.
Most of all, without having to put on a brave performance, you feel afraid. Afraid of being here by yourself in this warehouse, afraid that you’ve made a mistake trying to make yourself valuable, afraid that Kwan isn’t going to give you a chance to talk to Yoongi as proof of life. 
You’re not versed in this part of Yoongi’s life. So much of his business has been held separate from you. The violence and the extortion and the sketchy deals have always been something he did outside of that room at the Red. You’re not afraid of this life, though. Just unprepared and trying to guess what to do next, fueled by poorly written crime movies and stories that Yoongi has told you in the warmth of your bed.
It feels like hours have gone by when Kwan comes back into the room. You sit up straight when you see the phone in his hand and see the fire in his eyes. He looks like a man who has had something go right - which means you have him right where you want him, if he’s doing what you think he is. 
Kwan holds out the phone to you. “You have five minutes to talk to him as an act of good faith on my proposal.”
You see Yoongi’s name on the caller idea and try not to start crying. Swallowing thickly, you lick your lips again and bring the phone up to your ear. The tremble in your hand and your voice isn’t a performance when you say, “Hello?”
“Where are you? He hasn’t told me.”
“Yeah, I’m alive.” You sniff a little. “Agh, don’t make me cry. My face will get saltier than it already is.”
“I need more than that, Angel. He’s trying to make deals with me, but I need to know where you are to come get you. He won’t tell me where you’re at unless I wire over money and legally sign over assets.”
“No, he hasn’t hurt me. He’s been polite, though I’ve been kind of a beach- bitch. I’ve been a bitch. Sorry, I’m very tired.”
“Is it the building in the warehouse district at the docks? That apartment shell?”
“Yes, I can do that. Just… please agree to whatever he says, I feel tired and loaded. Bloated. Sorry, I’m confusing words again.”
“Yeah, well I’ve got fucking guns too. We’re going to come get you okay?”
This time when you sniff, you feel actual tears. Of relief that he understands your weird turns of phrase, of the terror at knowing he’s going to have to come get you. To risk his life for you. You knew he would, and yet you almost hate to ask him. 
“Thank you.” 
“You’ll be okay, Angel, but I need you to listen.” 
“Okay.” 
His voice is firm as he says, “I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. Don’t think twice about it. It is you or them, do you understand me? There is almost a certainty you are going to have to kill someone when we come get you. Start thinking about it now. Try to get used to it so that when the time comes, you’re not afraid anymore.” 
“Okay. I love you.” 
“See you soon.”
-
Yoongi likes to think that he is an expert in control. His compartmentalization is unmatched, and though he is incredibly proud, his pride is not easily wounded. Foolish slights and insults don’t rile him the way they might have in his youth, and physical threats of harm are amusing, especially when no very few people carry through on their threat. 
When Yoongi hangs up the phone, he loses every ounce of control he’s ever felt. Never has his urge to destroy been so sharp. He sees red, slamming his hands across his desk and swiping everything off. He tastes metal in his mouth as he bites through his cheek, screaming as he hammers his fists on top of the desk hard enough that he thinks he might split the wood. 
Hoseok and Seokjin hear the commotion, crashing into the office with Namjoon and Jungkook behind them, weapons drawn. Yoongi is shaking when he looks up at them, the phone screen cracked in his hand. He cannot stop shaking, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like a dose of heroin. 
All of their voices sound like a mess of sounds. The ringing in his ears overpowers everything they’re saying as he stands there, hands at his side, mind racing and chest heaving as he pants. Why is he panting? Yoongi feels like he’s suddenly not getting enough air, dropping his phone to loosen the tie around his neck, trying to give himself more room to breathe. Why do his clothes feel so fucking tight?
Suddenly it’s like there isn’t enough air in the room. Yoongi feels the tunnel vision come up on him fast. Chills spread through his body as he wavers, hands held out as he tries to catch his breath. He feels hands on him trying to steady him, but he yanks away from them. They feel too close, too much in his space and he needs more room. Room to get this blazer off and breathe. Breathe, why can’t he breathe? 
Yoongi stumbles into a wall. His vision pulses on the edges and he can vaguely make out Hoseok’s voice. He looks up at him and sees his friend, his advisor. Hoseok isn’t touching him, but his head is cocked as he tries to keep and maintain eye contact with Yoongi. 
“Inhale for seven seconds,” Hoseok says. “Then exhale for seven. I’ll count.”
“What?” Yoongi demands.
“You’re having an anxiety attack.” Hoseok states it as if it’s the most common thing in the world. “You have to regulate your breathing or you’re going to pass out. If you pass out, we can’t help.” 
It’s the only thing that gets him to listen. He counts with Hoseok, drawing in long breaths.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
Yoongi has to shake this. Has to get ready and call his people, needs to make plans to come get you. He knows exactly where you are - wants to fucking kiss you for how clever you mange to be even while terrified. 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
He knows you’re afraid. Yoongi has never heard your voice tremble like that since he’s known you. He knows every tone of your voice, every color to the spectrum of your sounds, able to pick them apart to know how you feel. And while you spoke in a clear tone, it was all wrong. Colored with terror. Voice soft and rough and wavering. 
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.
The ringing in his ears fade. Yoongi continues to take slow, deep breaths. His hands are still shaking and he feels a little light headed, but when he blinks a few times and looks around, he sees his closest men and confidants standing around him, waiting. 
“Talk to us,” Hoseok urges. “What’s going on?”
“Kwan has my girl. They’re in that apartment project we froze in the docks.”
“He told you where they were?”
“No, she did.”
Hoseok looks weary. “That sounds like a trap - did he already offer you a deal?”
“He said several things. He didn’t tell me where they were, she did.”
“In front of-”
“Hoseok, stop asking stupid questions or I swear to fucking god I’ll hit you first. She’s not used to any of this, but she isn’t fucking stupid. She used the words salt, beach and loaded. They’re in that building and they’re armed.”
“Poetic,” Seokjin grunts. Yoongi cuts his gaze to his head of security and the man pales. “Sorry, bad timing.”
“Get every fucking person we know on the fucking ground and here. We’re going to get her.”
“They’ll see us coming from a mile away.”
Yoongi stares at Seokjin. “I don’t give a fuck. Kwan wanted to find a weakness, well he found one. And now I’m going to paint that shitty little development with his blood.”
An hour later is when it hits Yoongi. He stops in the middle of tying a shoe and he stands. He’s replaying the conversation with you over and over in his head, looking for any other details he could have missed. He was so fucking proud of you for getting your point across even while scared, but now it’s something else he thinks of.
I love you. He had almost not realized you said it at all at the end of the call. He can’t remember if he said it back, but he’s suddenly sick over the what if of it all. What if he doesn’t get to say it back? What if he gets there and swarms in, only to find you dead? 
In a moment of panic, he texts Hoseok to request proof of life on the hour every hour from Kwan under the guise of considering his horrendous deal. Kwan, of course, thinks he’s got Yoongi. He doesn’t, naturally. They haven’t agreed on a time or place to meet, and Kwan does not seem to understand just how poorly he’s miscalculated. 
None of it matters. All that matters is that Yoongi is going to come get you like he promised, and he is never letting you out of his sight again. 
-
Surprisingly, your living conditions change a little upon Kwan learning that you’re more valuable kept alive and in decent condition than beat up or dead. He has a cot and a fan brought in, along with an ice back for your cheek and a thermos of water.
You crush the thermos almost immediately. Though you’re kept under armed guards now, you’re relieved to be able to lay down and stretch your sore limbs. When the ice pack finally grows hot and melts on your aching cheekbone, one of the guards gets you a new one without question.
It almost makes you feel bad for what is to come. Almost. 
You know Yoongi. It’s why you gambled with a hostage play in the first place. He won’t let them have you and it doesn’t matter what Kwan offers him, Yoongi is far too powerful to accept deals from the likes of Kwan. It isn’t so much a matter of pride as it is a matter of power. You know Yoongi has the power to pull you out of this without further harm. 
At least, you have put every ounce of trust and confidence in him that you have. 
Time moves slowly. It’s hard to know how fast Yoongi will mobilize or what his plan is. It would make sense for him to perhaps cause a distraction elsewhere to get Kwan’s eyes off of you, but it’s also a dangerous game to play with a hostage. 
It doesn’t matter. Yoongi has his job and you have yours, which is to work the screw out of one of the cots joints. You’ve picked one that isn’t imperative to the overall structure of the cot. It can bear your weight without the screw as long as you don’t lean on the joint too much. It takes you a while to unscrew it with your bare fingers, all while lying on your back trying to look uninterested in anything.
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
Finally, you pull the cool metal free. You slide it into the pocket of your sweatpants. The weight of it feels better than nothing. It won’t do much damage, but a well placed punch to the face with the screw between your knuckles will do what you need, even if you damage your hand to do it. 
You’ve never killed someone. Thought about it a few times, maybe. Had some people try to sway you to slip something into a client’s drink, but you never accepted. Killing isn’t your business. It’s Yoongi’s, but you know that if he’s telling you to take the chance, it’s because he wants you to live. 
The thought is chilling. You rest your hand on the pocket, feeling the shape of the screw. You don’t know how to kill. You’re not even entirely sure that you have it in you. You’ve seen people die and you’ve seen people murder. It seems easy.
You’re not sure if it’s that simple. 
It’s late into the night when a commotion draws you from your half-slumber. You lift your head as someone comes in and mutters something to the guards. They nod and one of them leaves, the other turning to face you with a glare, hand resting just inside his jacket where you assume there’s a gun.
Outside, you hear the sound of peeling tires as a car takes off. 
Nerves take over. You feel your heartbeat pickup as you continue to lay on the cot, one hand under your pillow. It’s hard to think of what might be happening over the sound of your own pulse, but you try to regulate your breathing. There’s nothing happening right that second that you can control, so there’s no reason to panic.
A few minutes go by. It’s agony, waiting with bated breath. It’s quiet outside except for the sounds of the ocean and the mostly empty warehouses and docks. Plastic snaps in the breeze, loud in the silence of your waiting. You think that this is the worst part, the anticipation for what’s to come. You can’t sleep now even if you tried. 
When the first round of gunfire comes, you almost lose control of your bowels. It’s a shameful sort of fear that takes you by surprise, making you freeze up. You have been waiting for it, and yet now that you can hear the sound of automatic weapons somewhere below, it feels worse than you imagined. 
Looking up at the guard at the door, you reel in surprise to see him rushing toward you. Time seems to slow down. The sound of guns and yelling fade to the background everything suddenly becomes hyper focused. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
As the guard leans to pick you up, you strike like a snake, pulling the screw from your pocket and jabbing upward with a savage scream.
His guttural cry splits the night. You feel hot blood spray your hand and dot your face as you plunge the blunt screw into his eye socket. Blood makes your fingers slippery and as he falls onto his back, hands clutching his face, you lose your grip. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
No hesitation. You dive for him, stained hands searching for the weapon. The metal of the gun slides in your slick fingers. Through the blinding pain, the guard realizes what you’re doing and grabs your forearms. You pull back against him but can’t shake his grip, your hand stuck in his jacket on the gun. You finger the trigger and squeeze, but it doesn’t budge. The fucking safety. 
Sliding a knee down, you crush the cap of your knee between his legs, pressing his balls with your full weight. He screams and his grip goes slack. You yank on the gun, almost dropping it as it slides free from the holster. Your grip is clumsy and shaking, your heart pounding so hard you think you might die of fright before you manage to find the safety on the hammer and pull it back. 
I need you to do whatever it is you need to do to protect yourself. 
Click. Squeeze. Bang. 
You don’t aim. Don’t have the sense to at that moment. This close, you don’t have to aim at all. You hit your target and his yelling turns to shrieks. You can’t tell where you’ve shot him, all you know is that you have. You scramble away, hands slipping on the floor, gun clutched clumsily in your hand. 
A hand goes around your ankle and you scream as he drags you backward. You roll onto your back, bringing the gun up again, trying to aim in the general direction of his chest.
Squeeze. Bang. 
It’s so loud. Your ears are ringing and you’re unable to hear anything as the grip on your ankle immediately goes slack. The guard goes limp, the fight leaving him immediately. You don’t look - can’t look. Can’t focus on anything but the way your vision tunnels. 
Dizziness sweeps over you as you crawl away from him again. Your knees and palms might hurt if you could feel anything at all, but numbness starts to take over as you manage to press yourself against a wall near the doorway. You don’t dare move toward it, too untrained to handle a gun while terrified. 
“Angel!” you hear Yoongi’s voice screaming somewhere in the building. You open your mouth but nothing comes out. Your lips tremble. You try to find your voice, willing the words to come. Mouth open, his name on the tip of your tongue, you can’t find a response. “Angel, come on, baby! Where are you?”
“Yoongi,” you whisper. It’s not nearly loud enough and your voice cracks on the name. You close your eyes and take a deep, shuddering breath as you muster strength behind your voice. “Yoongi!” 
“That’s it, keep talking to me.” 
It sounds like he is yelling somewhere down a stairwell, voice echoing up concrete walls. “Up!” You start to curl into yourself. “Yoongi, up!” 
Steps thunder in the stairwell. You drop the gun next to you and look at your hands. They’re slick and wet. In a panic, you start wiping them on your sweatpants, smearing red as you do. You viciously wipe your hands. You want the blood off, you don’t want it all over you, it’s hot and stick and it’s not yours and it belongs to the dead man who was trying to take you-
Warm hands grab your face and tilt you upward. You blink through blurry tears. Yoongi looks back at you, his forehead sweaty and his slicked back hair a little messy. He turns your face from side to side as more of his men flood into the room, guns raised.
Yoongi’s mouth moves but you can’t hear him. You shake your head, looking up at him. His grip softens and the gentle brush of his thumb back and forth across your face eases the rising panic inside of you. You sniff, taking a few slow, trembling breaths. 
“Are you seriously injured?” Yoongi asks again, voice rough. Cracking. “Do you need medical attention?”
“No.”
“The blood-” You shake your head violently, closing your eyes. “Okay. It’s okay. You did what you needed to do, Angel. I’m going to get you on your feet and take you home, okay?” 
“I don’t-”
“My home. Not yours. You’re coming home.”
Yoongi doesn’t need to explain what he means. As he slowly pulls you to your feet, you know what he’s telling you. You’re going to his estate, because it’s yours too now. The agreement is unspoken but mutual. You don’t want to go back to your apartment. You don’t want to go back to the Red. Right now, all you want is to wash the blood from your hands and get away from this place. 
Seokjin is at the door with a blanket. He wraps it around you as Yoongi keeps his hands around your waist, steadying you as you walk. You get down two levels of stairs before he tucks you into him and presses his lips against your temple.
“Close your eyes,” he murmurs, mouth moving against your skin. “I won’t let you trip.”
You do as you’re told. His steps are confident and careful as he leads you through the bottom floor. You hear the murmur of voices, the flapping of plastic tarp, and the humming engines of vehicles. Yoongi lifts you lightly and helps you get into the cool interior of a car that smells like leather. 
When the door shuts, you flinch and open your eyes, staring straight forward. Yoongi is next to you, arm going around your shoulders as he pulls you into his side again. You realize for the first time as you glance at him that there’s blood on his face and in his hair. His knee bounces up and down, his hand resting against it, still gripping a gun with the safety off. 
“Are we safe?” you whisper, staring at his gun. 
“Yes.”
“Then why-”
“It makes me feel better,” he admits. “I just need to come down.”
“Okay.” 
“Look at me.”
You do. His eyes are dark and though his mouth is pinched at the corners and the vein throbs in his forehead, his eyes are soft for you. “I love you,” he murmurs. “We’re safe.”
-
A week makes the pain in your cheekbone fade away. A week does not make the memory of squeezing the trigger fade. At night, the memory is worse. What your mind had been unable to remember at first comes back in full-clarity at night, gripping you in your sleep and dragging you down into an endless terror until Yoongi pries you from the clutches of your nightmares and wakes you. 
It’s easier with him by your side, though. You’re at least able to fall asleep, if not stay asleep through the night. When he wakes you from screaming and thrashing in the sheets, you’re able to settle against him, his hold on you firm. Comforting.
Yoongi takes this in stride. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t lose his patience. He simply murmurs that he gets it and holds you, his skin warm and smelling like home. 
Home. 
The estate is a sprawling mass of elegance that stuns you each day. Beyond the opulence of the home and the luxury that it offers, what matters most is the security. The personnel at every entrance, the high gate with cameras and alarms, the three lurking dobermans that still terrify you when you see them standing in a dark hall at night or watching you in the kitchen when you get a glass of water after a nightmare. 
Nox has come around to liking you, at least. She’s become your shadow in the house, which had made you a little unsure at first. Now, she trails you up the stairs and to the master bedroom. You’ve grown used to her - prefer it, even, when Yoongi is not home like right now. 
Erebus and Khonsu are on the floor of the master bedroom. Both watch you as you enter, unbothered but aware. Where their younger sister has adopted you as an owner and a thing to protect, they still seem set on Yoongi only. 
The three dogs remain in the bedroom as you end the bathroom. It makes you feel safe to know that even if someone managed to get through the gates, up the driveway, through the secured doors and the dozen people that Yoongi has stationed at the estate since your kidnapping, the dogs are another line of defense. 
So is the gun under the bathroom cabinet and in the nightstand, but you don’t want to touch a gun ever again. Not if the nightmares it gives are like this. 
Steam fills the room accompanied by the scent of eucalyptus. Carefully, you peel the clothes from your body and toss them into a corner. The stone shower is warm with heated floors and a digital panel both inside and outside for control of the fifteen different water settings. There’s even steam options, but you simply turn on the rain feature, slipping under the dripping ceiling. 
The hot, wet taps of the water lull you into a trance. You stand with your head tilted down, letting the rivulets of water run the full length of your body.
“Angel, I’m home,” Yoongi calls from the bedroom. You smile, appreciating that he announces his presence instead of sneaking up on you. He’s always careful to make noise when he enters rooms now and announces his arrival. “You just get in?”
“Yeah,” you call back. “Join me?”
“Give me five.” 
When he finally enters the bathroom, you turn around to look at him. He’s already pulling the tie around his neck loose, dropping it to the ground. You catch sight of the red across his knuckles. Though he is free of blood - an effort on his part now to bring it home to you - you notice the days where he comes home and his knuckles are split or bruised, hands aching. 
Watching Yoongi undress captures your full attention. His movements are slow and methodical. His back is to you, shirt dripping off his broad shoulders to join the tie on the floor. He looks up in the mirror and pauses, dark eyes catching yours. You raise a brow and gesture for him to continue. When he does, it’s with his tongue poking his cheek and a smirk. 
Knowing that you’re watching, Yoongi turns it into an art. His fingers trace the top of his slacks before he slowly undoes the belt, pulling it with a satisfying hiss through the loops before holding it out to the side and letting it clatter to the floor. Your eyes are zeroed in on his reflection in the mirror as he works the button open, peeling the top of his pants apart to reveal the logo of his briefs. 
Yoongi pauses. Your eyes dart up to his in the mirror to find him watching you, eyes dark. The scar looks menacing today. You squeeze your thighs together, chewing on your bottom lip. He notices, smirk growing as he rolls the slacks down his thighs and kicks them aside. You see the imprint of his half-hard cock in his briefs, your attention on him alone enough to get his blood pumping.
You’ll never get over having that effect on him. Knowing that even after the nightmares and becoming an inconvenience - in your eyes, at least - the chemistry between you isn’t gone. It’s still there, a burning candle. 
Slowly, Yoongi peels off his briefs. His heavy cock bobs as he steps out of them and you feel your pussy clench around nothing, just thinking about him stretching you open. He says nothing about the small bead of precum at the tip as he turns and walks over to the shower.
He’s built beautifully. Broad shoulders with a slim, tapered waist. Strong arms and large hands, firm chest and soft but muscular stomach. Yoongi is the perfect blend of pretty and rugged, a combination that you didn’t know existed until him. 
When he steps into the shower, you step further into the water, making room for him. He shuts the door and frowns at the distance between you, holding out his hand. You take it immediately and he pulls you forward, careful not to let you slip on the tile.
He doesn’t waste a moment. Yoongi’s mouth captures yours, wet from the shower water as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, nipping lightly. You hum, bringing your arms to loop around his neck, fingers combing through his wet hair. His cock presses against your lower stomach, and you shiver. 
Yoongi’s kisses are addicting. Slow, like he has all the time in the world, but hungry, like he can’t get enough. His tongue brushes the roof of your mouth, his teeth pulling at your lip again when he pulls his mouth away to press open-mouthed kisses on your jaw. 
Tilting your head back, you let him pepper kisses along your throat. You close your eyes, letting him hold you to him. The room tilts as you sway in his arms, the feeling of him licking the hollow of your throat entrancing. It’s so simple yet it feels so good. 
One arm loops around your waist to keep you pressed to Yoongi, his other slides up your wet skin to cup your breast. You let out a breathy moan when you feel his thumb circle your stiff nipple, the stimulation so bare but so good. 
Yoongi keeps you cradled against him, mouth working your neck and shoulder and back up to your mouth while his thumb lazily plays with your nipple. You're pliant in his arms, letting him do whatever he wants with you.
His mouth starts to descend and when he finally takes your nipple into his mouth, you can’t stop the whine that escapes you. He hums as he sucks gently, tongue flicking back and forth over the peak. You can’t help but twitch in his arms, a ripple of pleasure sliding through you. 
Heat pulses between your legs and you feel the slick gathering in your folds. Your legs squeeze together again as Yoongi drags his teeth over your sensitive nipple before letting go and switching to the other. This time, he looks up at you through dark, wet lashes, sticking out his devilish tongue as he uses the tip to trace your skin.
“Show off,” you mutter, voice shaking. 
He laughs and runs the flat of his tongue over your nipple before giving a sharp suck that has you arching into him. “You love having your tits in my mouth,” he shoots back. He bites the top of your breast softly, teeth scraping your soft skin. “Don’t deny it.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Hmmm.” 
“You don’t have to say anything,” he teases. The hand around your back slides down to your ass. He grabs a handful, squeezing generously. “Can you turn around for me? Legs spread so I can see that pretty pussy.” 
“Fuck.” 
He drops his arms so you can turn around. You press your palms against the wall, shivering as the cold tile leeches the warmth from you. The temperature difference makes the room tilt. You slide your legs apart and stick your ass out toward him, lifting a little. 
“Fuck yeah.” 
You can’t see him, but you feel him as he slides down to his knees. His palms grip your ass, spreading your cheeks open. You close your eyes and let your head hang between your arms when it feels too heavy to hold up yourself. 
“Just want a quick taste,” Yoongi mutters.
“Shiiiit,” you hiss, feeling his tongue dance up and down your cunt. He licks you in broad, slow stripes before he puts his entire mouth on you and sucks sharply. “Just like that.” 
“Fuck.” The smack of his lips against your wet heat are bracketed by the slick sound of him stroking his cock, the filthy sounds echoing in the shower. “I could eat you out every day.”
“You do.”
“Fine.” His tongue zigzags back and forth, reaching to swirl around your click. He kisses your cunt and stands up. “I’ll make it twice a day, then.” 
The blunt head of his cock slides between your folds. You press back toward him, eager to have him push in and split you open. He tuts at you, giving you a gentle smack on your ass. “Eager.”
“I’ve been waiting all fucking day for it, Yoongi. Give it to me.” 
“Mmm.” 
The feeling of Yoongi sinking his cock into you slowly drives you mad. You feel like you can’t breathe, every inch of his thick length stretching your walls to the max. It feels like he’s in your guts when he bottoms out, the pressure immense and good and dizzying. 
He starts slow, giving a few shallow thrusts as you adjust to be pried open. You relax around him, falling into the pleasure as he begins to fuck you in earnest. Hands on your waist, he pulls your ass backwards, meeting every one of his strokes in a loud, wet smack of hips on ass.
A shiver ripples down your spine and you moan when he adjusts the angle, prodding your g-spot. “Yeah?” he asks through gritted teeth. “That the spot?”
“Yes, please fuck me just like that.”
Nothing else exists beyond this. The steam makes your skin even hotter, cloying the air and making it hard to breathe. It makes everything fuzzy, like you’re drifting in and out of reality, pleasure unfolding in you as you squeeze around his cock. 
Each snap of his hips is punctuated with stilted breath. You’re gasping, thighs burning as you take every inch of him, fingers curling against the wall, eyes rolling back as you fall into a mute space. You make sound but no words come out, the pressure against that spot inside of you driving you mad. 
Yoongi slides a hand from your waist over the curve of your ass and between your cheeks, thumb pressing gently on the rim of your ass. You let out a loud moan, fingers trying to grab the wall to no avail. The new stimulation feels delicious, Yoongi’s thumb pressing against your asshole in time with his strokes. He doesn’t push past the ring of muscles, but it doesn’t matter - it’s enough to send you careening closer to your orgasm, toeing the line of insanity. 
“Fuck, Angel,” he pants, fucking into you harder. “Just like that, make it fucking creamy. You gonna come?” 
“Fuuuuck yeah.”
His thumb presses harder against your rim. “Come on, give it to me.” 
“Shit shit shit shit.” 
You lose the ability to say anything. Your body folds forward, only held up by Yoongi and the press of the freezing cold wall as he fucks you with precision. It sends you over the edge, your knees knocking as you come, fists pressing into the wall as you yell through it. 
The sound of the shower is drowned out by your babbling. Yoongi thrusts hard a few more times, hand slipping away from your ass to grip your waist hard, chasing his high. He comes with a loud curse, fingers digging into your skin. 
For a moment, he leans into you, pressing his cock as far in as he can go. Your pussy throbs around him, every pulse ebbing around him. He presses kisses up your spine, hands sliding up your ribs to pull you upright until your back is against his chest. 
“Fuck,” he pants, voice rough. “I’m so glad you’re mine.”
“I’ve always been yours.”
“I mean entirely. Without sharing.”
You pause, looking up at him with a frown. “You know I haven’t been… taking clients for two years, right?”
He pauses. “What?”
“You stupid boy,” you laugh, laying your head against his shoulder. “Of course I wasn’t. I just wanted you.” 
“Then why stay there?”
You shrug a shoulder, letting your eyes fall closed. The warmth of the orgasm blooms through you, Yoongi’s skin hot against your back and  the shower hotter still. “It was a place I knew you’d be safe when you visited. And I didn’t want to ask you for more. Everyone always wants more from you. I just wanted you.”
“All that time, I could have just… asked you to come home?”
“Yes. But it’s okay. I’m home now.”
He kisses your neck. “You are home, Angel.” 
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escelia · 1 year
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This is a follow-up/one-shot based on the fic I wrote here, which was based on the prompt by @ghostreblogging
I'm really having fun with Big Brother Danny AU~ big thanks to everyone taking the time to read it!
Not So Normal
Daniel Fenton-Wayne had been with the family for a while now. To say that he was odd would be an injustice because he wasn't really. At least, not compared to the rest of the costume wearing vigilante family. Danny was a civilian, albeit a strange one. Danny and Damian were close in age, and everyone could tell that Danny wanted to be a good big brother; he'd never had the chance to before. The strangeness came in when Damian brandished his many weapons toward Danny, and he... caught him mid launch. Just snatched the little bird out of the air for a hug. Damian had thought he was putting up a fight, but it was clear that Danny wasn't struggling. He seemed so casually unbothered by Damian's behavior, but he was normal, ya know?
Damian sneers and waves his fork menacingly at Danny during dinner?
"He's fine! He's like, what, 10 years old?"
Damian growled that he was clearly 12 and threw himself over the table at him.
Damian threatens him with his swords?
"Damian! No!"
"Nooooo! Don't discourage him! He might lose interest!" And even as the rest of the family assured him that that would be a good thing, he handed Damian the blade and asked if lessons were on the table so Damian could have a "competent sparring partner." He still tried to stab Danny after that.
As concerning as it always was when Damian tried to stab someone, they were all relieved that Daniel seemed to be able to handle the demon brat better than most. Eventually the baby bird would warm up to him and stop stabbing him so often, but until then, Danny could handle himself.
~~~~○•○•○~~~~
Let it be known that Damian did not have a favorite brother! They were all imbeciles with poor taste in humor and mediocre fighting skills. That being said, Danny did have a leg up over the others for inquiring about sword lessons to improve his fighting prowess, even if he was already surprisingly adequate for a civilian. Well, that and other things that Danny had admitted only to him in the months he'd been with the family. It was strange being the one he confided in, but he felt a sort of pride that, even though he'd tried to stab Daniel, he was still the one he went to when he needed to talk about stuff he hadn't told the others. So perhaps it wasn't that surprising that when he'd gotten in trouble, Danny was the one Damian called for.
Patrol that night had been boring and quiet. Too quiet. Way too quiet for Gotham, which meant that something bad was brewing. Batman had handed Robin off to Nightwing for the night while he poured over all the reports and data from the last few weeks to figure out what the rogues of Gotham could have planned. Nightwing was ashamed to say that the Joker had gotten the jump on them. He'd tied the two up, leaving their comms on so the rest of the bats could hear all of the terrible things Joker had planned for them. He included terrible reminders of how he'd murdered Jason and how he couldn't wait to pluck the wings from Batman's other birdies. Damian wanted to rip his throat out for that, but he was in no shape to fight. His family was in danger, so he called out to the only other person he trusted.
"DANIEL!" Damian screamed long and loud for his brother, the plea surging forth from deep in his chest. Dick looked horror stricken that his baby brother had called out for the one member of the family that wasn't a vigilante, painting a huge target on his back. But even as he could hear the commotion coming through the comms and see the panicked look on Dick's face, he called for Danny again. His brother would help. He would come!
The room's temperature dropped in an instant, their panting, panicked breaths fogging the air while the lights flickered. The Joker paused in his maniacal laughter to observe the Lazarus green pool forming on the ground between him and the birds. Frost and ice cracked through the concrete of the warehouse as a head of white hair with a crown of crystalline ice rose through the small pit and the Joker's veins flooded with dread at the too wide, too sharp smile on the thing's face.
"Don't worry, I'm here. You're safe," he cooed comfortingly back to Damian, his voice an otherworldly echo in the large space. "But you?" He gestured to the Joker with claw-like fingers. "Well, let's just say, I've been d̵͔̦̩̒̒̊ẙ̴̧͓͕̺ḯ̸͖̪͔n̶͉͛g̵̻̾͒͜ to get my hands on you."
It happened so fast that no one really knew if the Joker screamed or not. In one moment, the boy's body had morphed into a cloud of inky black scattered with what looked like honest to God stars that smothered the Joker, and in the next, he was gone. The being who, upon closer inspection, definitely looked like Danny if he had white hair and green eyes and was a literal Eldritch creature, was untying them with care.
"Danny?" Dick questioned. He acknowledged him with a quick nod before turning back to Damian, the one who had called.
"You came," the youngest mumbled.
"You called," Danny answered with a soft smile. "Did you think that I wouldn't?"
"No. I knew that you would. You're not incompetent like the others."
"You guys heard that, right? That was definitely a compliment!"
Damian huffed but sagged in relief once he and Dick were both untied.
"You- you're-" Dick stumbled over his words in astonishment. "Danny, you're a meta?"
"Technically, it's a medical condition, but details," he responded, waving off the rest of the question with a cheeky smile.
In Nightwing's ear Bruce asked to speak with Danny. He removed the earpiece and tapped Danny's arm with it, gesturing to his ear. The "meta" slid it on just in time to hear his adoptive father shout.
"We will be talking about this as soon as everyone gets home safe, am I understood!"
"Loud and clear, boss man!"
"Let it be known that I knew something was weird about Danny!" He heard Jason exclaim. "No offense man."
"None taken, my Revenant sibling mine."
"Where did the Joker even go?" Someone over the comms asked. Danny thought it was Steph.
"I sent him to clown jail. I hate clowns. I've literally never met one that hasn't tried to kill me or my family."
Upon learning that the Joker wasn't the first homicidal clown that their, before now, seemingly normal brother had met, the comms erupted into chaos. Danny tossed the earpiece back to Nightwing before whisking them away back to the cave under the manor. He had a lot of explaining to do.
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jyoongim · 8 days
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~BLOOD & BLISS~
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Human!Alastor x wife!Reader
Themes: 1930 based! Human!Alastor x wife!Reader, domestic life!fluff, smut, slow burn plot, devotion, slight manipulation, mention of children, pregnancy,  blood, murder, secrets 
————————————————————————
Chapter three
Chapter Four
“Oh darling look at you! And here I thought you wouldn’t give me grandchildren” your mother laughed as she hugged you.
Your mother had invited you and Alastor over since you had sent her a letter about some exciting news you wanted to share.
You didn’t know whether to take her comment as a compliment or insult.
”Why ain’t your husband with you? I know that man ain’t have you travel here all alone in your condition” she frowned displeased.
”Momma you know how busy Al is. He’s been trying to catch up on work so he can take time off for the baby” you pouted.
She sucked her teeth, before a smile dawned her face
”well that means we can go shopping! Have you decorated the nursery? Do you have a nursery? Oooh honey why don’t you come home when you have the baby? A newborn is a lot of work” she was ranting and you sighed, rubbing your heavy stomach.
”Momma im perfectly capable of taking care of my baby.  I’ve read all the books” your mother gave you a funny look
”books? Oh girl those books ain’t gonna help you. You need experience. Youre a first time mom, you have no instincts in raising a youngin ”
You pouted. You felt like a teenager being chastised.
You knew your mother meant well, but sometimes you had to stop her ‘good intentions’.
”Ill be fine. Alastor’s gonna be there and Im sure we can figure it out. Aint that what parenthood all about?”
She hummed “If you say, now lets head to town. I want my grandbaby to have the best!”
—————————————————————————-
You fanned yourself as you finally sat down. The summer heat was not kind to you as your mother had dragged you to every shop in town.
The two of you had finished up shopping and were now at a little restaurant. You smiled in thanks as the waiter sat a glass of cold water in front of you.
Your mother cooed as she looked over several items she had bought.
You think she was more excited than you and you were the pregnant one.
”Momma I think you overdid it. There’s no way the baby is gonna wear or use any of that” you mused, sipping the water.
She waved you off.
”so…how has Alastor handled the news?” She asked.
You blinked “he’s very excited. He says he don’t care about the gender, but he’s taken to thinking it’ll be a girl” you giggled.
”haha a girl? Oh no you’re definitely having a boy darling” she laughed.
You titled your head in confusion.
Your mother smirked “Your belly is big and low and you’re not even halfway through your term, that means you’re having a boy. ”
She continued “Most men want a boy on the first go. A scrappy boy is the jewel of every man’s pride”
You rubbed your stomach, smiling “Well it don’t matter im sure hell adore the baby no matter what”
She hummed and picked up the newspaper that was on the table.
The headline read ‘fifth body found in canal’
”Such a shame the authorities can’t find killer. Those poor souls. This is the fifth body that’s been found and practically in your backyard. You really need to careful dear” she said grimacing.
You weren’t too worried. All the victims were random, but they weren’t pregnant women. “I don’t think the killer is slaying harmless pregnant women momma”
She shrugged “Can never be too sure dear”
———————————————————————————
Alastor whistled as he cleaned the kitchen. Bright red water filled the sink as he wronged the sponge. You would have a fit if you saw the state of your kitchen and Alastor couldn’t have an upset wife.
You had went to visit your mother, thinking it was time to tell the woman that the two of you were expecting. You had wanted him to come along, but he thought it would be better if the two of you spent some time together.
So he took the time to go hunting. It had been a while since he had a good hunt and he had a taste for deer meat.
Once the kitchen was spotless, he discarded what he didn’t need into a bag. He headed down to the cellar with the rest of the trash.
He tied the bag and reached for the other one.
Hauling it back to the kitchen, he turned on the radio to listen to some tunes as he prepared to cook. You should have been coming home in a few hours and he was sure you would be hungry. It was rather hot today, so instead of slaving too much over the stove he opted for a simple stew.
He pulled the meat out of the bag and began to cut it.
He pulled a pot from the cabinet and filled it with  onions, carrots, and a little water were added into the pot as he cleaned the meat.
As the pot boiled, he plopped the meat in a pan to cook it down.
The kitchen filled with the smell of herbs and meat as he worked.
He added some seasoning to the meat and transferred the chopped meat to the pot.
He turned the heat low and let it simmer.
He nodded in satisfaction and took a look at himself. Disgusting
He was covered in blood. He sighed and went upstairs.
Light red swirled down the drain. Alastor rolled his neck, a soft pop was heard and he sighed in relief.
Once finished in the shower, he gathered the dirty clothes and headed out back in the yard.
He waved to the passing neighbors as thee fire crackled, a pleasant smile on his face.
Once the fire died down, he headed back inside to check on the stew.
He stirred it and turned it off.
He fixed a cold sweet tea and took a seat at the dining table.
His mind wandered to you. He wondered how you were fairing in this heat. He was sure you were ready to come home and relax. Your mother was a handful.
Your pregnancy was coming along nicely.
You had rounded out and now you sported a big belly. His cock twitched in his pants. He couldn’t believe how insatiable  he had become since you had become pregnant. He couldn’t keep his hands off of you.
You had transformed beautifully. You always seemed to be glowing, though you swore it was sweat. You had become incredibly sensitive, your mood swings putting you both through the ringer.
You had voiced your concern about your image as you had filled out nicely, gaining weight from the baby you now carried. You couldn’t fit any of your usual form fitting outfits, opting for loose dresses.
Alastor reassured you that you looked beautiful no matter what. He enjoyed a little meat being on your bones. 
You were softer and he loved every minute of it.
His eyes traveled to the pot, he wondered if you had ate. He really wanted to see how you would react to the meal he prepared. While you love his cooking, the baby was picking, which resulted in you being sick a lot.
The buzz from the hunt still rippled through him as his lips curled in a smile.
yeeesss how would his little wife enjoy the meal he prepared for her?
He made a mental note to take out the trash later but for now, he waited for you to return home as he opened a book about parenting. 
He should ask you what color you wanted the nursery….
——————————————————————————-
Your mouth watered as you came through the door “What did you cook Al it smells really good”
Your husband chuckled as he closed the book and walked over to you. You were trying to beeline it to the kitchen, but your husband wrapped his arms around you and pressed his lips to yours. He grinned as your stomach created a space between the two of you, running an affectionate hand over the bump “Well hello to you too my dear. How was your mother? I see the two of you went shopping” His eyes took in the amount of bags you brought back.
You huffed “Yea Ma would have bought out the entire store if I let her, i tell you I think she’s more happy about a grandbaby than when we got married”
Alastor coaxed you to the couch, smiling as you sighed as he massaged your aching back. He pressed soft kisses to your exposed shoulders “I didn’t know if you had ate already, so I made a stew. Let’s hope the baby like it. I read that warm foods were better than the ice cream you’ve been sneakng” he snickered as you pouted.
”Just relax a bit and Ill make you a bowl”
You smiled at him “I want crackers too!” You called after him.
Alastor returned with a steaming bowl of stew. It smells so good and your stomach growled in hunger. “I tried a different meat but I hope you like it my dear”
You thanked him and rolled your eyes as he picked up the spoon and held it to your mouth. You blew on it softly before chomping on the spoon.
Your tongue tingled as you savored the flavor. 
The meat was softer than you were use to, maybe pork or a different beef?
Whatever it was it was good!
”Mmmhmm this is so good. The texture of the meat is a bit off but its really good Al” you complimented.
He beamed at you, pearly whites glistening at you. “Im happy you like it and you didn’t throw it up im proud baby”
You quickly finished the meal and showed him everything your mother bought for the new arrival.
Alastor smiled in content as you happily showed him the baby wares; clothing, toys,and other gadgets. Seeing you so excited filled him with an unexplainable feeling. His hand caressed your belly as you ranted.
”Did you know that there’s a killer on the loose?” Your sudden question brought his attention back. Your face was filled with worry.
Alastor tensed, but relaxed “We had gotten a few reports down at the studio but no real leads. Why do you ask dear?”
You placed your hand over his that was on your bulging belly. “I-Im just concerned. I mean we do have a child on the way and i dont really feel safe walking the streets in this vulnerable condition. My mother suggested we move into the summer house.” You looked down, Alastor kissed your forehead “Im sure well be fine. Besides it seems the killer has a little mortals. No woman has been harmed. So dont fret my dear” he assured you. 
You sighed, he was right.  There was no need to worry.
“I would never let a soul hurt you” he whispered against your forehead.
You hummed and started giggling as he nipped at your ear “Al!!!”
You tried to wiggled away, but your husband softly pushed you back on the couch, being mindful of your belly.
”Now why dont I show you that I am more than capable hmm?” He grinned down at you.
—————————————————————————————————-
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I feel like, Young!Pathetic!Konig would do REALLY well with a Older!Lady-Cougar!Reader, She's maybe been divorced twice and looking ta maybe become widowed this time? May-haps her current hubby has wealth and power but is a few screws short of being a good man towards our poor reader, and there's that Pesky prenup that makes it so she won't get ANYTHING in a divorce...buuuttt if the bastard has a bit of an....*Oopsie doodle*.... Maybe she's looking for someone to take care of her problem, and maybe she likes this young soldier boy, whose all too happy to help with *whatever needs* she might have? Likes how desperate he is for just her hand on his arm, likes how he's on his need begging for just a *taste* Likes that she can teach him how to please a woman, how to make her moan like no lover before....Likes how willing he is to kill the man she's married too...
Asfdf my brain short circuited ❤️ I know I said somewhere that I don’t write cheating but if it’s cheating a bad man with an even worse man König….
CW: 18+ MDNI. Age difference, F!dom/M!sub undertones, praise kink, cheating (your husband is an old dick), mating press & other shenanigans, murder & mentions of blood, König is a lovesick yandere in the making.
It was just one night.
Just one night to satiate your needs because your husband for sure never takes care of them.
But then the young pup you picked off from the pub pops into your workplace next week... With a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a box of chocolate in the other, your desperate little “detour” looks like a boy who just got laid for the first time in his life.
“König…” you sigh and pull him to an empty breakroom before all your colleagues see you’ve cheated on your beloved husband with a man at least ten years younger than you.
“You can’t be here,” you start, trying to ignore the happy, greedy stares this little—big—soldier gives you.
He’s all the equal to his alias, looking like a king in the making with those wide shoulders and that fierce stare. But his hands are shaking, he guides those eyes to the floor as he puts the gifts on the table littered with crumbs and coffee stains, switches his weight from one foot to the other once you start to tell him how it is.
He listens dutifully as you try to explain how it was only one night, that he was incredibly lovely and you had so much fun but that you can’t see each other anymore. It was wrong of you to do so in the first place, you’re married, and you’re so, so sorry... You were just so sad and lonely.
You tell him he’s a good man. That he’ll find someone special, some lovely girl to call his own. He will find someone who can give him what he wants, someone who will cover him with kisses for bringing her flowers and sweets.
You try to explain it to him even as you get slowly chased into a corner, you try to tell him what a catch he is even when you get pinned to the wall by a hard, lean chest.
You try to tell him that he’s the perfect man for some other girl even when he pulls your strings aside and bullies his cock inside you.
One minute is all it takes as he huffs and groans and fucks you against the wall, your moans and his grunts barely muffled by shirts and fists and lips and skin. There’s lipstick on his clean, white shirt after he’s done with you, teeth marks where his shoulder meets his neck, a spittle of cum on your skirt as he pulls it down with shaky hands.
“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear. “I just had to see you. I missed you so much...”
Your cunt is what he missed, any woman could see that. Got a taste of it last weekend and wouldn’t let you leave his place at all; a small, miserable flat of 25 square meters, with burned rice on the stove and a thin, cum-stained mattress on the floor. He fucked you on that mattress, four times because on the fifth attempt to part your shaking thighs, you told this horny lad you need to go home.
“I know, big boy. I missed you too. But you need to go now,” you say to your pretty lover. Ugly but pretty, in his own way, his utter lack of cruelty is what makes him beautiful in your eyes.
“I don’t want to,” he dares to argue back and claims your mouth, kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.
“You have to,” you moan. “König–”
“I love you.”
You’re huffing, panting into each other’s throats as you realize he’s even younger than you thought. Fell in love with your cunt so easily, this big runt, thinks it’s meant to be just because you’re wet and he’s hard.
“Don’t be silly,” you huff and look at the drowsy smile, the messy state of this lovesick man before you fight your way out of his lap.
You want to cry, wail, scream from the injustice. Where was this silly young golden retriever six months ago? Why didn’t you meet him when you were single and sweet? Now you’re trapped in an unhappy marriage with some old fool who was cunning enough to trick you into a ludicrous deal with him. The prenupt you discovered only later, after he swore that you wouldn’t have to work a day in your life and that everything that belonged to him would be yours one day. In reality, you’ve had to beg for every crumb, act the part of a trophy wife who also has to work herself to death. And he won’t even fuck you, only wants you to massage his back and his cock while you’re left all alone without love, without a single kind word.
But König never lets you go: not in a way you beg him to, no, he always shows up at your door. Sneaks into your lonely room from the window, licks you to ruin while you laugh and tell him no, fucks you three times a night, crawls under the bed when a cleaning lady almost catches you two. He shows up at cafes, restaurants, conferences, parties, everywhere where you go but your husband won’t.
He’s so reckless that you have to teach him to be more patient, more gentle. You guide his fingers and his head, even his cock, while locking your eyes with his so that he knows when he’s doing it right. You praise him for a good, unhurried fuck, cup his face and kiss him when he gives it to you nice and slow. Anyone can see he'd want to ram it in until there’s nothing left of him and you, but you kiss and kiss and kiss him until the poor boy moans and cums without permission, just from that tiny taste of intimacy and love.
He gets pets, smooches and caresses, blowjobs that leave him shaking and breathless on the bed. He looks like he has no brains left after you’re done with him, looks a little helpless when you climb on top of him and help yourself with his cock after he only just came.
He’s always up in no time, especially if you tell him he did well. Stares at you and your breasts like you’re a vision from heaven, drools on them once when you won’t let him have a lick. Mopes when you laugh at his predicament, and won’t stop brooding even when you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.
But he’s never mad at you for long, not if you call him sweetie or your silly apple crumb, not if you let him fall asleep in your bed, partly on top of you. There’s always a wet spot on your back if he’s the big spoon, he begs you to sleep naked as he does, says it’s better for your health and then teases you with his fingers come morning, probably thinking he’s so very clever. Takes you to the theater and offers you expensive port wine and cake, tells you how to steal a car, how to shoot any gun. Gives you a hungry kiss in public when you tell him he has to act like he’s your cousin from abroad, vanishes for weeks to his training, sends letters instead of texts, and tells you he’s going to be a big boss someday.
It’s hard to imagine this serious but silly mess as an intimidating officer, not even when you know he has the size and looks for it. He’s too innocent and needy, doesn't know how the real world works yet. Thinks he’s immortal just because he’s young...
There’s a certain darkness in him, and you mistake it for the remnants of some turbulence of his teenage years, just some wrath of a boy who never got what he wanted. Who wouldn’t be a little pissed and impatient in their twenties? He probably doesn’t even know what he wants: hell, you don’t know what you want.
“Like this...?” He asks demurely when he lifts your knees to your ears and sinks his cock into you inch by inch, carefully as if it’s the first time you’re making love.
“Just like that,” you whisper as he spreads you so wide you can’t even breathe, fills you up deliciously, like no one else before. His eyes never leave you, not even when he uses your hole as a place to bury himself and all his bad memories, not even when he makes you squirt like you’re nothing but an oasis in a desert that never ends.
But you know he comes to you for other things than just that.
He comes to you for kind words, breathy praise, soft touches and ruffles of his hair. He comes to you for practice and to get his sense of self in order. He’s your pretty knight in shining armor when others have called him ugly, he’s your strong bull when others have ridiculed his disproportionate limbs. He’s your safe haven, your sunshine, your crazy, silly man, your soldier and your savior, and he soaks up your love and attention like a sponge: every drop gets gulped down like he’s a man dying of thirst. He doesn’t take sips, he doesn’t know how to, and you on the other hand don’t know how to quench the raging drought inside him, long after yours has been satiated.
You sleep like Romeo and Juliet just before their death, and fuck like rabbits in the spring. He takes you in the car, in the closet, in the toilet, in other people’s beds, even at the alley one night.
“I love you,” he always says after he has spilled his cum – it’s like a ritual or a prayer, and you always reach for the baby hairs of his neck in return, and give them the gentlest caress.
“I love you too,” you whisper one night – it just slips when you stroke his cheek. It never comes as a surprise that he gives you the most miserable pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.
He knows about your situation, knows enough that you’re trapped and unhappy. But you never knew he saw you as a victim. If anything, you feel like he’s the victim here. Poor boy, saving what little he has for a future with some woman who knows nothing about true love... You’re not the one for him, you’re not even a silly little sex kitten any young soldier would want to play with. You’re just some bored, abandoned wife who wants to feel something, mean something to someone. But you love him enough to know that you’ll let him go when he wants to move on. As bitter as it makes you feel, you know you’ll give him to someone younger and more beautiful, someone who will love as passionately as he does. Anything to make him truly happy.
But the next evening, König doesn’t climb in through your window. He uses the door, the inside door, and you jump from the bed and hurry to him in your nightgown, the only gift your husband ever gave you.
“I killed him for you,” he says, your soldier boy from Austria, your good, good boy with a good, big cock.
You only now see that his hands are stained in blood, and nothing shakes anymore: your wannabe sniper is as calm as ever when he confesses he’s murdered someone.
“...What?”
He comes to you and cups your face, the blood on his hands both wet and cold. You’ve never seen him so peaceful, not even after he’s had a good fuck. The boy who no one ever loved has turned into a man, but what kind of man… You shiver in his clutch, unsure if you’re about to suffer a heart attack from fear or love.
“He didn’t suffer... Much,” he says, his cracked lips only a breath away from yours. “Knives can be messy…”
You gulp while staring into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes, the innocent baby blue nearly swallowed by the darkest of all loves.
This is not how you thought things would go… You were supposed to give the old man the finger and divorce during the summer. Put your finances in order so that you can escape. Maybe fuck König on the side and see if he’s still the man of your dreams once you’re happily divorced.
Now he’s telling you you’ll marry as soon as possible, or that if you want a summer wedding, he can wait a few months… He tells you you have nothing to worry about, he won’t go to jail, not this time. He’ll take care of you now; he just got promoted. You don’t ever have to be sad again.
“Don’t worry, my love,” he says when all words have finally escaped you. “Now we can be together. Forever…”
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boozedancing · 28 days
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Nelson Bros. Classic Bourbon Whiskey Review
Join us for a quick trip to Nashville’s Greenbrier Distillery for a taste of the Nelson Bros. Classic #Bourbon #Whiskey …
One of us loooooves to whiskey shop and is always on the lookout for something new and interesting. And one of us is a mooch that will gladly partake of whatever lands on the Murder Table for a tasting. I’m sure you already know who is who. The subject of today’s review is the fruit of one of these whiskey shopping excursions and it’s called Nelson Bros. Classic Bourbon Whiskey. While we’re quite…
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florencemtrash · 4 months
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The Ballad of the Shadowsinger
Azriel x Reader Oneshot
“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.”
Warnings: ANGST with a happy ending, mentions of attempted SA and suicidal ideation (they're very brief, but please do read with caution)
Author's note: I finished this at 3am last night and I think it's pretty apparent... buuuuuut I'm going to post it anyway. Enjoy...
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The Shadowsinger arrived one winter night, curling into existence on the border of town like cream through coffee. Jadhan was only a boy at the time - painfully human with a broken leg that had never healed properly. The Midlands were a terrible place for a child to grow up - a place where the only thing more unstable than the ground was its sense of safety.
But things changed when the Shadowsinger arrived, bringing with him gold and the brutal violence required to scare off the bandits and murders that slipped in from the nearby Lordship. And when the Lord came for the Shadowsinger’s head, it was the fae male was the one who walked away from the fight. Except it wasn’t a fight. It was a slaughter.
Jadhan was thirty-seven now with three young boys that had come in a cluster, forcing their way into the world one after another. Sasha had never been quite pleased with him for that, but her love for her sons and her husband outweighed the pain and hardship in the end. 
The boys - Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik - ran around the tavern, ducking beneath tables and barstools while their height still allowed it. The Shadowsinger watched them with the faintest of smiles as they clambered about, begging for more attention from his shadows. 
There was little known about the Shadowsinger this deep into the Continent, but whispers still passed through the mouths of travelers at the inn. The most common piece of gossip was that he was a Prythian outlaw - banished to the Continent after attempting to kill his Lord. Jadhan didn’t know - and he figured he would never find out. 
The Shadowsinger was so quiet that no one even knew his real name. They all called him Shadowsinger - Shadow for short. He disappeared into the woods at night and stalked into town come morning, but give a shout at any time and he would be there, flying overhead like a black stormcloud. 
“On the house, Shadow.” Jadhan said, dropping the glass onto the sticky counter. Whisky neat, two fingers - just the way he liked it. 
The Shadowsinger picked it up, swirling the amber liquid around like he hoped it would start talking to him, “You say that every night.”
“That’s because a free drink is the least I could get you.” Jadhan tipped his head towards the rickety stage where the local songbirds were setting up. The singer, Phaedra, had her eyes on Shadow, sending love and gratitude his way like a flood, “Phaedra’s been telling everyone what you did for her. You know, with the Morois boy.” 
Shadow grimaced, taking his first sip. He grimaced again. The whiskey was home-brewed and tasted like it. Everyone in town said a shot of the stuff could kill a man, but Shadow was hardly a man, and more shadow than fae.
Lev Morois had had his eyes on Phaedra for a while now. And he didn’t like to be denied anything, especially women. Normally he traveled to the Lordship for his fill, and he would have been better off going there last night. Instead he’d forced his way into Phaedra’s home… and Shadow had made sure he’d never be able to hurt a woman like that ever again. 
“How old are your boys now, Jadhan?” His voice was deep and smoky.
The trio neared closer, as if they knew they’d been summoned. The eldest, Mikhail, nearly crashed into the countertop, forgetting he had to bend down now. A tendril of black shadow shot out, muffling the blow and corralling him back out onto the open dancefloor with the rest of the children. 
Jadhan sighed and rubbed at a burned spot on the counter, “Too old, and growing faster than weeds.” 
It was a sweet pain for Azriel to see the three brothers romping around. It was almost winter and soon enough they’d be wrestling in the frosted fields, shoving snow down each other’s shirts, and hurling it at each other's heads. 
When was the last time he’d seen his brothers? Cassian had stopped by twenty-five years ago, shocked and scared to see Azriel looking so wretched. The next time Azriel’s shadows had warned him, and they’d sent Cassian away.
Rhysand was a different story… he’d never forgiven Azriel for what he’d done - and rightfully so - but that didn’t make the pain any easier to swallow. That didn’t make Azriel miss them any less.
He tossed the rest back and, to Jadhan’s surprise, he let the barkeep refill it.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Phaedra’s voice crooned over the crowd, settling over drunk men and women like a warm blanket until it was time for their sober partners to drag them home. Those who were alone either settled into the hard booths for a nap or resigned themselves to a stumble home in the dark. They’d all make it to their beds in the end - The Shadowsinger would see to that.
He dropped a gold coin onto the counter - triple what the night’s libations actually cost. It was the briefest of stumbles that had Jadhan gripping onto the male’s shoulder and forcing him back into his seat. 
Azriel wasn’t drunk. It would take an ocean of human liquor to get a fae drunk and then some. But he was starting to feel something.
“I got a pinch of ambrose from a merchant passing through.” Shadow’s eyes snapped up to Jadhan, who only raised his hands in surrender, “Hey, hey, hey, I know you don’t drink my whiskey for the taste, so I thought I'd put something in there to remind you of home. Something to loosen you up like liquor is supposed to.” 
The Shadowsinger winced at that word: Home.
“Very well.” He said.
The boys had gone home with Sasha hours ago, and without them running about with their usual compatriots, the tavern seemed dull. Now was no longer the time for dancing and riotous laughter. Now was the time for the sad drunks and those who didn’t want to go home.
But Azriel wasn’t drunk and he desperately wanted to go home.
It was the shame that kept him rooted to the stool like a stubborn weed… that and Rhysand’s promise that if he ever laid eyes on Azriel again, he’d rip the wings off his back. 
Jadhan seemed to understand that about him, leaning over the counter on sturdy arms thick as tree trunks. His leg was still lame, always had been and always would be, but that had never held him back much.
“What’re you doing here, Shadow?”
His hazel eyes flickered up. 
“What’s it been? Twenty-five years you’ve been in town now?”
“Thirty. Exactly.” 
So that was why the Shadowsinger had drank so much that night. It was to commemorate the sad, terrible anniversary of his banishment to the Midlands.
“Don't you think that's long enough? I don’t mean any offense, but don't you have anywhere else to go? Friends? Family?”
The male gritted his teeth and Jadhan had the sinking feeling he'd just poked the bear.
“I thought I was wanted here.” 
“Of course you are. Hell, we’d all be dead or piss poor if it weren’t for you.” Jadhan shook his head, “I don’t know what you’re running from - if you’re a thief, a murderer, a treasonous bastard or all of the above-” 
Shadow flinched, actually flinched, and Jadhan knew it was all of the above.
“But whatever it is,” He continued, “I think you’ve made up for it.” 
Azriel stilled, shadows continuing to swirl around the wet, empty glass in front of him.
How he wished those words were true, but only a human would think thirty years was a long time. They were nothing if not optimistic.
“No. I haven’t.” Shadow said flatly. Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, until Jadhan finally sighed and went to clear the glass.
“I had a mate.” He whispered the words so quietly, Jadhan almost didn’t hear him. 
His thick eyebrows disappeared into his receding hairline. He didn’t know much about fae customs and the ones he did know about were often violent, strange, or both… usually both. But he had a great deal of respect for mating bonds and understood they were prized above all else to fae.
“Had?” 
Shadow’s lips flattened into a thin line and Jadhan could have sworn his eyes began to brim with years. 
The Shadowsinger nodded stiffly.
“Dead?”
Shadow gritted his teeth and nodded once more, wings drooping low enough to brush against the sawdust packed floor.
Jadhan sighed so deeply he seemed to shrink into himself, and Azriel was once again struck by how quickly humans aged.
Silver streaks were already beginning to color his temples and his leg was getting stiffer and stiffer each day. It wouldn't be long until he was forced to swallow his pride and buy a cane like Sasha had been suggesting.
It seemed like just yesterday Jadhan had limped his way into the woods, calling out for the Shadowsinger with a copper coin clenched in his fist and a bargain to make. 
Kill my father, and I will do anything you ask of me. Anything at all.
There had been such determination in the little boy’s body that Azriel hadn’t hesitated to fold his small fingers back over the coin and then do what he had been told… to do what he’d always been told to do. 
“I’m sorry, Shadow.” He shook his graying hair, “I’m so sorry.” 
Azriel grimaced, fists tightening until they turned pale, “Don’t feel sorry for me. Don’t you dare.”
He frowned, “And why not?”
The Shadowsinger stilled and got quiet again, “Because it was my fault. I killed her.” 
Jadhan, for all his mortal naivete, didn’t look surprised at his answer. He only twisted his mouth to the side in thought before asking once again, "Why are you here, Shadow? Why don't you leave?"
Azriel looked at him, hazel eyes filled with despair.
He would never tell Jadhan this, but he’d always been envious of humans for one thing - they could die of old age. They could be killed easily. So easily that all it would take was one flick of Azriel's wrist and Jadhan would be no more.
Fae were not so easy to kill, and their only end was a violent one. Maybe that was why Rhys had banished him to the middle of the Continent where life was harsh but simple, and fae were nowhere to be found.
No one here was strong enough to kill him. Azriel would know - he’d spent the first five years on the Continent searching for a way to die and getting into so many bloodbaths it had lost its luster.
“Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.” The Shadowsinger said, “Because I’m waiting to die.” 
___
There were many reasons Azriel built his house in the woods. Firstly, he liked the privacy Secondly, when the nightmares came, there was no telling the damage he could do. 
Tonight’s dreams were especially violent and cruel to him. 
Elain appeared before him, sweet and delicate as a dove and despite knowing better, he couldn’t help but follow her into the darkness like a fly to a carnivorous flower. It wasn’t her fault - he should have known better than to drag them both into this mess. She’d been reckless, hungry for some semblance of control in this new and strange world, and he had been all too willing to play the role of the selfless knight. 
When she kissed him it felt wrong, but like every other night, he was too powerless to push away. This was how it had happened, and there was no changing that.
She whispered against his lips, “Thank you for coming for me.” 
Azriel’s stomach twisted, because two people had gone on the mission into Beron’s lair, and two people had come out. Azriel had wrapped his arms around Elain’s silky body after saving her, and left you behind.
He followed Elain further, chasing her shimmering pink skirts onto the Autumn Court battlefield where she dove into the grasses and disappeared. 
This was where it truly went wrong. 
He caught sight of you on the hill, blood blooming like roses from where the ash arrows pierced your flesh. Your wings were gone and you leaned too far backward, still feeling their phantom weight against your back. That was what it had taken to bring you down. That was what it had taken for Beron to break you.
It was like a bolt of lightning running through his body when the bond snapped into place. Your bruised eyes shot open and you fought against the chains, horror freezing your heart. 
Azriel would know, because he felt it all.
“AZ! NO!” 
Beron’s ax caught the light as it came down on your neck and this wonderful thing he’d dreamt about for over five hundred years was snatched away from him. 
Azriel shot up in bed, skin slick and suffocating under the blankets. He kicked them off his body, taking big, desperate gulps of air as his stomach and shadows settled down. 
He rubbed his chest, feeling that hollow space where the bond used to be. 
He’d had you for less than a minute… he should have had an eternity with you. You should have had an eternity with all of them. 
On the day you died, Rhys and Cassian had also lost a sister. Feyre and Nesta had lost a best friend. Cassian may have been quick to forgive him, but Rhys could never. He’d already lost one sister. Nothing could have prepared him to lose you too. 
Shadows swarmed around him and he already knew his powers had wrecked the roof once again. Moonlight streamed through the newly made hole in the ceiling, pooling around his shaking form. He imagined it was the Mother staring down at him with her unblinking eye. Disappointed. Angry. 
The mating bond had been utterly wasted on him. 
“I’m-I’m sorry, Y/n.” He gasped out, trembling. He wrapped his wings around his shaking shoulders, as if that would be enough to shield him from what he’d done. 
Once again he was that little boy trapped in the cellar. Abandoned. Unloved. Alone. But this time he deserved it.  
“Please. Please.” He begged. He begged for the madness to take him. He begged for an end to his eternal life. 
“I want to come home.” He sobbed. “Please. I want to come home.”
You stood before him at the foot of the bed - a vision that had arrived three days after coming to the Midlands and never left. You looked at him sadly, your white dress hanging still despite the breeze that flowed through the room. But you didn’t say a word. You didn’t say anything at all. 
___
Jadhan was fifty-five now. The Shadowsinger still came to the tavern every night, drank his whiskey on the house, and left once the songs were over. 
Mikhail had left at eighteen, chasing after opportunities on the edge of the Continent. Zhik had died the year before - the youngest and the weakest of the trio. Not even the Shadowsinger could fight the cold that came for him in the Winter and stole him away before Spring. 
Now it was Alzhar and Jadhan that ran the tavern. Alzhar who poured the Shadowsinger his drinks.
“On the house.” He said, sliding the glass along the countertop. Whiskey. Two fingers. Just how the Shadowsinger liked it. 
“Thanks, Alzhar.” He raised the glass in the air before tossing it back in one shot, grimacing. Either he was getting older, or the whiskey had gotten worse. 
Snow flurried past the windows, more rain than anything else. 
“Happy Solstice day.” The Shadowsinger said with the faintest of smiles. 
“Happy Solstice day.” 
It was no grand holiday in the Midlands, and it certainly could never hold a candle to the festivities that were going on in Velaris, but still, Azriel would take whatever comfort he could get. 
Phaedra had quietly retired from singing, opting to strum along with her guitar in the background. But her daughter led the band now, a vibrant star in the midst of these quiet lands with a smoky voice that was only rivaled by her mother. 
“Happy Solstice day, everyone!” The tavern-goers cheered and a new generation of children shrieked from their spots closest to the stage. “Now I know it’s not looking too great outside, but we all know what dear old, Phaedra says.” 
“Are you calling me old, Miss Devra?” Phaedra hollered, red painted lips turned down in a frown. 
“I’m calling you a dear, Mama. You’re still as young as a rosebud in April.”
“That’s right!” Alzhar whooped. Phaedra winked and blew her future son-in-law a kiss.
Devra’s smile was positively radiant, “Alright, alright well whatever. She says daisies look brightest when they’re down in the shits, but that’s not really the most appetizing turn of phrase now is it?” 
Everyone erupted in a mixture of laughter and cheer.
“Come on now, Dev.” Alzhar called out, “You’ve kept us waiting long enough. Sing!”
She rolled her eyes playfully, “Well since you asked so kindly,” She cleared her throat and began to croon,
“When my mama first warned me you’ve got trouble on your tail, I told her foxes are quick runners and my heart ain’t just for sale. I won’t be wooed by sweet flowers or sugar tea on ice, I just want someone who’ll love me and who’ll never think twice. I’ve-”
The tavern door burst open, letting in a howling blast of night-chilled air tinged with rain and frost. Everyone cringed back except Shadow, clutching at their thick coats and gasping at the sight of the being that came in from the darkness.
The female was anything but cold with her shining, warm eyes and radiant skin. She glowed like she'd been brushed with an otherworldly glimmer. She was sunlight shooting through crystal. 
Dev stopped singing immediately, her hands slipping from the worn out strings with a strangled thrum.
The Shadowsinger stumbled, actually stumbled, to his feet, and the world seemed to fall silent.
Shadows shot out towards her, curling around her legs and licking the hem of her midnight blue coat. She was the moonlit darkness given form, delicate and fierce at the same time. 
“Azriel.” She breathed out, finally giving a name to the nameless fae. “Azriel.” She repeated, still in disbelief.
The Shadowsinger - Azriel - walked forward without a sound, his scarred hands shaking at his sides.
She looked ready to throw her arms around him. Whether it was to embrace him or strangle him was yet to be seen.
Before she could make a move or say anything further, he dropped to his knees, head bowed and trembling. He swallowed thickly, keeping his eyes trained on the floor between her feet like he was scared to even look at her straight on.
If he had been looking at her, he would have seen the horrified shock that parted her lips and widened her eyes.
He pulled out that sleek obsidian blade he carried with him everywhere. The knife seemed to hum, the silent sound reverberating through the room and causing the air above it to warp.
Everyone knew that that knife was as much a part of him as his wings. But he held it out to her now like an offering, wings stretching open so that everyone could see the orange glow of the fire through the thin membrane, and the tendons that flowed through them like rivers.
Alzhar looked to his father in confusion. Was this some fae custom he wasn't aware of? Should they all be bowing to her? Perhaps she was their queen.
But his father only let out a slow breath, shoulders sinking down.
The Shadowsinger was the picture of reverent misery, and he would let her take whatever she wanted for her revenge.
His wings.
His life.
Anything...
Because I’m waiting for my mate to call me home.
That was what the Shadowsinger had revealed to him years ago, and Jadhan had never forgotten it. 
Because I’m waiting to die.
Her beautiful face crumpled, then turned resolute. She ignored the blade, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt and hauling him up to his feet. Azriel’s eyes blew open in surprise.
“You bastard. You absolute bastard.” She said, her silky voice shaking, “I’ve been looking for you for years.” 
“Y/n,” Azriel whispered reverently, “I-” 
She slammed her lips against his, swallowing whatever desperate apology had been about to escape his mouth.
The Shadowsinger froze, then slowly melted into her touch, wrapping his arms around her waist so tightly it was a miracle her ribs didn’t snap. Shadows swirled around the pair in a perfect mixture of light and dark - like moonlight bleeding through winter clouds. 
No one in the tavern could stand to look away. They were absolutely transfixed. Some great power was moving in the world and they could feel it. Magic or not, it demanded to be felt.
When the two fae finally pulled away from each other, gasping for breath, something in the earth seemed to crack open and shake the ground, releasing pressure that had been building for hundreds and hundreds of years. 
Tears slipped out of her eyes, salty and not entirely unwelcome. 
“Oh, Az.” She whispered, cradling his face with one hand and clutching her chest with the other. The Shadowsinger was weeping now, curling into her like a vine seeking sunlight, “How could I have forgotten this?”
He buried his face in her neck, breathing in the scent of elderflower and mountain pine like a man starved. His shadows grew around him, thick and powerful. And before anyone could even let out a strangled gasp, they disappeared with a whisper of smoke and shadow.
You reappeared in darkness, holding Azriel’s shaking body against you like an anchor to a ship. 
“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You gently shushed him, tangling your fingers through his hair.
You scanned the room finding nothing but a rickety bed and a dresser in the corner by way of furniture, and a small pile of firewood against the wall.
Moonlight streamed in through the roof and you held out a hand, latching onto the rays and weaving them together so tightly they filled the room with a silver glow. 
“Az.” You whispered, all your attention turned back on him, on your mate. "Az." You gently shook him, pressing fervent kisses to his temple until he finally lifted his eyes.
Azriel looked exhausted, purple bruises shading the hollows beneath his gorgeous eyes. 
“How-” Azriel gasped, “How is this-” 
“Bryaxis brought my body to the Cauldron.” You finished, equally out of breath, “It took him years to put me back together but… he did it. He did it, Az.” 
Azriel closed his eyes, sinking to his knees. This time you let him fall. And you fell with him, climbing into his lap so he could bury his face in your wind-swept hair. 
Home.
You smelled like home to him.
“Promise me." He begged, "Promise me you’re real, Y/n. Please, promise me. I’ll-I'll do anything." He could feel you on the other end of the bond, your heart pulsing and alive. But… he didn’t know if he'd be able to survive if he woke in the morning to find that this was all some terribly perfect dream.
“I’m here, Az. I’m here.” You replied thickly, “I’m here and I’m whole.” You tugged off your coat, throwing it somewhere behind you, and pulled down the neck of your sweater. A thick line of scar tissue wrapped around your throat, one of the many physical reminders of the horrors Beron had put you through. 
Azriel stilled, one hand daring to trace the pale flesh with a feather-light touch. “I… I did this.” 
“No...No.” You whispered, brushing away the moisture that had collected on his cheeks, “You didn’t do this, Az.”
“I left you behind.” His voice broke. “I took Elain and I left you behind. Y/n, I’m so sorry. Please, I’m so sorry.” 
You flinched and closed your eyes. It was one of your worst memories to date - the sight of Azriel’s broken face as the first ash arrow caught you in the back and brought you to the ground. The second was what had done you in, piercing through the membrane of your wings and digging into the ground, pinning you there.
Azriel had only gripped Elain’s golden form closer to his body. He could only fly one of you out, and in that moment he had made his choice and leapt into the sky. 
Azriel felt your emotion through the bond and desperation flooded his system once again. 
He couldn’t lose you. Not again. Not like this. Not when he had so much to make up for. 
“I know what I did, Y/n. I know it was unforgivable, but I swear to you I will do anything you ask. Whatever it takes. If you’ll just give me a chance, I- ”
“Shhhhhhh.” You shook your head, pressing your finger to his lips and silencing him. “I forgive you, Az.” You said, cupping his face.
He immediately leaned into your touch, craving the feeling of your soft skin against his.
“I don’t-I don't want to think about that anymore. Trust me, I’ve spent the last half a century agonizing over it.” You said, smiling without humor.
His hands rubbed up and down your back, tracing the ruined remnants of your wings and silently begging you to explain.
You hesitated, collecting your words and speaking them carefully, “I would have come sooner but… I was so scared and confused about everything. My body didn’t feel like mine anymore without my wings with-'' Your hand flew up to your throat on instinct. 
Azriel gently pulled your fingers away, kissing the pads of your fingertips all the way to your palm, and then your wrist. His lips brushed against the pulsing vein as soft as a feather. It was such a small point of contact, but it grounded you to reality.
 “I couldn’t remember anything. It was like… like I was starting from scratch. Building my life from the ground up.”
Azriel repeated the gesture with your other hand, soft lips skimming over your skin until you shivered, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” He whispered softly, “I should have been there.” 
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have known.” 
You looked at him for a long time, drinking in the sight of him and refamiliarizing yourself with his face. He did the same with you.
He looked tired and thinner than you remembered, the elegant planes of his face now harsh and sharp. But buried beneath all those years of loneliness, he was still there - your Azriel. The male who never did anything in half-measures. The male who couldn’t help but make some of the most impulsive decisions you’d ever seen in your life, and also some of the most careful. 
Gods, you’d missed him.
You'd missed talking to him and laughing with him. You'd missed the simple joy of being in his presence and the way that the world seemed to fall with hush whenever he entered a room.
“I came for you as soon as I remembered.” You brushed a strand of inky black hair from his forehead, and then flicked him. Hard. “But you just had to go and disappear on the Continent without a trace.” 
That wasn’t completely true. He’d left bloody, brutal footprints for a while, but those had dried up too quickly. 
The smile Azriel gave was weak and dull, but it was a start, “I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Y/n.” 
“That’s alright." You murmured against his lips before kissing him, "You can make it up to me.” 
Azriel’s heart leapt in his chest, and the bond responded in kind, singing louder than a choir of a thousand songbirds. Even after all this time, even after everything, the Shadowsinger hoped. 
“Y/n-” That light began to dim, hateful voices whispering in his ear that he was unworthy of you, that he would destroy this chance at happiness just as swiftly as he’d done the first time, that he would ruin it all, “I don’t deserve-”
“Stop it, Az.” Your words were soft but commanding, “I don’t care about what you think you deserve or don’t deserve. I want you. I want my best friend back. I want you back.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks, “I want you back in Velaris, and if it turns out I’m still pissed at you for everything, we’ll figure it out, ok?” 
You took a shaky breath and Azriel looked up at you in awe. He gathered you in his arms and captured your lips in a softer, more gentle kiss. A kiss that said, I’m tired. I’m so so tired and for the first time in my life I’m going to force the voices that tell me terrible things to be silent.
And it worked for a spell, but Azriel was pulling away again, looking guilty. 
“Rhys-”
“I’ve already handled Rhys.” 
His brow arched up every so slightly. Your guilty eyes flitted to the side.
You loved Rhys like a brother, and you fought with him like siblings do. That was why the last thing you'd done before leaving Velaris was force him to lift the banishment... and then you'd punched him in the face.
“I wasn’t exactly happy with him when I found out he banished you to the Continent. And to the Midlands too. I’ve heard it’s terribly boring here.” 
Azriel smiled, and this time it was a genuine one full of love and relief, “Everywhere is terribly boring without you. And terribly painful.” 
“That’s a very good answer.” You replied, feeling that a great weight had been lifted off your chest.
He held you in a gentle caress, tracing your brow bone and the curve of your lips and committing the feeling of you to memory.
This was real. This was real. This was real.
You both folded in on each other like paper houses laid to rest, until you were tangled up on the floor. There was a perfectly functional bed not even four feet away, but even that seemed like too much effort after everything that had happened. 
Azriel wrapped his wings protectively around you, settling down with his head against your chest so he could hear your heartbeat. You hummed in tired contentment, peppering his forehead with kisses as your eyelids began to droop. 
“I want to go home, Azriel,” You murmured, “I want to go home with you.” 
Home. 
Azriel swallowed thickly, “We’ll leave tomorrow first thing in the morning. I promise.” 
You opened a bleary eye, examining your mate quietly, “Do you not want to say goodbye?” 
Azriel kissed your chest, right over your heart. Thirty years ago he would have said yes. He would have taken time to get his affairs in order and to make sure Jadhan and his sons, Phaedra and Devra, and the rest were taken care of. But things had changed, and he knew that no matter what, they would be alright. They would live and travel and fall in love. If they were lucky, they’d experience the joy of dying in their sleep surrounded by loved ones at the end of a long and eventful road. 
“No. No, I don’t think so.” 
You pressed one final kiss to his forehead, absorbing him in the warmth of your arms. Azriel sighed, hanging onto the golden thread in his chest that wrapped around his soul and bound him to you. 
“They’ll be ok, my love.” You murmured.
And so will we. You whispered the promise down the bond, soft and gentle. 
He closed his eyes, pressing the words I love you into your skin.
“I know.” He whispered to the night sky once your breathing had evened out, “I know.” 
That night at the tavern felt like a dream - the kind that left you groggy and awestruck when you initially awoke, and then slipped away like water cupped in a child’s hands. 
Everything seemed louder than before, even though the townspeople walked about in a contemplative daze. It was the forest. That’s what it was. It hummed more brightly. The blanket of power that had rested over the treetops for decades had lifted overnight. 
No one spoke of the events aloud - they were too aware of the enormity of what they’d witnessed - but they all knew the truth.
The Shadowsinger had finally been called home. 
___
“Quick!” Alzhar’s eldest son, Samu, called out to the twins. They hobbled over as quickly as their stout legs could carry them. 
“Samu,” Niran whined, “I’m tired.”
“Papa said to be back by dark.” Rhaan reminded them all. The only trademark that separated him from his twin brother was the flash of blond through his ruddy brown hair. White-tailed deer they called him.
“I want dinner.” 
“Me too.” 
Samu looked over the hills where the sun was sliding down the sky like rain on a window.
“But we haven’t found the house yet!” He protested.
“We’ve been searching for days.”
“Yeah, we’ve been searching for days.” Niran parroted.
“Of course we have!” He threw his hands up in the air, “Did you really think the Shadowhouse would be easy to find?” He clicked his tongue in disappointment, shaking his head, “Go back if you’re so scared. I’ll look for it myself.” 
Niran and Rhaan looked at each other, identical frowns pulling at their lips. They wanted to prove their worth, but they were still younger than Samu, and their hunger mattered more.
“We’re telling Mama you didn’t listen.”
“I want your dessert.”
“Wait, no. I want it. Can we share?”
“I’m not sharing!”
Samu smiled triumphantly and stomped further into the woods, leaving the twins to their usual bickering.
The little boy sprinted back home hours later, a gleeful kick in his step. The sky was already turned pitch black, but the Mother had sprinkled out the stars like salt to guide him home.
Devra stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, swollen belly blocking out the roaring firelight like an eclipse. 
“Where have you been?” She gasped out, grabbing Samu’s head and holding him close to her stomach. Samu loved when she did this, convinced that his newest sibling would talk to him first. 
Niran and Rhaan wanted another brother to tussle with, but Samu was hoping for a sister. She could tussle with them too, he was sure.
He ignored her question, grabbing her hand and hauling her back inside, “Papa! BaBa! I found it! I found the Shadowhouse.” 
Niran and Rhaan popped out from their bedroom, clambering after their older brother as he dragged their mother along.
Jadhan and Alzhar looked up with relief. Jadhan’s hair had turned white as snow in his old age and hints of gray were beginning to sprout from Alzhar’s temples.
“Papa!”
“Samu, what have we told you about staying out past-”
“The Shadowsinger left something for you and Baba.”
“What?!” Jadhan sat up straighter, grimacing at the painful twist of his leg. He motioned his grandson closer, helping him climb onto the bed.
The little boy dropped the blue-velvet bag into his outstretched hands, leaning back on his heels with rapt attention. Samu, being the boy that he was, hadn’t opened it on the whole journey over and was now buzzing to learn what secrets it held within.
Jadhan was immediately startled by the weight of the parcel. 
“Open it!”
“Wait! I want to see!” 
“Help me up!” 
Alzhar and Devra relented, picking up the twins and leaning close. Their own curiosity was itching to be satisfied.
Jadhan opened the bag and tipped it over spilling dozens of gold coins onto the quilt. Devra gasped, her hands flying up to her mouth. Alzhar didn’t bother hiding his shock, his mouth agape. 
It was more money than they’d ever seen in their lives, Jadhan didn’t concern himself with it - he hadn’t had to worry about money in a long while. Instead, he picked up the slip of paper that had also fallen out, carefully unfolding it with trembling, wrinkled fingers.
For all the drinks “on the house” and for your son, Mikhail, who traveled to the edges of the Continent and made it possible for my mate to find me and bring me home.
Scrawled on the lower edge of the paper were more words, cramped and small like they’d been jotted down as an after-thought. 
Also, your whiskey is absolutely disgusting. Never let anyone else drink it.
Everyone stilled, watching Jadhan carefully. 
Without warning, the old man tipped his head back and roared with laughter.
Samu leaned back in surprise. His grandfather was a naturally solemn man, and he'd never heard him laugh so loudly and so fiercely.
Alzhar reached for the slip of paper, skimming the words quickly.
"No!" He cried out in disbelief, "Stop! This can't be. Devra, look-"
One by one the adults fell into fits of roaring laughter, collapsing onto Jadhan's bed or onto the floor. Even the boys cheered - confused but happy to be part of whatever story had just finished unfolding.
Jadhan was seventy-one years old when he died, and he died laughing, surrounded by his family at the end of a long road.
Down the street in the tavern, the band was still playing the same old songs, although they were being performed by yet another generation of songbirds. But, there was one new addition to the repertoire.
A song penned by Phaedra and aptly named The Ballad of the Shadowsinger years before her quiet passing. 
It was always the last song of the night. Always. And it ended like this: 
Come Solstice day
Come wind or rain
Now calls the heather
The Midlands will have no reason to dismay
For the Shadowsinger has been called home again
___________
Another author's note:
I feel like I threw in so many new human characters so I made a family tree. Ha!
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Also, please enjoy the small essay I wrote last night after writing this oneshot...
From last night:
Listen, some red flags are just pale orange scraps of fabric when you’re an immortal non-human being who’s been alive for hundreds of years. Don’t come for me. I’m so tired. It’s 3am. I should sleep. 
Ok, note from Florence B at 3:16am because I am making CONNECTIONS. Not all of this was intentional, but maybe it was? Maybe I’m just stringing connections after the fact.  Maybe I’m a genius. Probably not, but still. I’m so tired, guys. Why am I doing this right now? I should be sleeping but I can’t sleep so I’m going to do this instead.
Buckle down folks for the essay I am about to write: 
I have my qualms about the ACOTAR books, as I’m sure most people do. Don’t get me wrong, they’re wonderful reads and it’s the series that got me back into reading after college, but they’re not perfect by any means.
One thing I think that gets brushed under the rug (especially given how ALL the batboys fall for girls who are literally in their late teens/mid-twenties - it’s a major red flag but we forgive because it’s fiction) is how DIFFERENTLY fae experience time. LIke, these fuckers live hundreds, if not THOUSANDS of years. The only way they die is if they get killed, like purposely poisoned or stabbed or whatever have you. I tried to write this/touch upon this when Azriel describes how he’s jealous of Jadhan for his humanity and how no matter what, Azriel is stuck potentially living an ETERNITY with the reality of what he’s done. It’s why for me - personally - all the stuff about the mate bond driving males mad or the choice that Rhysand and Feyre make to bind their lives to one another kind of makes sense. Like, if I was faced with an eternal life sentence in a world that was as brutal and cruel as the ACOTAR universe is, HECK YEAH I MIGHT BIND MY LIFE TO SOMETHING/SOMEONE I CARED ABOUT! I’M NOT DOING THIS SHIT ALONE! You’ve gotta retire from the game at SOME point. 
I know I probably made things really confusing by introducing a whole host of human characters spanning several generations (re: the family tree up above), but as I previously mentioned, I thought it was important to do this to contextualize/compare the lifespan of a fae to a normal human. While Jadhan is growing up, getting a job, getting married, having kids, Azriel is still struggling with his banishment to the Midlands and his own sense of self-worth. The line about Jadhan approaching Azriel and offering him money to kill his abusive father who broke his leg was thrown in there later on around the 1am mark. And I didn’t think of it much - I just wanted a reason for Azriel to know Jadhan personally throughout his life from childhood to old age. BUT! Now that I think I’m thinking about it more, it makes sense that Azriel would be able to accept Y/n’s forgiveness so quickly. He sees a lot of himself in young Jadhan and by helping him escape his abusive father(albeit by violent means) and watching him grow up into a strong man and a good father, Azriel’s helping heal his own inner child. 
The kids! Oh my goodness I love the kids so much. Once I threw the first kid into the story I thought - fuck it, we’re going to make the parallelism painfully obvious with Azriel seeing himself, Rhys, and Cassian mirrored in Mikhail, Alzhar, and Zhik. Then of course I had to bring things around full circle and give Alzhar three boys and a girl on the way (yes, Devra is pregnant with a girl and Samu is going to shower her with all the love that Rhys gave his own sister). 
Finally, I’m going to address any comments about Y/n forgiving Azriel too quickly. 1) I feel like it is a universally acknowledged/unacknowledged truth that no one hates Azriel as much as he hates himself. And no punishment could ever be worse than the self-loathing he feels for himself (NOTE: people, if a partner/romantic love interest/friend/crush/whatever EVER says this kind of stuff to you, drop them like a two-ton boulder. That’s a major red flag, but once again this is a fictional man/fae so we can let it slide). 2) Once again, these fae are literally HUNDREDS OF YEARS OLD. I can only speak for myself when I say this, but I feel like if I had known and loved someone for that long, I would be willing to forgive a lot and trust that time might be able to heal deeper wounds than humans are used to. Time is precious to us humans, we can’t always afford to wait and hope for things to get better on their own, but fae can. 
Are those all my thoughts? I think those are all my thoughts. It’s 3:47am now. Oh jeez. To future me: I’m so sorry if you have to read this and it’s bad and you have a coffee-fueled headache all day because I fucked things up for us. 
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sluttywonwoo · 1 year
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no nut november — lee know (winner)
pairing: lee minho x fem!reader
warnings: swearing, smut (18+ mdni), oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex
a/n: part of @gimmeurtmi's and i’s collab <3
word count: 4.3k
series masterlist
“God, that feels so good,” you whine.
Minho’s head pops up from between your legs and he grins, chin shiny with your arousal. “You close?”
“I was until you stopped,” you grumble.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says with a pout. 
You push his head lightly. “You’re not sorry.”
“You’re right, I’m not.”
You roll your eyes. “Just because you can’t cum doesn’t mean I can’t.”
“I thought we were in this together,” Minho whines. 
“You really want to deal with a girlfriend who hasn’t cum in a month?”
“Good point.”
With that, Minho gets back to work. He’s teasing you purposely, this time, dragging his tongue up and down your slit without staying in one place long enough to be effective.
“Minho.”
“Hm?”
“Please...”
“Please what?”
“Need more.”
“Use your words, baby- hey. Don’t squirm.”
He presses down on your hips to keep you still, basically wrestling you into place. You surrender to him but only because you know he’s stronger. Minho smacks your cunt twice, each time making you jolt slightly. 
“Let’s try this again. Use your words to ask for what you want.”
“Can I- can I have something inside? Like your fingers or your tongue?”
“What about my cock?”
“What about it?”
“You don’t want my cock inside of you?”
“Of course I do, I always do. I just... didn’t think that was on the table.”
“Why not?”
“Are you really going to make me say it?” you groan. 
“You don’t think I can control myself?” Minho accuses.
“No, actually, I don’t!”
He sits up, hand over his heart in mock offense. “You wound me.”
“You just get very... passionate when we have sex.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that once you start, you can’t stop.”
Minho narrows his eyes at you like you’re challenging him, even though that isn’t your intention at all. You don’t want him to lose on your account, but you can only resist your irresistible boyfriend offering you his dick on a silver platter for so long. 
“I can’t believe you think that little of me!”
“It’s not that you can’t last, Min- we both know you can. You just like to... finish something once you’ve started.”
“Is that supposed to be a pun?”
You grin. “Sorry, couldn’t help myself.”
He rolls his eyes at you. “You’re such a loser.”
“That you’re in love with.”
“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky that’s the case.”
“And here I was thinking you’re the lucky one.”
“Oh, I definitely am. Listening to your terrible jokes is a small price to pay for getting to be your person.”
You push his chest bashfully. “Don’t get all cheesy now.”
“Why not? Can’t take it?”
“No, actually. I can’t. If you keep pouring your heart out to me like that I’ll die on the spot and then you’ll go away for my murder. “
“Worst they could get me for is manslaughter,” Minho scoffs like he’s brushing off the possibility. 
“So comforting to hear when you have me pinned underneath you.”
He smirks. “Did you want to get fucked or not? I do have to work later tonight.”
You sigh, shrugging. If he was so insistent about it, you weren’t going to fight it anymore. You were only trying to do him a favor in the first place. His funeral and all that. 
“Give it to me.”
Minho’s smirk turns into a genuine grin and he rubs your thighs in excitement. “I know you wanted something inside but did you want me to make you cum before fucking you?” You shake your head no. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah, just put it in.”
“So romantic.”
Despite the sarcasm in his voice, Minho scoots up so that his face is just inches above yours and kisses you deeply, getting you to moan so that he can slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes like you, unsurprisingly, and like the strawberry jam you put on your toast in the mornings. 
“Spread your legs a bit more for me, baby,” he whispers. You do, and he praises you for it. “There you go.”
One of his hands comes down in between your legs to rub your clit as he eases himself inside of you. The fit is perfect, like always, but the stretch is obviously a little more intense than usual. 
“You alright?”
“Yeah, just give me a minute.”
While he waits, he just lies on top of you, ignoring your complaints when you tell him you can’t breathe. Then, you tap him on the back twice to let him know he can move so he does. 
Minho isn’t one to jump right into fucking the life out of you, preferring to start slow and build gradually build the pace, and today is no different. He’s even slower than he normally is, being extra considerate of your disposition. 
“You can go faster,” you urge him. “I promise I won’t break.”
You see him hesitate, almost like he wants to ask you if you’re sure, but he doesn’t. It’s something he’s been working on, trusting you to be honest about what you want in the bedroom, much like you’ve been working on telling him what you want in the bedroom. “Wrap your legs around my waist, baby.”
You moan as soon as you lock your ankles behind his back, the angle already pushing him deeper inside of you. 
“Oh fuck,” you gasp. 
“Atta girl. So good for me when you wanna be, huh?”
You nod, whimpering. 
He keeps his fingers on your clit as he fucks you, wanting to get you to the edge as fast as possible. You assume he’ll draw back, slow down and edge you just like he had when he was eating you out a few minutes ago, but he doesn’t.
“Fuck, I’m going to- I’m cumming!”
You sob as it hits you, wrapping your arms around your boyfriend’s neck and pulling him close. He makes a sound of surprise as he falls forward into you but easily accepts his fate and begins to kiss and nip at your neck.
Minho’s still fucking you even after you come down, even though your legs are trembling and tears are staining your cheeks. He seems entirely unaffected by the way your pussy’s clenching relentlessly around him. Meanwhile, you’re falling apart every time the head of his cock nudges your g-spot. Curse his dancer’s hips and performer’s stamina.  
“Think you can give me another one?” he asks. You can hear the smirk in his voice and it’s infuriating. 
You don’t get the chance to respond before you’re cumming again, whining his name and biting your fist so hard you think you’ve drawn blood. It isn’t unlike Minho to fuck you into a second orgasm right after the first, he loves overstimulating you almost as much as he loves edging you, but it always catches you off guard. 
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he grunts.
“Yeah, I just c-came twice.”
“You’re always tight,” he says matter-of-factly. 
“Thank you?”
“You’re welcome.”
You snort and roll your eyes while Minho kisses your nose. 
“One more?” he asks, rolling his hips experimentally. 
Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you moan. “Yes, please. Please make me cum again.”
Minho tries to gently coax the third orgasm out of you, taking his time instead of fucking your brains out like he just had been. You can tell he’s getting close too. He’s trying not to show it but he has a tell that’s a dead giveaway every time. 
“So good for me, letting me do whatever I want to you,” he pants. “So fucking warm and tight and perfect. God, you can never get enough of this cock, can you? Just have to have it all the time.”
“Yes, always!” you agree even though you aren’t entirely sure he’s expecting an answer. 
“That’s my fucking girl.”
You cum unexpectedly, shocking both yourself and your boyfriend. It’s all Minho’s fault, really. He can’t say shit like that and expect you not to gush everywhere. 
He tries to make the most of it by thrusting deep as he fucks you through the orgasm. You clutch him to you, digging your nails into his back as your thighs tighten around his waist. 
The cries of his name and the pulsing of your cunt drive Minho right to the edge and he’s suddenly frantic, whimpering and grunting in your ear as he desperately begs you to say the things he needs to hear.
“Tell me you love me,” he whines. “Please, baby tell me you’re mine.”
“I love you! I love you, baby. I’m yours, I’m yours. ”
It hits him hard- body going tense, eyebrows knitting together, mouth falling open as he cums inside of you. He looks so pretty like that, it’s a view you’ll never get tired of. It’s almost enough to make you cum again. You can feel it, feel his cock throbbing as he fills you up. You hadn’t used condoms with Minho for a long time now, didn’t need to when you were taking twice the typical dose of birth control for your awful periods. And you had been dating for long enough that you could trust each other with something as intimate as this.
Minho gives you and himself a moment to recover before he’s pulling out and rolling off of you. He feels around for one of the washcloths you always kept on the nightstand and finds one, cleaning himself and your thighs off.
“I’ll wet go wet another one with warm water for the actual mess,” he assures you. “Don’t want to use a dry washcloth on that. Your PH balance is already fucked up enough after what we just did.”
You wrinkle your nose at him. “Can you not say stuff like that until at least twenty minutes after we fuck?”
“You don’t think it’s sexy that your boyfriend cares and is knowledgeable about vaginal health?”
“I do, but I don’t think I would classify the subject as bedroom talk.”
“Agree to disagree.”
It isn’t until you’ve both showered and are laying in bed together that you bring the bet back up. Minho still has about an hour before he needs to be at the JYPE building and he’s trying to spend as much of that time with you as humanly possible. 
“Min, the bet,” you sigh. 
“What about it?”
“You lost. You guys shook on it like... a few hours ago.”
Minho shrugs. “Oh well.”
You sit up, detaching yourself from him to give him a look. 
“What?” he asks. 
“You’re the most competitive person I know..”
He grins. “Thank you.”
“That wasn’t necessarily a compliment, but you’re welcome, I guess. I just mean you’re not even a little upset about being the first out?”
Another shrug. “Meh. You win some, you lose some.”
“Have you told them yet? What did they say?”
“I’m just gonna let them figure it out on their own,” he says. 
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like.”
You narrow your eyes at your boyfriend as it dawns on you. “You were never going to play, were you?” 
Minho smirks. “Oh, I’m playing. I’m just playing a different game.”
-
“I’m not lying to our friends!”
“It’s not lying! It’s just not telling them.”
“It’s called a lie of omission for a reason, Minho. Because it’s a lie. And what if they straight up ask me about it? What am I supposed to say then?”
“Just change the subject.” “Yeah, because that’ll work fine and not be suspicious at all.”
“Babe, please,” he pleads. 
“It seems mean!”
“It is mean,” he agrees. “But it’s funny.”
“What if they all hate you after this?”
“They contractually can’t hate me. They still have to be in a group with me for the next two years and if we renew then even longer. Besides, this is me getting back at them for volunteering me to MC for Music Core. I was sick the day the representative came around to the company and they all recommended me knowing I wouldn’t want to do it because they thought it would be funny. Next thing I know, I’m in the audition room and they’re telling me I have to wear stupid hats and do aegyo every Saturday-”
“I thought you liked the hats.”
“They’re okay sometimes,” he huffs, refusing to admit what you both know to be true. “But it’s the principle of the thing.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, Mr. Drama King. What do I get in return for participating in your little revenge plot?” 
“What do you want?”
“The rest of the SKZOOs.”
Minho purses his lips, holding back a scoff. The only SKZOO you owned was Leebit, obviously. You actually had a couple of Leebits around your apartment but Minho had jokingly banned you from getting any of the others because, in his words, he was supposed to be your favorite member. 
“Having the others doesn’t mean you’re not my favorite,” you’d argued. “Do you want Leebit to be lonely?”
“Leebit doesn’t need friends,” Minho had insisted. “He’s happier by himself.”
You weren’t convinced but you also didn’t feel like arguing with your very stubborn boyfriend on the subject. You were content with Leebit for the time being- until now, that was. 
“That’s really what you want?” Minho asks. 
“Mhm.”
He sighs, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Fine. Deal.”
You grin triumphantly and kiss him on the cheek. “Pleasure doing business.”
“You’re a menace.”
“And that’s why you love me. We’re made for each other.”
-
Your plan was to simply avoid the members and their partners for the entire month. If you didn’t run into them, you wouldn’t have to lie to them. Easy peasy. Right?
“Jisung did what?” you gasp, standing dumbfounded in the middle of your bedroom as your boyfriend gets dressed. 
“Planned a surprise birthday party for me,” Minho repeats.
“Why would he do that?”
“Because he’s my best friend?”
“But... your birthday was last month. And how is it a surprise party if you already know about it?”
“You know he’s not good at keeping secrets. Or planning ahead.”
You sigh and put your hands on your hips as you watch Minho button his nice dress shirt. 
“Do I have to go?”
He pauses to look up at you. “What do you mean do you have to go? You don’t want to?”
“It’s not that,” you explain, “I’m just worried about someone bringing up your stupid bet and having to lie to them.”
“I’ll do most of the talking,” he assures you. “Just stick by my side.”
Thankfully, the party Jisung had planned was on the smaller side. Only Minho’s closest friends were in attendance which meant that you knew almost everyone there. Han had admittedly outdone himself with the setup, too. You couldn’t even recognize the JYPE ballroom with all of the decorations and lights strung up everywhere. You told him as much when you saw him. 
“If only the guy was actually surprised,” he grumbled to himself, “but thank you. I’m glad you like it.” 
The ‘sticking by Minho’s side’ method only worked when he was actually by your side. Midway through the party, he excuses himself to go talk to one of his friends, leaving you to fend for yourself until he returns. 
“Oh my god, I feel like it’s been forever!” a familiar voice echoes from behind you. 
You turn to see Hyunjin’s girlfriend holding her arms out to you for a hug, and quickly reciprocate, briefly wrapping your arms around her in greeting. 
“It’s been too long,” you agree. 
“Where have you been?” she asks. “The other girls have been asking for you.”
“Oh, you know,” you mumble, “work has really picked up lately so I’ve just been swamped.”
It’s not technically a lie, you have been swamped, but you’ve also been actively avoiding your friends at the same time. 
“Ugh, that sucks. It must be so stressful,” she sympathizes, then lowers her voice. “How have you been doing with... you know?”
Fuck. 
You take a deep breath and swallow the guilt that threatens to claw its way up your throat as you scramble to come up with a bullshit answer. “About as well as any of us, I figure.”
“Fucking tell me about it,” she groans. “I nearly killed Hyunjin when he told me about it. I still might.”
You laugh. “If he goes missing, I won’t say anything.”
Suddenly, Minho’s back by your side, his hand resting on the small of your back. He greets Hyunjin’s girlfriend warmly. She wishes Minho a happy birthday and then excuses herself to go find her own boyfriend. 
“What were you two talking about?”
“Who’s asking?” you ask in response. 
“The birthday boy.”
“He has no authority here, sorry.”
Minho’s jaw drops in faux shock. “You’re really not going to tell me?”
“She just asked me how I was holding up through all of this No Nut November bullshit,” you admit.
“Wait, she actually asked you about it?”
“Yes, she actually asked me about it. Girls talk about this stuff.”
He winces and rocks back on his heels. “Damn, I’m sorry, baby.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, just don’t fucking leave me again. What was so important you had to ditch me for in the first place?”
“I went to go say hey to that girl Jeongin likes,” Minho explains, nodding in her direction. 
You look over to where she was now sitting with Jeongin and nod in understanding. “That’s her?”
She was one of the guests you didn’t know super well. You had only seen her at a few group functions and she mostly kept to Jeongin and some of the other younger members. 
“Yeah, that’s her.”
“What did you say to her?”
“I just thought she might be interested to know that her crush on Innie is mutual.”
“What?”
“She likes Jeongin back.”
“No, I know she does.” One of the other girls had told you about Jeongin’s little crush and how the two were practically shooting heart eyes at the other all the time but were completely oblivious. You just hadn’t been able to put a face to the name until now. “How do you know that?”
“It wasn’t hard to figure out,” Minho mutters defensively. 
“But why would you try to meddle in their business? Shouldn’t you let them figure it out for themselves?”
“If I didn’t interfere they’d never act on their feelings,” he argues. 
“And why did you decide to ‘interfere’ now of all times?” you push. 
Minho smirks, knowing you’re on to him. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
You roll your eyes and shove him lightly. “Why are you trying to make him lose? You’re already out so why does it matter?”
“I’m just trying to keep it interesting!”
“You’re being an asshole, is what you’re doing!” 
“You’re hot when you’re mad.”
“Don’t change the subject!”
“What do you say we get out of here?” he suggests, completely ignoring what you’d just said. 
“You can’t leave your own birthday party early!”
“Says who?”
“It would be rude, Minho.”
“Fine, then let’s find a closet or something.”
“You really want to fuck like twenty feet away from everyone you’re up against for No Nut November?”
He shrugs. “Who doesn’t like a little challenge?”
-
Jeongin loses next, then Hyunjin. Changbin follows not long after, then Chan, then Felix. All the while, you continue to have sex with Minho. He comes over a lot more often, fucking you in every room of your apartment and then falling asleep in your bed just to go again in the morning. 
You can’t risk being at the dorms because neither of you are very good at keeping your hands off of each other, but you don’t want to raise suspicion by not being around so you drop by a couple of times throughout the month under the guise of bringing Minho dinner or picking him up for date night.
When the boys ask about you, Minho gives them the same excuse you’d told Hyunjin’s girlfriend about work. They don’t pry, thankfully, probably too intimidated by your boyfriend to invoke your name more than once every three to five business days. Minho could be a little possessive at times, even around the friends he’d known longer than he had known you, and that was working in your favor this month. 
The other six having lost meant that Seungmin was the only one left standing. Technically, he had already won. But he doesn’t know that. Only you and Minho know that. 
You expect Minho to tell him the good news as soon as Felix announces his failure, but he doesn’t.
“November isn’t over yet,” he points out.
“You’re just going to let Minnie suffer?”
“He’ll be fine.”
“He’s going to kill you.”
“Probably.”
-
Minho feels a little bad about having you lie on his behalf, but not bad enough to stop you from doing it. You’re just as much of a little jerk as he is, which is why he knew you’d agree in the first place. Sure, your moral compass is a bit more aligned than his, but that’s what makes you such a great pair. You’re there to reign him in when he goes too far, and he’s there to push your boundaries. 
“You’re having fun, aren’t you?” he asks when you come back from a girls brunch all giddy and breathless. 
You hadn’t even wanted to go in the first place to save yourself from lying to them all morning but Seungmin’s girlfriend had begged you to, seeing as you were the only two whose boyfriend’s hadn’t caved and therefore weren’t getting laid like the other girls were.
You didn’t want to leave her hanging like that, so you went. And now, you’re practically glowing with adrenaline as you recount the last two hours to Minho.
“I said that you won’t even touch me,” you exclaim, making Minho’s smile falter. “And that you’ve resorted to sleeping on the couch when you stay over so you don’t accidentally get too close to me in your sleep.”
He scoffs. “Did you have to make me sound like a total fucking loser?”
“Would you rather I have told the truth?”
“Okay, okay, you’re right. Thank you for doing that.”
You take a seat on Minho’s lap and hum happily. “You’re welcome.”
-
When the clock strikes midnight on December first, Minho’s surprised by the radio silence from Seungmin’s end. 
“Do you think he’s asleep?” he asks you. 
“Maybe he’s fucking his girlfriend into oblivion,” you suggest with a shrug. “I hope he is for her sake. Poor girl was desperate for dick.” 
Minho isn’t really sure how to respond to that so he doesn’t. He just hums in acknowledgment and turns the lamp by your bedside off so that your room is doused in darkness. You pat his thigh comfortingly under the blankets. 
“We’ll find out tomorrow, babe.”
“I guess we will.”
Seungmin doesn’t text the groupchat until the afternoon, hours after Chan’s texted asking who won. Minho shows you the texts and you read over his shoulder as the messages roll in. 
Kim Seungmin SKZ: lost an hour or two before midnight. congrats minho. 
Lee Felix SKZ: minho won??? Why am i not surprised at all lol
Hwang Hyunjin SKZ: I think we all saw this coming.
Hwang Hyunjin SKZ: pun intended.
Bang Chan SKZ: so where are you going to take your gf?
Minho: actually, you all should congratulate Seungmin.
Bang Chan SKZ: what?
Hannie: what? did you lose yesterday afternoon or something?
Seo Changbin SKZ: ???
Minho: I was the first to lose. 
The groupchat is silent for a single beat before it starts blowing up with messages from all of the members furiously cursing Minho out. He laughs as he scrolls through them. 
Bang Chan SKZ: all in favor of voting lee know out of the group?
Kim Seungmin SKZ: i think it’s unanimous.
Minho: Relax, Minnie. You won. You’re getting the trip. 
Kim Seungmin SKZ: RELAX? YOU’RE GOING TO TELL ME TO FUCKING RELAX??? I COULD HAVE BEEN FUCKING MY GIRLFRIEND THREE DAYS AGO AFTER FELIX LOST BUT NOOO YOU THINK YOU’RE SO FUNNY MAKING THE REST OF US LOOK LIKE IDIOTS
Yang Jeongin SKZ: i mean it is kind of funny
Hannie: you’re not mad innie?
Yang Jeongin SKZ: i was out second... or i guess technically third so i was never going to win anyway. minho got me a girlfriend out of this so i can’t really complain too much
Minho: Listen, I’m happy to be the sole contributor to Minnie’s vacation since I was the one to orchestrate all this. The rest of you can donate to that nonprofit we talked about at the beginning of the month. I’ll make a donation too obviously but don’t worry about the trip.
Kim Seungmin SKZ: I don’t want your pity money
Minho: it’s not pity money, it’s sorry for being an asshole money
Seo Changbin SKZ: if he doesn’t want it, i’ll take it
Kim Seungmin: don’t you fucking dare
Minho: anyway, if you guys are done bitching I’m going to go spend some time with my girlfriend now. I hope you’ve all learned your lesson.
Hwang Hyunjin SKZ: our lesson???
Lee Felix SKZ: wym?
Bang Chan SKZ: oh don’t tell us you’re still mad about that
Minho: not anymore. we’re even now.
Minho puts his phone down on the counter as soon as it starts to ring with a call from Seungmin. He swipes the decline icon and turns his attention to you. 
“Was it worth it?” you ask. 
He opens his mouth to answer but his phone rings again, cutting him off. It’s a call from Chan this time. He declines it and turns the phone off completely so that no one else can bother the two of you. 
He leans forward and kisses you hard, taking your bottom lip between his teeth as his hands settle on your ass. 
“Was it worth it?” he repeats, smirking. “I’d do it again in a fucking heartbeat.”
sorry again for the wait- as you all know i've been going through a lot lol
nnn tags: @doesthismeannothingtoyou @yellowroses-world @allyoops @thelostverse @karlitaburrito @lydataylorsversion @septemberkisses @caticorn61 @multifandomtrash-dree @cixrosie @mchslut @cutiequokka @fairygemss @multistancheck @lady---boner @stay-bi @compersian @raspbinniecreme @skzgallll @strawberriesandknives @laylasbunbunny @goddessofhiddenpleasures @brit97 @jonaticdragon @linobuns @vampcharxter @skizzel @sillyrabbit76 @sahazzy @kpfly @zerefdragn331 @wonuziex @sirleeknow @ashcapybara
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vivwritesfics · 1 month
Text
Jester Stole His Thorny Crown
Chapter One
He never had a choice in his life. His dreams were nothing more that that. Dreams. But then he met a lounge singer at his brother club and everything changed.
Mafia!Au
1.2K
Warnings: drugs (not taken), gun violence
Series Masterlist
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This wasn't his job. It was beneath him, usually a job for his inexperienced little brother. But Arthur was at home, being looked after by their maman as he nursed a non-fatal gunshot wound.
Charles was pissed as he drove through the streets of Monaco. This was Arthur's job, not his. If he had listened to Charles and Lorenzo, and hadn't run in with guns (quite literally) blazing, they wouldn't be in this position.
The people of Monaco knew about the people who, essentially owned them. They had a royal family, but they didn't have as much Power as the Leclercs. As soon as they saw the black Ferrari SF90 Stradale, they knew to get out of the way.
On this day, the only thing stopping Charles from driving into everybody in his way was his love for his precious car. As soon as he had checked through the clubs, he was going to go to his mamans house and murder Arthur.
Charles parked his car. Well, parked is a term used loosely. He stopped the car wherever he wanted and every other driver on the roads of Monaco had to work around him. This was maybe one of the best demonstrations of power that the Leclerc family had.
When Charles walked into the first club, the twenty six year old was reminded of why he hated it so much. He had loved it when he was a fresh faced eighteen year old, receiving his first assignment from his father.
But now this was Arthurs job, appointed by Lorenzo. He had taken over as head of the family when they lost their father, just a year after Charles had received his first assignment.
The family didn't handle it well. The Leclerc's had almost started a full on war with the Gasly family of France. But Pascale, the matriarch, kept them in check.
The club was disgusting. It was the middle of the day so it was empty, aside from the club manager. The floor was covered in cups and bottles and odd sticky patches that that Charles was sure to avoid. There was the odd condom on the floor; Charles turned his nose up at that.
He checked the books, make sure the money was in order. He swapped out the cash in the safe for the drugs that the club sold. "Get this shithole cleaned up," he commanded the club manager and left.
The second club was much the same. He inspected the books and swapped the money in the safe for the drugs. This club was somehow dirtier than the first one. Several of the stall doors in the bathroom had been kicked in (Charles wasn't happy about leaving money for such things).
The third club Charles knew it be Arthurs favourite.
It wasn't a night club, more like a lounge. The lighting was low, with tables covering the floor. Comfortable, cosy booths lined the walls and the tables in the middle of the of the floor looked equally as comfortable. The art on the wall was tasteful and the air didn't stink like beer and piss.
Soft piano music greeted him and Charles realised why this was Arthurs favourite club. It felt legit.
Charles looked to the piano on the stage at the back of the club. There was a spotlight pointed towards it, illuminating the instrument and the girl playing it. As he approached, Charles watched her fingers dance across the keys. The tune was soft and melodic, not something that he recognised.
She seemed to be the only person in the club. "One second, Arthur!" She called, not looking up from her piano.
Charles stopped short. "I'm sorry?" He called and the piano music stopped. "Are you always familiar with my brother?"
Her eyes were wide as she stood and closed the lid of her grand piano. "Shit," she hissed, but Charles still heard it. "I'm so sorry, Mr Leclerc. I was expecting your brother."
Charles stepped onto the stage. His presence alone was terrifying, a far cry from Arthur, who treated the pianist like an old friend. She couldn't stop her knees from buckling as he approached. "He got shot," Charles said as he sat at the piano. "He'll be back in action soon."
He lifted the lid of the piano and pressed a key. As a boy Chalres had loved the piano. His father had encouraged him to play, but he hadn't touched a piano since Hervé dad passed. Even now, he couldn't bring himself to play more than a few notes.
"Are you the manager here?" Charles asked, again shutting the piano lid. She shook her head, eyes looked towards the bar while he continued to stare at her. "You shouldn't be in here, then."
She sucked in a breath. The gun in his waistband had become apparent the moment he sat at the piano. "Uhm, Arthur gave me a key so that I could come in and practice," she said as she shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Charles let out something of a controlled huff and stood from the piano. He headed past the stage, to where the office was, and instantly began searching through the desk for the books.
The pianist followed him. "You shouldn't be in here," he said and pulled out the papers he needed. She was still standing in the doorway as he checked through it. "Seriously, get out."
"I'm sorry," she said, still leaning against the door frame. "I just... is Arthur okay?"
Charles stared at her for a moment before nodding his head, but he didn't look happy. "A minor gunshot wound," he said. "He's sleeping on our mouths couch at the moment."
Letting out a relieved breath, she walked away from the back office, allowing Charles to swap the money in the safe for drugs.
When he returned to the main floor, the piano was empty. The lid was open, but the pianist wasn't there. Charles didn't check for where she was.
He sat himself at the piano and pressed three keys in a specific tune. It was all so familiar to him, flooding back to him. It had been so long, but it was natural. It was right.
The pianist, Y/N, was at the bar, getting herself a glass of water. The moment she saw Charles walk to the piano she stopped and watched.
He was hesitant at first, allowing himself to get used to the keys. But it didn't take very long for him to get comfortable. Soon enough he was playing like it was the only thing he knew today.
It wasn't perfect, it was barely good, but it was full of heart and soul. She couldn't tear her eyes away from him as he sped up slightly, getting more and more comfortable. There was nothing in the world but him and the music.
Finishing up the song Charles sucked in and rolled his shoulders. He looked around the club, looked at the empty tables, at the art on the wall and at the bar.
He narrowed his eyes as he stood up and walked over. "Were you watching me?" He demanded and she quickly shook her head, looking down at the glass of water in her hands.
"Don't," he barked and marched out of the club.
Permanent taglist: @biancathecool @rewmuslupin @prettiest-at-the-party @minkyungseokie @formulaal @darleneslane @andydrysdalerogers @hrts4scarr @llando4norris
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lovetei · 8 months
Note
Heyyy,
I saw your toxic things the demon bros will do to keep you with them and i absolutely fell in love with. More of, my mental health issues felll in love with- ANYGAYSzz
I was wondering if you could maybe do the same for the side characters¿¿¿¿
Also did you drink water today? Cuz if thats a no here you go 💧💧💧💧
And some cookies just incase 🍪🍪🍪🍪🍪
Love anonymous 👑
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I'm not actually supposed to post anything for tonight, because I don't know? I didn't get to start anything this morning so I crammed this post T_T
But love lots! Hope you enjoy this piece ^^
But seriously, I was like "Oh shit, the algorithm I don't have!" And proceed to finish this.
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What are the most toxic thing they will do in a relationship just to make you stay with them?
Versions: Demon brothers, Side Characters
Warnings: Manipulation, yandere themes, execution, mention of torture, psychological torture, love potions, Mentions of murder, framing, alcohol
Links: Masterlist
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DIAVOLO will use his authority
He's already so happy to have you by his side
And by staying there you already secured the position of the next ruler that will stand beside him
So, why do you have to leave..?
And the reasons
"I'm not fit enough..."
"I don't deserve this much..!"
"There are more people out there that are more worthy than me..."
Won't cut it.
He knows your worth and he's sure you do too.
So why?
Perhaps you're just nervous that you won't be able to match his grace?
You don't need to.
His grace is unmatched among the demons and yours is too among the mortals.
You both are on the same chapter, just on different pages.
So why make things hard for yourself?!
All you need to do is say yes and everything will be taken care of.
Clothes, food, money, status, security and literally anything.
He loves you and you does too so it's not going to be a marriage with no love...
SO WHY?
You're starting to drive him insane, MC.
And he might just do the same to you
So he'll invite you over for a fancy dinner and a few drinks
You accepted, despite knowing that Diavolo might try something after he got you drunk
Thinking that Diavolo forgot that you can't get drunk by just a basic demonus
Fool
That's what you are for thinking Diavolo actually misses something, anything about you
So he changed the bottle of demonus to an actual human liquor but neutralized it's taste by the help of his one, loyal servant
Barbatos
Not even two hour passed by and you're already putty in his hands
Dancing just like how he wants it on his palms
Then he'll slide a paper into the table to you, together with a beautiful pen
He then point at an empty line with his finger and said "Look at that MC, this line right here wants your signature."
"Hmm, why?~"
"Because it's such a huge fan of you and it needs you to become something, someone better, so why don't you give it a sign?" Is what he said while smirking.
And there you are, signing the papers while your mind is clouded with alcohol
Oh what is it?
Just a marriage contract
You don't want it?
Look into rules and regulations, Claus 5
It's against your human rights?
How foolish, you're not in the human world.
You will tell the whole Devildom about it?
Lèse majesté
And what's the punishment for committing that? Simple.
Death.
BARBATOS and his timeline power
He loves you
So much actually
At first, it was fun to be in a relationship with him
It's fun, slowly opening him up like a present and seeing the gift, a part of him that only you know.
He builds up trust for you and so do you for him
Then it started to get suffocating
He won't admit it openly but you know,
You know that the one who kills anyone who dared act close with you is him
And it terrifies you
You may allow it if it actually harms you, severely
But it's not for your protection anymore
He's doing it out of pure annoyance now
He doesn't like you around the brothers
The angels
Solomon
Thirteen
Or even Lord Diavolo
In fact, he doesn't want you around anyone.
And it's making you feel more unsafe
He's starting to isolate you from everyone and everything
He's trying to isolate you from the world
So you decided to end things with him
And he doesn't seem to take it lightly like how you expected...
How did you know?
Simple.
You woke up weeks before that break up happened
You know how it happened and you know who made it happen
It's none other than your boyfriend of course
You thought that maybe if you talk nicely with him he'll actually understand the problem
But he didn't
He started to get more and more aggressive with you
Then when the week end
It repeats
And repeats
And repeats
And repeats again
And again
But it will keep going on like that until you learn
Until you learn that there's no other option than him
No other ending than him
He doesn't mind driving you crazy if it means you'll continue to love him
So good luck, MC.
SIMEON might just ask Father for help
Ho doesn't understand!
Why would you want to break up with him?!
He did everything, MC!
It's not clear!
Nothing is clear!
You just belive that you two are not fit together..?
You don't want him to end up like Lilith..?
He doesn't care!
He'll burn these precious, white wings for you!
He'll kill for you!
He'd actually prefer to end up like Lilith rather than this!
Because, at least, Lilith managed to be with her love until her life ended...
He'd rather be a demon or a human rather then live like the adored angel he is without you...
...
You'll still leave huh?
Alright then.
I guess he has no choice but to ask Father for help
What do you mean it will cause him to fall? Oh dear, it won't.
It might actually even promote him into a higher rank.
Father wants you in his side.
In fact, the whole celestial realm want you on this side
So when he asked "Father, it seems that we need to take even larger measure to have MC side with us. What do you think we can do?"
...oh?
Luke?
What a brilliant plan.
Now,
Let's see if you can still leave knowing an innocent life, Luke, will be put under danger because of this tantrum,
Because of you.
SOLOMON and his hidden antics
Oh dear, angel
His little devil
His most prized possession
His favorite concubine,
You won't be leaving him anytime soon, dear.
When you told him that "I want to break up with you."
He kept himself quite for a while before answering "Let me give it some thought, MC. For now, stay with me."
And just as he expected you listened obediently.
But then, his grip around your waits became more rough
And the hand he used to playfully wrap around your neck became more tight
It's hard...
It's hard to feed you his love laced cooking
But he found out that you just loves, adored even, Luke's baked cookies...
And since you're a human, he knows that Luke creates special cookies just for you
One that don't contain exotic ingredients that will upset your stomach
And it just made the work of latching love potions easier for him
He'll just add a few drops and it will do the magic for him
So, all he has to do sit tight
And wait for you to crawl back to his lap yourself.
RAPHAEL will use spears for example
Haha...
But he loves you, MC..?
He might just start crying if you say more
"Sure... But I'll make sure you'll come back to me..!"
At first, it sounded like a joke and it's funny enough to make you giggle
The beautiful memories of peaceful separation didn't last long after you saw a dead body pinned by spears though
His spears, to be specific
It doesn't even make sense
You don't even know this guy...
He hasn't talk to you and you don't even know him
Hell, you don't even recognize his face...
So what's the catch?
Why is he killing completely random people...
That's what have been running around your mind
You haven't seen him around RAD anymore
And if you do he refuse to answer your questions
Except his face will lightly flush and he'll even smile a little before sa say "Ah~ It's nice hearing your voice..."
His tone, the way he says it, none of theme are innocent
And he made it known that he knows what he's doing
The curiosity didn't last long
Until you found out that the corpses aren't for you from him as a threat
It was for the families of the victims
You found out that each of them have high power among the nobilities of Devildom
And he killed them to make the families think that you're telling him to do so
It's not to make you feel guilty, it for them to start attacking you
Until you're pushed back to a corner where no one else can save you
Except for him.
MEPHISTOPHELES's way only
Ha...
Man he loves you so much...
But all he do is stare at you blankly after you told him you ant to break up
Staring at you like you're just some kid throwing a tantrum
It's Mephistopheles in front of you, I mean, he's rich, handsome, tall, smart and has good family background
If he's a human everybody would have gone crazy over him already
Plus he wears heels and he has a sexy cane
What more could you ask for?
But yeah...
You don't want to be with him forever?
Sure, he'll talk to Diavolo.
"I'll buy MC's contract and I'll put them under my wing." Is all the reason he needs to say and a few more to have Diavolo selling you
What about your family?
This amount will do right?
I mean...
He paid for what your worth so don't expect it to be much.
Anyways, you're his now
By the eyes of the law, money and his
He'll never let you get away?
And if you did try to?
He'll simply frame you for treason and let's see if you won't come crawling back to him
After finding out that he can choose what type of punishment, torture method, to give you.
But don't worry.
He likes the game cat and mouse
He don't like playing it for a long time though
So be careful
His patience isn't as long as the line of money and connection ahead of him
THIRTEEN basically holds your life
Break up?
"You're not." Is all she said as she holds your candle
She's grinning widely as she let your candle melt, its 's wax falling directly in her hands
"Why would you even want to?" She asked even though she knows, no reason can separate the two of you
And if you did say "I don't care." as she holds you candle
She might just accidentally extinguish one of your loved ones candles
So be careful, MC.
Among everyone
She's the only one who won't joke around.
And just so you know
Her patience is shorter than the amount of time it requires to kill someone's fire off of their candle.
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