#muse: killer bat

[chiropterx]

Your Muse's Stats if this was D&D

Kirk Langstrom

Strength: 14-15 (2) Visibly toned, throws small objects for long distances Dexterity: 10-11 (0) Capable of usually catching a small tossed object Constitution: 12-13 (1) Can take a few hits before being knocked unconscious Intelligence: 20-21 (5) Highly knowledgeable, probably the smartest person many people know Wisdom: 14-15 (2) Can get hunches about a situation that doesn’t feel right Charisma: 12-13 (1) Mildly interesting, knows what to say to the right people

Man-Bat

Strength: 22-23 (6) Can pull very heavy objects at appreciable speeds Dexterity: 22-23 (6) Very graceful, capable of dodging a number of thrown objects Constitution: 22-23 (6) Never gets sick, even to the most virulent diseases Intelligence: 4-5 (–3) Often resorts to charades to express thoughts Wisdom: 10-11 (0) Makes reasoned decisions most of the time Charisma: 6-7 (–2) Terribly reticent, uninteresting, or rude

#🦇 || dashboard games #🦇 || musings #🦇 || headcanons #🦇 || character sheet #memes ;; muse stats in D&D #I did this over on Roman so had to do it for Kirk/Man-Bat too #Their stats are veeeeeeery different haha #Man-Bat is seriously fucking strong but is probably lacking compared to the likes of Killer Croc and Bane? #More speed and agility than maw muscle and strength #Not that Man-Bat's lacking on strength since flight is physically taxing #And can carry up to two people #Man-Bat is just sapient enough to recognize people and especially certain individuals #Barely able to speak if that #Bats aren't made for sign language though

[jonathancrane-scarecrows]

" Ready if you are. The first to drop below the ice or the first to give up looses."

#open starter #open rp #open to everyone #open to all #open to anyone #muse: bruce wayne #killer bat

[teeramoonlover]

Knock, Knock

Billy Loomis x Fem!Reader x Stu Macher

(NSFW)

This is my first time writing oneshot, let alone smut. English is not my first language so bear with me.

Warning: Reader is a Virgin, Cussing, alot of cursing, knife play, mask kink, bondage, fingering, cunnilingus, deep throat, anal, threesome, and double penetration.

*Bold - Voice modulator, Italic - inner voice

“Hello?”

“Hello.”

You furrowed your eyebrows. You didn't recognize this deep voice talking to you.

“Who’s this?” Instead of hanging up, your gut feeling tells you to continue the conversation with this stranger. Maybe you’ll get something out of it.

“You don’t need to know about me. I just want to talk to you.”

“Now why should I do that? Stranger danger. Didn’t your parents teach you that?” You saunter around the kitchen counter and stare at the sets of kitchen knives. You pull out a cleaver and wait for them to reply.

The stranger chuckled, amused with your response.

“Just want to call you so I get to know you better.”

You poked your tongue inside your cheek. You put the knife back in its place, humming to yourself.

“Alright, Mr Stranger. You got my attention and I'm bored as hell. Shoot your million dollar question.” You leaned your back on the counter, hand in pocket while another's still holding the phone.

“Tell me, do you like scary movies?” 

“Uhh, yeah.”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

“Does The Addams Family count? 1991 is the best.” You shrugged, checking your nails. The voice grumbled, annoyed with your movie choice.

“That’s not even a scary movie. And it’s a kid show.”

“Excuse me, that movie is my fave and you don’t get to judge my beloved Morticia Addams just because I watch a ‘kid show’. Besides, that movie is still considered horror okay. Take examples like Tim Burton’s production. Even though most of his movies are suitable for children, he still wants to insert horror elements so they could find comfort and won’t make them feel scared anymore. You should try Nightmare before Christmas or maybe Edward Scissorhand for starters.” you jested.  

“Not my kind of style. Edward is weird as fuck.”

“Oh now you’re crossing the line Mr. Nobody. Fun fact for you, Johnny Deep with or without heavy makeup is hot as fuck. Hell, if there’s any Johnny copycat out there, I’ll ride his dick straight away.” you mused. The audacity of this guy.

The stranger hummed.

Is it creepy that I can see him smiling through the phone?

“You should be careful what you wish for. It might come true.”

“Then, Amen for that. I ain’t regret what I said so if you have a problem with it, you jerked your tiny dick somewhere else.” 

He chuckled darkly.

“So, do you have a boyfriend?”

"What if I have one? Or maybe a girlfriend? What ya gonna do about it?” You rolled your eyes.

The phone went dead silent until a deep growl came out on the line. His voice changed to menacing.

“You don’t have a boyfriend. You’re not even lesbian.”

“Slow down tiger. I can change my preference wherever I want. Anyway, congratulations! You’re successful become from a total stranger to a fucking creep. Now no more games with me. What do you want?” You huffed, getting annoyed and a little creep out with his manic voice.

“Oh baby, you think this is a game? I’ll play a real game for ya. Knock, Knock.”

You yelped when you heard someone banging on your front door.

Shit. Wrong move.

You pull out a metal bat under the counter like you knew this would gonna happen and check around, especially every closed door inside the house. You already watched too many horror movies with Randy that you even know where the killer always comes out from.

“I ask you want more time. What the hell do you want from me?”

“You wanna know, you have to play the game with me.”

You jumped when you heard another banging. And this time, at your backyard.

“Knock. Knock.”

You gulped and took a glimpse at your back. As you saw nobody's there, you pressed your back on the wall and focused on the front door.

“Who’s there?”

You make sure all the doors and windows are already locked as your father went out training with his buddies. He says he will be coming home late.  

Double. Shit.

“Johnny.” 

You innerly scoffed. Oh he likes this game too much. 

“Johnny where?”

“Clever girl. Guess.”

You rushed to the front door and took a look outside from the window. No one was there. You blurted out the answer.

“The backyard.”

“Wrong.”

You shrieked as the sound of a crash came out from the living room. You ran there to see a big gape hole at your now shattered window. You scanned the whole room. Only one wooden chair and shattered glass all over the floor. 

He couldn’t make it inside that fast. You raised the phone as you heard his voice.

“I give you a second chance. Knock, knock.”

“Oh fuck you with your knock knock shit game! What do you want from me?!”

“I want you…to ride me.”

You inhaled sharply at his answer as you turned around with a bat raised in front of you. 

“You’re messing with the wrong person here.” You spitted. He chuckled mockingly, amazed that you still have a bit of spite even though you know you're about to lose the game.

“You should be asking where I am, (Y/N).” He enunciated your name deeply.

Sweat trickle down your temple as you took a step back one at the time. This stranger knowing your name just shot up your nerve haywire.

“Where the fuck are you shithead.” 

“Behind you.”

You turned around and hit the phone right to the side of his face.

His Ghostface leather mask to be exact. 

He covered his head from the hit with his gloved hand and you took that opportunity to bash his head with your metal bat. He doubles in pain as you hit his back with more force and knocks his feet to the floor. He lay on his back, gripping his back painfully as you stepped on his body.

“Now let’s see who's behind the mask.”

Before you could bend down to grab his mask, the air got knocked out from you as someone rammed from your side. Your head got slam on the floor hard followed by a body that stumbled right above you. 

There’s two of them?!

You tried to pry him off from you but it was no use. You could see from your blurred vision that two masked men were now crowded right in front of you. 

The first guy above your head took both of your hands and held them tight, giving out a painful moan from you, while the other one sat on top of your low waist between his thighs, securing your legs from moving.

You tried to trash your body only to feel a sharp knife under your throat. You looked up to see the second guy shaking his head. 

A warning.

“Looks like you lost the game.” Second ghostface seems satisfied seeing you beneath him. The knife in his hand trailed lower and lower to your neck. You could feel a prick of pain as the knife cut deep at your collarbone.

“Losers need to pay the price.” The first ghostface giggled, bringing out a rope from his black robe and tied your hand above your head.

“Two against one? Really fair, does it?” You gritted your teeth. Even though you’re already at their mercy, your mouth still runs like a goddamn sailor.

“Didn’t know this should be a fair game.” Second ghostface shrugged, still lingering his knife around your neck area. 

“So what? You gonna kill me?” 

“Careful, you shouldn’t challenge a killer with a knife. Now you said it, that does sound tempting.” The killer dragged down his knife to your waist. The cold of his blade sent chills down your spine as it put pressure on your stomach, emphasizing his words.

You gulped as you eyed the two ghostface. The one that sat on top of you seems like a person you don’t want to mess with. The way his voice held authority, meaning if he wants to kill you, he’ll make sure you’re good as dead. Even though he’s wearing a mask, you could feel his hot gaze on your throat to your collarbone that already bleed out from the small cut. His gloved hand reached out, smearing your oozing blood with his thumb. He loves it, you can tell.    

Another one above your head, however he's a different kind of persona. He seems to like goofing around and having fun stabbing his victim. More sadistic, more of an unhinged bastard. If he takes his mask off, you bet he'll be that funny, easy going guy. His head tilted to the side, staring at your body in awe. Like you'll become his biggest meal tonight.

"But since you beat my friend here, I'll give you a chance. If you want to live, you need to do something for me." He hinted at the end of his sentence. The first Ghostface started to laugh hysterically. 

Somehow you know what he meant, knowing what they're gonna do to you.

"What do you mean?" You shuddered.

In a split second, he pulled your body and switched position, making you on top of him. You could feel the bulge between your legs as his hands gripped your waist.

"You know what I meant."

Your whole body shivered in fear and excitement. You don’t know why your body react that way. Fear, yes but also excites you?

You already soaked in your panties, though it was the adrenaline of the chase.

You subtly rubbed yourself on his groin. He sighed in content as you kept rubbing his hard on. 

“That’s it, babe.” His breath ragged as both his hands moved your hips and pressed deeper to his crotch. His hips thrust to your core, making you let out a soft moan. 

You feel someone's hand held the back of your head, turning you to meet the first Ghostface. His gloves were already gone from both hands, as he’s working on to half-done his zipper jeans.

“Open your mouth, kitten." He slipped his thumb, pressing your lips to open. He inserted two fingers in and out as you swirl your tongue around his fingers. They were so long that you gagged as it reached at the back of your throat. When he pulled out his fingers, a string of saliva coated them.

“I’ve never done this before.” Your face was red, embarrassing to admit that you never had sex before.

“We know you’re a virgin.” He whispered. His thumb stroking your lower lip, his mask titled to the side.

“Don't worry about that. We promise to make you feel good, m'okay?" The Ghostface under you sat up, his hand tugged teasingly at your waistband while the other one caressed your cheek. His deep voice is surprisingly tender, luring you in like a moth to his flame.

Without thinking, you nodded at his words.

Beneath those masks, their smirk grew wider, finally getting you hooked with them. 

"Lift your hips for me, baby." 

He tore his gloves from his hands and guided your hips upward. As you stand on your knees, he tugged down your shorts and panties in one go. You gasped at how rough, desperate he wanted to strip you naked. 

He took out his knife and started to rip them in half. You shiver from the cold as your clothes discard aside.

A pair of hands from behind reach out to your breast and fondle them. You whimpered as he pulled and squeezed your nipples. Another hand slipped to your wet cunt, thumb circling your clit.

"Gosh, your pussy is so wet for us. We're just getting started." He mused. Slowly, he inserted two fingers inside you, thumb still rubbing your clit. You shuddered, your back laid on someone's chest, who still continued grasping your breast.

"Look at you, seeking pleasure from two psychotic serial killers. Ain't ya a dirty little slut." The one from behind cackled in manic, enjoying seeing you completely vulnerable for him.

You subconsciously ride your hips with his fingers inside you, reaching your high. Your tied arms pressed in front of his chest as his friend from behind starts to dry hump your ass. You could imagine how big their dicks are, one pressing from the back while the other one underneath your pussy, still finger fuck you.

As if they knew you're about to come, he pulled out his fingers. You let out a small whine, feeling the loss of your pussy to be filled. He dip his finger beneath his mask, groaning in pleasure as he tasted your juices with a mix of blood.

Your hair got clutched from behind and dived you to his tent. When he pulled down his boxer, you were awestruck at how thick and veiny his hard rod is. He tapped his dick on your mouth, precum smeared at your lower lips.

"Like what you see?" He chuckled, seeing you looking at his cock like that got him more turned on. 

You flustered, eyeing the two black holes resemble eyes staring at you, silently to gain his permission. He nodded, pushing his tip further into your lips.

You subtly open your mouth, licking his precum and heard his deep groan in return. This made you sucked and licked his tip and moved your hand up and down his length.

He tilted his head back. Though you couldn't see with his mask on, a sense of pride grew in you, pleased to see him feel that way.

"You're sure this is your first time? Fuck, this feels amazing." He bucked his hips in your mouth.

"Open your mouth wide open, tongue down. I'm a deep throat till you swallow all of my cum." You do as he said. He thrust his dick deep in your throat, making you gagged but you held it in. 

He fucked your mouth relentless, both his hands keeping you in place. Tears pooling down your face as saliva spilling from your mouth until your nose touches his pelvis. You tapped his thigh, coughing up when he pulled out his dick from your swollen lips.

You're too focused on the man in front of you, that your ass was raised in the air and gasped as you felt a tongue licking at your entrance.

"Damn I can eat this pussy all day." He growled from behind, licking and biting your clit. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as his tongue does wonders to you. 

You gagged as he pounds in and out of your mouth, while from behind a tongue lick deep in your entrance. His nose teasing your clit, earning you a moan vibrating through the dick in your mouth. Both of them release low moans, reaching their high.

You tap his thigh, pull you away from his dick as you feel a knot in your stomach.

"I-I some-something d-down there." You cried out, feel his friend's wet tongue thrust in and out of your cunt. You gasped from sensation, as he's licked your rim hole.

"Then cum all over his mouth, princess. Let him taste every drop." He strokes his dick as you stick your tongue out to his tip. You feel your release as the man behind lapping your juices clean.

"God, she tastes so good. I wanna fuck her wet cunt till she's scream."

The killer in front of you didn't say a word, staring at his friend 

"You can't have her. She beat you up, remember?"

"The fuck that's supposed to mean? We won, she lost."

"Correction, you get beat to a pulp and I'm the one stopping it. So, I get the prize and you just, I don't know. Enjoy the show?"

"I'm already hard and you’re telling me just to watch you all over her? Hell no man!" 

They way they're talking about you like you aren't there bothers you, but at the same time kind of hot.

You could tell his friend was frustrated, agitated while him with you on his lap stroking his tip to your folds. You whimpered as he nudged his face mask closer to your neck. You could feel his wet tongue licking and sucking at the cut he gave you. 

Deep down you know your choice terrifies you but you don't want his friend left behind.

"There's two holes for a reason, ya know." You mumbled low, but somehow both killers caught on to what you said. They both were stunned. Not long after, the one you sit on his lap snickered darkly.

"You're one dirty little virgin. Didn't know you're into that." He gripped your hips closer to his already hard crotch. You blushed at his indication.

Truth is, you stumbled upon a porn magazine from Stu's wardrobe, asking you for his sweatpants as he was in the bathroom. Curiosity kills you when you open the magazine, the page showed a blond woman penetrated by two men, dick in her cunt while another in her ass.

The image haunted you yet deep down you want to know how it feels like, to get banged by two. As you stare at her lustful face, you jump when you hear Billy's voice from outside Stu's room. So, you threw away the magazine and hastily grabbed his shorts. When Billy enters the room, he stares at you intensely. He always does every time you're in his sight. He raised an eyebrow as you gave the shorts, muttered, "Give it to Stu, he wants it." and you made a mad dash out of his room.

You know for the fact that the chances you're getting DP is slim to none. But seeing as of now, your fuzzy brain was like why not.

"You're an angel, you know that? That's why you're perfect for us." The frustrated Ghostface was now like he's in cloud nine when you told him that, hugging you from behind.

"You're meant for us, (Y/N). Remember that." The one with you on his lap was now laying down on the floor, bringing you with him so that your pussy was placed right on his outstretched cock. As his tip penetrated your entrance, you whimpered as the slight discomfort got you. As your tied arms gripped the black cloth of his front, his hand teasing your clit, trying to distract you from the pain.

As he is completely inside you, the discomfort was replaced slowly with pleasure, fullness from his thick length. His sighed in relief, loving his dick snug deep in your pussy like a vice.

"Fuck you're so tight, baby." He rasped as he helped adjust his length inside you. When he felt you ready, he slowly thrust in and out of you, making you moan.

"You like that? You like riding this cock?" His slow thrust became erratic as he rammed your throbbing cunt. Your mouth gaped open, couldn't reform words when he hit you at the right spot. 

"Y-yes, right there. Shit! You're so big." You uttered breathlessly, bouncing his dick as he thrust deeper in you. 

As you ride him, you feel another one trying to penetrate your asshole. You jumped at the sudden intrusion, stopping you as he continued to push in, hissing at your shoulder.

"S-shit! My cock gonna cut in half if you keep squeezing me like that." He buried his face on your neck as he roughly thrust you in one go, making you scream.

"M'sorry babe. Can't help it."

You try to glare at his face, or more precisely his mask. You could imagine his stupid grin, staring at you adoringly. 

This is too much. For you, a virgin and never been fuck let alone anal, this is a lot to take in. You could feel their dicks stretched inside every hole of you down there. You try adjusting to this new stimulation. They’re both moving in sync, in and out of you, feeling both of their dicks rubbing your wall one at the time. It makes you see stars as they fasten their phase.

Skin slapping filled the room, with your moan and their groan in a mix.

“Fuck fuck fuck I’mma cum!” You feel his hand gripping your hips as his thrust turns sloppy. Your body started to shake as the one beneath encircled his arms around you, keeping you close to his chest as he slammed you hard on your g-spot. 

You nearly scream from pleasure as orgasm washed over you, followed by the one behind, pumping his seed into your throbbing asshole. Your pussy tightens is all it needs from the one beneath you to paint his cum on your walls. 

He gave his one hard, second thrust at your asshole then pulled out his softened cock. The way he stared at his cum spilling from your ass stirred something inside him.

His fingers subconsciously slipped his overflow cum inside your hole. For some reason, he doesn’t want a single drop of his seed leaking out of you.

You take a deep inhale as your eyes flutter close, trying to calm from your euphoric state. You could hear his heartbeat thumping as your head laid on his chest, with him too catching his breath.

The only thing you remember is feeling a peck on your forehead and a kiss from your nape, with a deep raspy voice you manage to hear before exhaustion overtook your body.

“That’s my good girl.”

After you pass out…

“Man, that’s the best thing happen in my life!” Stu sighed, satisfied as he pulled off his Ghostface mask and slipped in his now soft dick in his pants. He looked over at his friend who was still lying on the ground with their favorite girl on top of him.

“You're lucky I came up with this plan. Knew it our girl had same fantasies like us.” He grinned, smiling like an idiot, while Billy too slowly took off the mask.

“If you didn’t pull out that porn magazine, she wouldn’t even think about it, genius.” He murmured as he stroked your arm. He sighed in relief with his eyes closed, hearing your soft snores calmed him.

Maybe they could pay you another visit, and it will be on nice bed this time.

And sure as hell he'll make sure of that.

#billy loomis #stu macher #billy loomis x reader #stu macher x reader #ghostface x reader #poly ghostface x reader #billy loomis x reader x stu macher #billy loomis x stu macher x reader #scream 1996 #scream fanfic

[mudskip-muses]

💤 (Time to get Teddy to sleep on Nathan lol)

Send 💤 for my muse to fall asleep on yours! (X) @federalblu-britishmarksman

If Teddy had to be truthful about the whole mercenary thing, which he hardly ever was, he didn't always handle it well. There were some days where a kill got to him, it being too brutal for him to stomach, or it actually sunk in that he was killing people even if they never truly died, it still hurt and wasn't always instant. And then it was sometimes paired with those fears of what if respawn didn't work? What if he actually took a life, or worse, they took his? What would happen to his Ma? All his brothers? He was the baby of the family, it...it would ruin them...

It was because of this he wasn’t sleeping right again, hadn't been for days, and it was starting to show. No amount of Bonk! could sustain him now, another empty can, possibly the dozenth that day, being crushed in his grip and tossed at Spy where he sat in his stupid fancy chair across the room, all of the guys having gathered in the rec room after a match for some ‘bonding’, but it never traveled far enough, a small pile being made near the center of the room that Pyro kept eyeing with fingers twitching about the trigger their beloved flamethrower.

Teddy had taken his hearing aids out as soon as Nathan had sat down next to him, the small devices given to the sniper for safekeeping, and now between the faux quiet of the room paired with the warmth of the man next to him, the scout was finally starting to feel sleep pulling him down.

Or maybe it had something to do with how he finally felt safe with the other there, even if he couldn't hear him now, couldn't hear anything, not even the fire alarm from where Pyro had finally set fire to the cans, melting them into an aluminum husk now stuck to the floor. Teddy’s hand was gripped tight at the sniper's sleeve where he had slowly begun to slump against his side, something the scout hadn't even noticed in his tired haze as he sunk further in slumber. Nathan couldn't really move without disturbing poor man, Teddy always having been a light sleeper ever since he became a mercenary, even without his ears in. He sometimes wondered how that would effect him once he got back to Boston...

#god get this boy fucking REST #nate ur either stuck there or you gotta pick him up those are ur choices fkjdfhs #also do you ever think about how like #scout wasnt really a trained killer like the other guys #he sincerly doubt he had a body count before he got to teufort #he was just some kid with a bat who could run fast #i cant imagine he handled shit well no matter how much bravado he put up #muse: teddy #federalblu-britishmarksman

[uhohdad]

two things you’re never going to see from me is complaints on the portrayal of konig’s character (or anyone else, really) and “rules” on how to write your COD fanfiction.

idk about y’all but when i write it’s incredibly self indulgent. i write about what i want to write to satisfy my own sexual creative needs and i think y’all should do the same. you’re not gonna see me throw a fit if i don’t agree with your portrayal of a fictional man with 3 pieces of confirmed lore. if i disagree that much i just won’t read it? i’m not going to rain on your parade and tell you that you should stop doing your creative outlet and sharing your stories bc i don’t agree with how you want to write his character or bc you don’t follow canon.

you wanna portray him as a stone cold and ruthless killer who thirsts for the blood of his enemies? as the big soft uwu boy everyone hates so much? you want him to be 20y/o, 45 y/o, 60y/o? mean, kind, confident, anxious, smart, himbo, reserved, persistent, wholesome, a pervert? you want to strip this man of everything you know totally OOC and just borrow his appearance for a coffee shop AU? it’s okay! chances are there’s other people out there who were craving just the thing you’re cooking.

no one is doing this for a living, we’re all writing fanfiction about our imaginary boyfriends in CALL OF DUTY as a hobby. it’s just not that serious. this goes for all creative fandom works, too.

i’m personally very picky about my fanfiction, but who’s silly little problem is that? that’s my silly little problem. i’m here for the grind, the chase, the dig. too weak to handle scrolling back 100 pages on ao3 just to find the perfect strangers to enemies to friends to lovers 100k word porn with plot with accurate character potrayal you were looking for? you might be in the wrong business if you can’t handle the hunt, my friend.

y’all are making free content for us to consume. that’s more than enough, and the priority at all times should be to make sure you’re having fun writing. I’d rather you all share your OOC goofy little fics that you felt motivated and inspired to write than a canon friendly story you had to force yourself to get through for our sake.

anyway i’ll go to bat for fic writers any day of the week. tldr; don’t ever let anyone dictate how you express yourself creatively, give yourself permission to go nuts like a 6 yo old with paste, glitter, and elbow macaroni. free yourself from the weight of the chains of creative stifling and see how close to the sun you can girlboss. let us seethe at the hands of your raw muse.

and as always, thank you for sharing your art with the world.

#sorry i really try not to get involved in discourse and do my best to keep things light hearted around here #but idk i don’t think we should be tearing each other down for our creative writing choices #it’s just for fun #fwiw no one said this to me but i see a lot of posts of people complaining about this in the konig tag #like girl just don’t read it?? #if everything is properly tagged what is the problem? #anyway i’ll literally go to bat for any fic writer y’all are doing the lords work #i’ll shut up now #konig #konig call of duty #call of duty #cod #könig #modern warefare ii #uhohspeaks

[operator-report]

i saw your radiohead post so what music do you think the travelers would have liked :)

thank you anon for this ask because it is the single best response i could have gotten from the radiohead post! sorry i took so long to answer but i wanted to give it some thought:

noelle: all jokes aside, i do stand by noelle listening to radiohead. in general i think she really likes sad dude alternative rock and indie, because it's alt and nerdy enough to fit her tastes, it validates the fact that she is going through it in high school, and, you know, noelle does have a pretty high tolerance for edgy-of-center guys who may or may not suck. the fact that the original car seat headrest twin fantasy came out in 2011 is honestly so sad because noelle got simurghed before she could hear it......... i think it would have helped her immensely

krouse: does a complete overhaul of his taste when he meets noelle, in conjunction with him getting good at games. i think krouse has a more pop-sounding version of noelle and luke's tastes, so he likes muse, the killers, etc. his annoying music opinion is that he will go to bat for coldplay and nickleback just to get a rise out of people. he genuinely likes coldplay but does not like nickleback.

marissa: some top 40 and singer-songwriter. marissa probably has the most "basic" taste, but i also think her taste is influenced by her experience as a dancer, so it's not bad taste! she's just not into the mopey stuff that noelle likes. i think mars likes rihanna and i also think she is the traveler who is most likely to be a swiftie. the band that unites noelle, mars, and jess is paramore.

jess: the traveler who probably cares most about music as an art form, as well as things like genre, etc. listens to art rock bands like yeah yeah yeahs. jess likes pop punk and pop emo, but will also firmly inform you that MCR is not emo. (this is an activity she and krouse like to do together.) i think jess has slowly been approaching getting into more DIY guitar music, like midwest emo and math rock, but, like noelle, tragedy struck before she could get there.

luke: pop punk, grunge, and other assorted varieties of Dude Music. luke likes green day, foo fighters, blink-182, and queens of the stone age. listens to a little kanye from time to time, which is a point of slight contention between him and mars, although i do think he is chill about the 2009 vmas.

oliver: i don't see oliver being super opinionated about the music he listens to, honestly, i think he just kind of goes with the group. you have never met a person who has less wanted to be on the aux. this is a guy who probably could have used linkin park but i think linkin park makes him too scared

cody: given how dedicated cody is to gaming, i think that he's the traveler who listens to the most video game soundtracks. he also listens to Epic Music mixes on youtube and a very small amount of tame nu metal

#worm #parahumans #wormblr #the travelers

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

North To The Future [Chapter 8: Crash And Burn]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, actual sex (18+ readers only), near-death experiences, health crises, hospitals, questionable tattoos, trout with Trent.

Word count: 6.7k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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“He broke up with me.” Kimmie hasn’t taken a single sip of her Miller Lite. She’s staring right past you and Heather, her eyes glassy puddles shimmering with reflections of multicolored Christmas lights. It’s Monday, December 13th, and Dale’s stereo is playing Queen’s Thank God It’s Christmas. You’re in the usual booth and waiting for the boys to get off work. Outside the frosted windows is an ocean of darkness punctuated by narrow aisles of murky streetlight luminescence. “He actually broke up with me.”

Heather snaps her fingers in front of Kimmie’s face. “Uh, Kimmie, Earth to Kimmie, yeah, can you give us a little more exposition, please? When exactly did this happen?”

“Yesterday,” Kimmie says, slightly more present now. “He’d been weird since the hike, super depressed, super boring…he wasn’t even interested in doggie style, and he loves doggie style!”

“Boundaries, Kimmie,” Heather pleads.

“So he called me to come over last night and I went to see him and he was…like…sitting on his couch with his hands folded in his lap like it was a freaking job interview. And he explained that he thought I was totally great and that we’d had a lot of fun together but now he had to break things off for personal reasons.”

“Wow, personal reasons, wow,” Heather muses. She doesn’t turn to look at you, but she does kick your boot under the table. You pretend not to notice.

“Wow,” Joyce echoes wryly, flipping a page in her current fantasy novel. There’s some stately prince on the front cover: crown, sword, shield, long flowing hair like a river of white gold.

“I don’t even care that much,” Kimmie realizes as she’s saying it. “I mean, it was nearing its expiration date anyway. I’m going to get back together with Brad, Aegon’s going to presumably resume sleeping his way through Juneau…or maybe try out taking a vow of celibacy, who knows, he’s been very monkish the past few days. He can be fun sometimes, and I like him, and I wish him all the best, but there’s no future for us. I just realized that he’s the first guy who ever broke up with me instead of the other way around. It feels…not great!”

“Congratulations, you’re a mortal,” Joyce says, not looking up from her book.

“So you wouldn’t care if Aegon got with someone else?” Heather asks Kimmie innocently. This time, you kick Heather. She winces but bites back a hiss of pain.

Kimmie considers this, finally taking a swig of her I’m-a-cool-girl-who-likes-hockey-and-trucks beer. “No, probably not.”

I won’t do it, you vow to yourself with false stoicism, imagined iron you wish you were really made of. I won’t date him, I won’t sleep with him, I won’t fall in love with him. And yet part of you already knows it’s too late. Part of you knows this as if it’s been inked to your skin like the scrawled, secret entries of a journal.

Ursa Minor’s front door bangs open, and what you see when you turn to look doesn’t make any sense. Rob and Trent—both dripping wet, their hair plastered flat to their heads, their boots squeaking on the hardwood floor—rush inside. There are shouts and gasps and people leaping up out of their seats to get a better look. Trent is carrying something over one of his lumberjack-broad shoulders. He kneels to throw it down onto the floor. It’s Aegon: limp, bluish, unconscious.

“Someone call somebody!” Trent bellows. He’s staring down at Aegon in panic, in terror, not knowing what to do. Beads of water run down his face. “An ambulance or 911 or a helicopter…or…or somebody!”

“Got it!” Dale says, darting for the phone behind the bar. Kimmie is shrieking. Joyce is trying to calm her down. And by then, you’re on the floor beside Aegon feeling for a pulse on his carotid. He doesn’t have one. He’s cold and he’s silent and he’s medically dead.

“He fell,” Trent says franticly, helplessly. “We were bringing the boat into the harbor and he got tangled in a net and fell overboard. I pulled him out, but he was underwater for a while and we couldn’t…we couldn’t wake him up…”

“Aegon?!” you scream, shaking him, slapping him across his icy, vacant face. “Aegon, wake up, wake up, please wake up!”

Heather is next to you. “What can I do?”

“Help me get his wet clothes off. Hypothermia.”

She yanks at his boots, his socks, his jeans. “You know how to do CPR, right?”

“Yeah, on a dog!” Still, you have to try. How long can he go without a pulse until he’s braindead? Four minutes? Five? The cold might buy him extra time, but not much. Minutes. You rip off his red flannel shirt; buttons go careening across the wet floor. As you place your palms over his heart, you notice—fleetingly, dazedly, like sloshing through a dream—that he has a scattering of scars on his chest, gashes and punctures and knicks…and two tattoos. There is a dragon spiraled around his right collarbone. Just below his left, there are three words written in light, graceful cursive: I’m a killer.

You start chest compressions. How many am I supposed to do on a human? Ten? Twenty? You can’t remember. You’re sobbing; you aren’t sure when that started, but it’s in full force now. Heather mops the tears from your face with her sleeve so you can see.

He’s going to die, you think. He’s going to die lying on the floor of this bar in his boxers, and he will never tell me anything again, and he will never see his family again, and he will never get better. The channel killed Jesse and now it’s killed Aegon too.

“Is he dead?!” Kimmie yelps from across the room. “Please tell me he’s not dead!”

Heather hurls back: “You’re going to be dead if you don’t shut up! Let her work on him!”

You tilt Aegon’s head back, lift his chin, pinch his nose shut. Then you exhale into him. You can taste the dark ancient salt of the sea on his cold lips…but beneath that there is rum as well. He shouldn’t have been drinking that much at work. He doesn’t usually. What’s different? What’s been bothering him? But you think you know the answer to that.

There’s nothing, nothing, nothing…and then Aegon’s chest rises and he rolls onto his side, choking out torrents of seawater and gasping for air. People are cheering and chattering, but you barely hear them.

“Oh my god!” you cry out, and if you were sobbing before now you’re properly bawling, breathless and hysterical. It’s uncontrollable, you can’t seem to stop. You cling to Aegon as he shivers violently and peers around with half-open, profoundly confused blue eyes, warming him with your own body heat, turning his flesh from blue to white to pink.

“Go get coats and stuff to warm him up,” Heather says to Trent, shoving him away. And you do actually need coats…but also, you think, Heather is trying to get rid of her brother. Because it should be obvious to anyone what’s going on here; it should be obvious to anyone that you’re in love with this white-blond man on the floor who not so very long ago was a stranger.

“Hey, hey,” Aegon rasps, pawing clumsily at your face as if to comfort you, almost poking your eyes out in the process. And then he asks, with genuine confusion: “What the hell are you crying about?”

You start laughing, tears still streaming down your cheeks. “You, idiot. I’m crying about you.”

“I’m fine, Appletini,” he croaks. “Shh. Shh. Stop. No crying.”

“I thought you were dead, I thought…I thought…”

“I’m not that easy to kill,” Aegon says, his eyes dipping shut. Outside in the blackness somewhere, there are sirens whirling. Trent returns with an armful of coats and together you pile them on top of Aegon, burying him in a tomb of L.L.Bean and Patagonia and The North Face. “Trust me. I know.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Obviously, the hospital won’t let Aegon have rum and Cokes. He pushes his morphine button almost constantly, even though the doctors and nurses tell him he’s already maxed out. They began by keeping Aegon overnight for observation, and then he developed pneumonia, and then the first type of antibiotics didn’t work and they had to play roulette until they found one that did. Now it’s a full week later—December 20th—and Aegon is finally feeling like himself again and is due to be released tomorrow. Sunfyre has been staying with you and your parents. He loves it, he gets constant attention and enjoys gazing out the window to see if his new best friend the cow moose will show up. Meanwhile, Trent has convinced his boss Rusty—another high school classmate of your parents, another hulking bearded specimen of the enmeshed Juneau ecosystem—to let Aegon keep his job despite the extended leave; Trent even managed to get Aegon paid time off for the first five days. This is all rather heroic of him. It makes you feel bad for thinking he might be a serial killer. If Trent knows that Aegon was drunk on the job, he hasn’t mentioned it to anybody.

“I got you something,” Aegon tells you when you get off work. It’s just after sunset, the last whisps of pink and lilac dusk vanishing from the sky. Things have been slow at the vet clinic as Christmas draws near, which is good in that you can leave early and visit Aegon more often. It’s bad because you’re less busy, less preoccupied; you have all the time in the world to think about him. Aegon is propped up in bed on pillows—his hair slicked back from his face, his eyes sleepy and racoonish—and wearing a hospital gown that’s too big for him. You can see his collarbones and his tattoos, though you’re trying very hard not to stare, to wonder. He points to the table beside his bed. There’s a bouquet of blue roses lying there.

“For me?!”

“For the person who literally brought me back from the dead? Yeah, I don’t think it’s too extravagant.”

You give him one of the hot chocolates you bought from the hospital cafeteria. It’s not as good as his, obviously, but it’s better than nothing. He clutches the Styrofoam cup with both hands, steam rolling up into his face. He inhales the scent, closes his eyes, sighs deeply with a smile. “I hope they aren’t stolen,” you say about the roses, only half-kidding.

“They’re from the gift shop. I dragged myself down there after lunch. They really weren’t that expensive, I think the cashier gave me a still-attached-to-an-IV discount.”

“Was she cute?”

“She was eighty years old.”

You laugh and sit down in the chair beside his bed, sipping your own hot chocolate: thin, watery, weak. You admire the roses, threading velvety cerulean petals through your fingers. “I love them, really, but I wish you wouldn’t buy things for me. I know you’re chronically short on money. And I am somehow skeptical that you have health insurance. Do you have health insurance?”

He grins toothily. “Nope.”

“Aegon,” you lament.

“It doesn’t matter. They’ll bill me, I’ll never pay, it’s all made up.”

“You might need a halfway decent credit score one day.”

He shakes his head. “I’m never going to try to get a mortgage. I’m never going to apply for a job at a bank or a law firm. I’ll be fine. I’ll live in a tree if that’s what it takes.”

You rest your palm against his cheek and then his forehead, checking for fever. His skin is warm but not hot, pale but not bloodless. You can feel his eyes on you, trying to catch your gaze like a hook through a fish. You avoid them.

“How do I look, vet lady?”

“I’m not really qualified to evaluate humans.”

“I don’t want to get better.”

Now you do stare at him, direct and mystified. “Why?”

“I’m worried you won’t be nice to me anymore.”

You chuckle, relieved. “I’ll still be nice to you, Aegon.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

A nurse pops into the room, young and springy and jovial like a kitten. She must be new; you don’t recognize her, and you’ve been here a lot. “Good afternoon, I’m just swinging by to take your vitals. I see you’re scheduled to go home tomorrow, how exciting!” The nurse squints down at the chart she has pinned to a clipboard. “Aegon…?”

He smirks long-sufferingly. “It’s Greek.”

“It’s lovely!” the nurse recovers. She measures his temperature and heartrate and blood pressure, his reflexes and his oxygenation. He passes all inquiries with flying colors. She congratulates Aegon on his recovery and flits off to tend to more needy patients. You think of the nights you’ve spent curled up in this chair, listening to Aegon’s labored, rattling breathing and watching blooms of flare-hot crimson fever creep across his face. You think of how much it’s going to kill you to lose him someday. You find yourself staring at his tattoos, ink that someone else put there in some other city, remnants of the life he had before.

“You can ask,” Aegon says. “I’m sure you’re wondering.”

You set your hot chocolate on the table and move closer to him, ghosting your fingertips over the words: I’m a killer. He jolts a little, although not in a bad way, not in an unwelcome way. He doesn’t lean away from you. In fact, he leans in. “What’s up with that?”

“Would this be an awkward moment for me to confess that I’m the Ice Fisher?”

You smile. “You have to admit that it’s a little weird. There’s a killer on the loose, you have a tattoo that says you’re a killer, I think any reasonable observer would have questions.”

“Kimmie didn’t.”

“Reasonable observer, I said. Reasonable.”

“It’s not a confession. It’s a Johnny Cash lyric.”

“Really? Which song?” You know a fair amount of Johnny Cash thanks to your dad’s extensive vinyl collection. You skim through his discography in your head: Walk The Line, Ring Of Fire, Get Rhythm, Folsom Prison Blues, I Got Stripes. You can’t remember any of them having that line. It circles around in your skull, only sounding like Aegon’s voice: I’m a killer, I’m a killer.

“I’ve Been Everywhere,” he says. “It’s a cover, actually. Some other guy did it first. But I didn’t know that when I got inked. And I loved Johnny Cash’s version when I heard it. It was like my theme song.”

“Ohhh, right, that’s the one where he lists all the cities he’s been to, like Reno, uh, and Chicago, and, uhhh…”

Aegon sings, deep but hoarse: “Fargo, Minnesota, Buffalo, Toronto, Winslow, Sarasota, Wichita, Tulsa, Ottawa, Oklahoma, Tampa, Panama, Mattawa, La Paloma—” He breaks off with a coughing fit.

“Stop,” you beg, laughing. “Stop, you’re going to hurt yourself.” You trace the cursive letters lightly. I’m a killer. I’m a killer. “Kimmie never had questions about that?”

“I don’t think Kimmie really sees me. She just sees adjectives in the shape of my silhouette. But you…” He puts his hand over yours, pinning it to his chest. You can feel his heart under there somewhere, beneath muscles and bones and a pitch-black sea crawling with monsters that have evolved to live in the extreme gravity, in the depths: ghosts of the past and sirens of the future. He smiles. “You see a lot.”

“20/20, baby.” You study his scars. They’re random like a scatterplot, none large enough to appear life-threatening. “How did you get these?”

“Car accident. A long time ago.”

“Before you left Miami?”

He gazes absently out the window, where snow is falling. You can see it drifting down to the earth in the gloomy beams of streetlights. “Yeah.”

Now there are new lyrics bubbling up in your mind, not anything by Johnny Cash but Cake’s The Distance. No trophy, no flowers, no flashbulbs, no wine, he’s haunted by something he cannot define. And perhaps you know something about what that feels like. “Do you really think I’m a coward?” you ask softly. “I know you’re trying not to lie to me. So I’m hoping you’ll tell me the truth. You might be the only person who will.”

Aegon pauses before he answers. “I think a lot of people are cowards in one way or another,” he says diplomatically. “And I think that if that’s your greatest flaw as a human—that you don’t want to disappoint your parents, that you don’t want to hurt them, that you want to repay them for being so wonderful when there are people out there who beat and murder their kids—you turned out alright.”

You think of how easy it would be to rest your head on his bare, scarred chest and let him hold you. You think of how much you want that, want it in a sudden and ravenous and unbearable sort of way. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“No problem, Appletini.”

There is a knock on the door, and you jerk away from Aegon. You pick up your hot chocolate and slurp it as you sink into the chair. Aegon laces his hands together and wrings them. Trent walks in. “Sup, bro?!” he pipes cheerfully.

“Bro,” Aegon offers in return. They bump fists.

“You look like you’re feeling better.”

“I definitely am.”

“Still getting let out tomorrow?”

“Yup. Like a prisoner who made parole. Kimmie already offered to drive me home.” Then he adds: “Platonically.” Kimmie’s the only one in the friend group without a real job. Her parents are both university professors—you aren’t sure how none of the genius chromosomes made their way down the genetic Plinko board to her, but they didn’t—and she gets paid to be their ‘research assistant’…which means she works rarely and with no accountability whatsoever.

Trent’s eyes dart to you, to the blue roses, to you again, finally back to Aegon. He’s beaming, but there’s something hollow about it, like if you struck him across the face it would crack like porcelain. “Flowers, huh? That’s dope.”

“Yeah, I figured it was the least I could do since she saved my life and all.”

“She’s fantastic,” Trent agrees proudly, like he owns you. “In fact, that’s kind of why I’m here.” He turns to you. “I called the house and your parents told me I should check the hospital. I wanted to…you know, now that Aegon’s basically better and we all know he’s not gonna die…I wanted to take you to dinner tomorrow.”

“Dinner?” you repeat, stupidly, like you’re unfamiliar with the concept. “Tomorrow?”

“Yeah, someplace nice. Candlelight and fancy dessert, the whole deal.”

A date. That’s definitely a date. You stare at Trent. He stares at you. Aegon frowns at you both, pressing his knuckles to his lips. “Dinner,” you say awkwardly, but with more conviction. “Totally. Dinner would be nice.”

“Awesome!” Trent thunders. “I’ll pick you up at 8?”

“Sounds good!” you say with overcompensating enthusiasm. Trent swoops in for an unexpected hug—nearly spilling your hot chocolate—and gives Aegon a parting fist bump. Then he’s gone.

“I owe him,” you explain to Aegon, speaking quickly, nervously. “He saved your life, he fished you out of the channel like a goddamn salmon. He’s responsible for you keeping your job. He’s getting you paid time off. He’s been around the hospital a lot this week, he’s been so helpful, selflessly helpful…I can’t just tell him to fuck off after all that.” And then you say: “But it’s only dinner! Only one dinner!”

“Need some condoms?” Aegon teases, trying to make you smile. It works. “I have a box I’m not currently using.”

“I’m on the pill.”

“Good to know.”

“I doubt your condoms are horse-sized anyway.”

“Hey hey hey, it’s not about the number of inches, it’s about how you use them.”

“I’ve heard some very interesting things. About your inches, I mean.”

“Oh no,” he groans, covering his blushing face with his hands.

“I didn’t say bad things. I said interesting things.”

“I wouldn’t mind you knowing from firsthand experience,” he says with a sly little grin you can’t quite read. It’s playful, it’s sharp, it’s baiting, it’s sad.

“About what?”

“About my inches.”

You both burst out laughing, so hard Aegon launches into another coughing fit. You reach for him instinctively, pressing your hand to his chest again as if you can cure him, not a palm reader but a faith healer. A miracle worker. A professional fixer.

“You think it’s safe?” he asks, seriously now. “Dinner, I mean. With Trent.”

“I think he’d have a hard time strangling me in the middle of a crowded restaurant. And everyone’s going to know we’re hanging out together tomorrow night, he’d have to be more than stupid to kill me. He’d have to be all brainstem, like an alligator or a shark. Besides, he doesn’t want me dead.”

“I know. He wants you to be his wife.” There’s nothing to fill the uneasy lull but the pounding of your own heartbeat. “Call me,” Aegon says abruptly. “When you get home tomorrow night. So I know you’re okay.” So I know you didn’t get murdered. So I know you’re not at the bottom of a lake somewhere.

“What if it’s not until really late? I don’t want to disturb you while you’re recovering.”

He looks out the window: into the frigid void, into nothing. “Still call me.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Trent takes you to the Red Dog Saloon, Juneau’s idea of fine dining. You intentionally dress to look not-sexy: dark blue flannel (you’ve warmed to the fabric since Aegon wears it so much) with a T-shirt underneath, jeans, boots, minimal makeup, hair in an I-really-don’t-care messy loose braid. Trent doesn’t seem to notice that this isn’t supposed to be a date. He’s wearing a button-up maroon shirt and khakis. He chats away blithely as you survey the menu. He’s had the servers bring out candles to put on the table. He’s ordered craft beers for you both. You wrinkle your nose and shudder after each thick bitter sip, chasing the beer with desperate gulps of water. Whoever owns the Red Dog Saloon does not share Dale’s devotion to Shania Twain and Christmas music; the stereo is playing Savage Garden’s Crash And Burn.

“Ready to order?” the waitress asks, casting former-football-star Trent a flirtatious smile just in case he’s single. He is! you mentally shout, hoping for telepathy. He just doesn’t know it!

“Yeah,” you begin. “I think I’d like to try your brisket—”

“Oh no, no no no,” Trent says with a chuckle. He flips his hair; in your head, you hear a neigh. “They have a great special. Trout with risotto. How fancy is that?! I don’t even know what risotto is! We gotta try that. We gotta make tonight special.”

“Okay. Yeah. Sure.” You give the waitress a tight smirk as you hand her the menu. “The trout special. Two of them, I guess.”

“You’ll love it,” the waitress promises, tossing Trent another smile like a penny into a fountain. She takes both menus and disappears into the kitchen.

“So,” Trent says, drinking his beer. “I didn’t know you liked Aegon so much. I thought you kind of hated him, actually.”

You shrug, peering into the foam of your unwanted beer. “I don’t like to see anyone suffering. It doesn’t matter who.”

“That makes sense, I guess.”

“And you encouraged me to get along with him because you want him to stay in Juneau so he can be in your band.”

“Oh yeah, right. Okay, never mind. I was just…curious.” Another hair flip.

“Look, Trent…” You gather your courage like raking up autumn leaves. “We’re friends, right?”

He chortles. “Well, I’d like to think we’re a lot more than that.”

I bet you would. “But we never…like…we never put a label on it, you know?”

“Do you need a label?” he says. You had worried he might be mad; instead, he’s amused. You aren’t sure why that makes you feel worse. “Is that what makes it official, us using the words boyfriend, girlfriend, relationship, whatever?”

“Maybe those words don’t really apply to us, and that’s why we haven’t used them yet,” you try hopefully. “Like, if we were supposed to date, it would feel more natural for us to date. But maybe it doesn’t feel so natural, so we’re better off staying friends.”

Now he puts his beer down and stares at you. The glass thumps against the glossy wood. He’s bending towards you, though you don’t think he’s even aware of it; he props his elbows on the table, his brow crinkling in bewilderment. And there’s something else in the lines of his face too. Anger. Indignation. Betrayal. “You want to be friends?”

“I didn’t say that,” you amend swiftly. “I just said maybe we’re better off as friends.”

He slaps his palm against the table—you flinch, hating that he has that power over you—and laughs in amazement. “I’m just…well, I’m shocked! You’re fine with kissing me, and watching movies in your bedroom, and hanging out all the time, and getting drinks together and playing pool and showing me off to your parents, but you’re horrified by the thought of calling it dating?! You’re too much, ladybug. You’re really too much.”

He's going to pretend he doesn’t see that I want out. And he’s going to keep pretending until he’s on his knees with a fucking ring from Zales. “I don’t think I’m looking for a relationship right now, Trent. With anyone.” Oh, and that’s such a goddamn lie.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

He studies you; but that’s too kind a word for it. His eyes flay you down to the bone. “I’m a good guy, you know.”

“I know,” you lie, nodding agreeably.

“You’re not eighteen anymore,” he says. “It’s not like you have forever to find someone to settle down with. I go to work, I’m popular, I’m presentable, I care about you, I take you on dates, I move your furniture around whenever you fucking ask me to, I’m a good guy. I get that maybe this is progressing a little fast for you, and we can slow down if that’s what you want. But I think it would be pretty stupid to give something like this up. Don’t you?”

It doesn’t sound like a question. It sounds like a threat. Don’t you? Don’t you? “You’re right, Trent,” you hear yourself say, like it’s someone else’s voice. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

The waitress arrives with your dinner and—not so subtly—slips Trent her number. He makes a great show of ripping it up in front of you. The trout and risotto thing is great, actually. It’s not what you walked in wanting, but it turned out just fine. And maybe that’s what the rest of your life will be like too: other people making choices, you hoping you’ll like the taste.

After dinner and dessert—a Baked Alaska, another of Trent’s suggestions that are more like nonnegotiables—he drives you home in his massive rumbling truck. You talk innocuously about your vet clinic clients, dogs and cats and hamsters and reindeer, until you roll to a stop in front of your parents’ house. You begin your goodbye, opening the truck door. Cold December air floods in.

“Okay Trent, thank you for a lovely night—” He cuts you off with a kiss he didn’t ask for, a hand on your face that feels hot and smothering. You’re so stunned it takes you a few seconds to try to push him away. He ignores you until you shove him so hard he can’t pretend not to notice.

“What are you so worried about?” he demands, he implores, like he’ll fix anything if you just name it, like he’ll strike the nails with his bare hands. But he can’t fix what’s wrong. What’s wrong is that I’m in love with Aegon Targaryen. “Are you scared I’ll be bored of you once you give it all up? Are you worried about getting pregnant? Aren’t you on the pill? I saw the pack in your bedroom.”

You’re nauseated that he noticed, that he’s imagined you like that: naked, compliant, vulnerable. “Yes, Trent, but that’s for me, not for you.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

You tell him the truth. Not the whole truth—not enough to enrage him—but the crux of it: the spine, the heart. “I always thought I knew exactly what my life was going to look like, but now I’m…I’m…”

“Well this is what comes next, right?” Trent says. “You check the boxes for school and work, and then it’s time to settle down. Get married, buy a house, have kids. I’m ready to give you that. I want to give you that. Don’t you want it too?”

Aegon is going to leave, you think with steel-cold dread. Sooner or later, he’ll disappear to start over again in some anonymous new city. And what will my life look like then? What will I have when he’s gone? “I guess I just need some more time to figure things out.”

Trent nods, his jaw clenched tight, looking out into the darkness through his windshield. “I’m not criticizing you for waiting. I’m just wondering what the hell you’re waiting for.”

Inside the house is hushed and empty; your parents are enjoying a night out with your dad’s bowling league. They even took Sunfyre with them. You drag yourself upstairs, each step a mile. You brush your teeth—twice—to get the taste of Trent and craft beer out of your mouth. And then you stand in your bedroom surrounded by posters and magazines, surrounded by fantasies that you will never wrap your hands around. You glance at the box full of Jesse’s journals; you can see the cardboard edge of it poking out from beneath your bed. He’s gone, and he wasn’t perfect, in fact in many ways he was a curse, was a plague, was a monster. But I think my mom would give anything for one more day with him. After all these years, I still think she would.

The blue roses Aegon gave you are in a vase on your nightstand, right next to the phone. They’re already dying. And now your throat is burning, and your eyes are wet with tears, and when defenseless sobs rip from your chest there is no one here to hear them. I don’t want to protect myself from what it would have been like with him. I want to know.

You snatch up the phone, find the Post-it note with Aegon’s number written on it, call him before you have time to change your mind. When he answers, it’s clear you woke him up. His voice is slow and groggy. “Hello?”

“Can I come over?”

“Huh…?”

“Can I please come over? I need to come over. I need to come over right now.”

Now he’s awake. “Yeah, yeah, of course. Are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m at home, I’m fine, I’m safe, I just…I just…” You swipe the tears from your eyes and take a long, trembling breath. “I just need to come over.”

“No problem,” Aegon says. He is puzzled, he is concerned…but you think a part of him is glad too. “I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

You drive your Jeep to his apartment building and park it—badly, crookedly, like he would—under a streetlight. The night is fiercely, brutally cold when you dive out into it. The full moon is an island; the indigo, star-flecked sky is an ocean deep with secrets and bones and wreckage, splinters of swallowed lives dissolving into the blue. Upstairs, Aegon’s door is already unlocked. He’s wearing a black Nirvana T-shirt and green flannel pajama pants, his hair disheveled. He’s also making hot chocolate.

“Hi,” he says casually, filling the mugs. He adds splashes of French vanilla coffee creamer—plus some 99 Whipped for his green mug—and swirls of whipped cream, then shaves on a generous dusting of Hershey’s chocolate. He gives you the blue mug. You take it in quivering hands. “You alright?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. I’m amazing.”

“Okay.” He waits, patient and watchful, sipping his hot chocolate.

You feel better after a few minutes tick by. Aegon’s apartment is serene and still. The tv is dark; there’s no music, no voices, no distractions. You can barely hear the screech of the Arctic wind outside. The only light turned on is the one in the kitchen; the rest of the apartment is shadows. The hot chocolate is warm, rich, comforting, safe. “How are you feeling?”

“Pretty great,” Aegon replies. “Normal.”

“Good.”

“Yeah.” He gazes at you, still waiting.

You finish your hot chocolate and put the mug in the kitchen sink. You take your hair out of your braid and shake it loose, surveying his apartment with aimless steps: his couch, his guitar, his litany of refrigerator magnets, his unmade bed. Aegon sets his mug down on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Appletini,” he says. “Why are you here?”

You turn back to him, but you can’t find your words. It’s on your face, it has to be; it’s in a language Aegon can speak fluently. You see the understanding flicker in his eyes like firelight: sudden, bright, exhilarated.

“Say it,” he prompts. “You have to say it, or I’m not going to believe you.”

You try, you really do try. But you can’t get the words to leave your lips. You don’t know how to put what you want from him into words at all. Anything, everything.

He smiles, softly like a whisper. “Me first, huh?” Then he begins undressing. He yanks his Nirvana T-shirt over his head—further tangling his hair—and tosses it across the room. He slips off his pajama pants, and then his boxers too. He’s standing there in the florescent kitchen light, flesh and ink and track marks and scars. “Okay, your turn. If you’re still interested.”

“I want you to do that part.”

He crosses the scuffed hardwood floor, his footsteps quiet. His fingers find the top button of your flannel shirt. His eyes are fixed on yours as he unhooks the first button, another, another after that. He leans in to press his lips to your throat, just beneath your jaw. Slowly, exquisitely slowly, he kisses his way down to your collarbone as he unfastens the rest of the buttons and gently pulls off your shirt, letting it fall to the floor. He slips his hands below the hem of the T-shirt you’re wearing underneath and lifts it away, his knuckles grazing your belly, your waist, your ribs, the lace of your bra. And then he cradles your face in his hands and kisses you with exceptional, reverent slowness, like you’re something that could shatter. You can’t reconcile this man with the sort of wild acrobatics that Kimmie had described. And then you’re not thinking about Kimmie at all. The past is a black hole, the future is an empty sky. There’s no room in this lightning-brief sliver of eternity for anyone else.

You breathe him in: sweetness, warmth, the bite of alcohol, fire and shadows and light. He unbuttons your jeans, unzips them, kneels down to peel them off of you. He touches his lips to your thigh—first the outside, then the downy-soft inside—and hesitates for a moment before he stands to kiss your lips again. His hands skim across your bare back towards the clasp of your bra, raising goosebumps like twilight stars. And then again, he hesitates. His hands come back to your face, his fingertips calloused but lithe.

“You’re nervous,” you murmur, smiling. You tuck his escaped lock of hair behind his ear, pressing yourself against him: hips, chest, soul. The sapphire blue lace of your bra and panties rustles across his skin. You can’t get close enough to him; it’s not possible, it’s not fathomable. He’s holding himself back, you can tell. He’s panting with the effort. In the midnight silence, you can hear every sound he makes with crystalline clarity. The moonlight pours in, painting you both in ghostly silver light.

Aegon chuckles shakily. “I am,” he admits.

“I think you’ve done this once or twice before.”

“Yeah, but not with you.”

“I want this,” you say, your lips to the curl of his ear. His skin is hot with eager, rushing blood. “And I want you to be the one to set me free.”

Something snaps in him, something breaks like a wave. Your bra tumbles to the floor, your panties are whisked away, you and Aegon are on the bed together tangled up like arteries flush with life. There is a breathless sort of desperation in it: in the way your fingers intertwine, in his gasps and your moans, in the sustained pleasure—so intense it borders on pain—that causes euphoric tears to spring up in your eyes, in his deep, startlingly powerful thrusts that begin slowly and then build to a furious rhythm. And you know then that he agrees, it’s not possible to ever get close enough to each other; but still, you resolve to try.

“Look at me, baby,” Aegon whispers as you arch into him and you beg him not to stop, his palm turning your face towards his. “Look at me, look at me, look at me…”

You unravel like thread torn from a spool until its empty, like a mystery, like stitches clipped from a healed wound. There’s an insurmountable sort of peace that follows it. Nothing is okay, and yet everything is, and you can conjure up no words but only colors: the white of snow, the indigo of the night sky, the gold of the rare unclouded midday sun, the ethereal green-violet glow of the Northern Lights. Aegon empties himself inside you, crying out and kissing the side of your face over and over again, tasting heat and salt and your unnamed love for him. You can feel the serenity settling over him as if it’s your own pulse slowing, your own mind cleared like the horizon after a storm. You are irredeemably etched into each other. You are two sides of the same coin: too weightless, too rooted, unable to leave, unable to stay.

As you lay side by side in the moonlight, your fingers tangled in his hair, Aegon says: “You are the only thing that’s ever made me want to stop running.”

“You could stay. I want you to stay.”

“For a while.” He pulls you against him. You rest your head on his chest: ink, scars, slow thudding heartbeat. His fingertips draw invisible paths up the length of your spine. “Not forever. But for a while.”

She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade.

“I don’t want to have to forget you,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

“Not yet,” Aegon vows. It’s the only promise he can make. He kisses your forehead, sweeping the tears from your cheeks with his hands. “Not yet.”

#aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x y/n #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader

[currebunz]

Carrying the weight on his shoulders (TrigunxReader)

Buy me a coffee

//parings in chapter: Vash x reader//

No man’s land was a place for outlaws and devils, the perfect place to find treasure or evil. Luckily, you were looking for both. Currently posted outside of a large watch tower, miles away from the nearest town. The tower was probably used to spot sandstorms or worms in order to warn the towns. But by the looks of the dusty thing, no one had used it in the last few years. You kicked the door in, walking inside.

The place was huge, made big enough to deter a worm from trying to eat it. That is until now. You stared up at the large staircase before deciding not to even bother with it, there had to be an elevator somewhere. While you searched, you kept a watchful eye out and an ear ready. Only shifting sand and the occasional strong wind kept you company.

“I wonder where you are hiding now…” you sighed.

You had managed to find the electrical room and unlock the door. You stopped as you heard something in the distance. It was a vehicle, probably someone or scouts. Either way, you weren’t in the mood to explain why you were there or to deal with people. You found a spot to hide in, ready to attack whoever came through the doorway. The engine stopped and you could hear the doors of the vehicle open and shut. You put your mask on to cover your face.

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

This was either a trap or they were idiots. You relaxed a bit, if they thought they would get you to come out then they couldn’t be that hard to deal with. A shadow appeared in the doorway and you readied your knife. The moment you saw a small girl, you hesitated.

“Hello?” she called again.

You saw someone grab her by the back of her collar and then drag her back outside. There was some yelling before things went quiet. You waited a bit and another figure came walking in, this time cautiously. Right off the bat, you noticed he had a bright red coat and blonde hair. Not flashy enough to be an outlaw, but he had a gun on him. You threw your knife, as expected, he dodged it.

“Wait!” he yelped as you lunged at him.

He was fast, you’d give him that. Each attack was met with a dodge or a block from him.

“C-Can’t we talk for a second?” he asked.

“One” you said before trying to kick him.

“Okay, how about 10 more?” he laughed nervously as he caught your foot.

“Sorry, you used up all your chances” you growled as you picked up the knife you had thrown earlier.

You started to lunge again but he caught your knife with his hand, his prosthetic hand. Taken by surprise, you faltered for a moment.

“What?” you gasped.

It wall all over in a matter of seconds. Your knife had been cleverly weaved out of your hand, his fingers interlocked with yours. His other hand, the one made of flesh had grabbed your other hand before you had the chance to retaliate, interlocking fingers again. His palms were pressed against your own as you were pulled flush against him.

“If it’s about the bounty, I can explain that if you’d give me a chance,” he said with a sad smile.

“Bounty? What are you talking about?” you said in confusion.

It was his turn to blanche, looking rather embarrassed by the situation now.

“And how long do you intend to….do this? It’s really embarrassing with those two watching…” you said in a low voice as you nudge your head to the doorway.

The girl was standing there again, this time accompanied by a man. The blonde man squeaked, letting you go and jumping backward. Now that you had a moment to breathe, you learned why they were here. Not for the same reason you were, but enough reason you couldn’t ignore them for now.

“Vash the Stampede, I’m surprised. I took you for more of a bad guy” you mused.

“I’m not at all like that, really,” Vash said sheepishly.

“Clearly, you could have easily just killed me. So you are just more of a fool than a killer” you sighed.

He didn’t refute your claim, making you feel a bit bad for saying it. But only a little.

“Why are you out here? There isn’t much use for this place anymore” Roberto interrupted.

“I’m here because I need this tower to look for someone,” you said.

“That’s it?” Roberto’s face scrunched up as he groaned.

“Didn’t ask for an audience, you can go already” you waved them off.

Meryl stepped forward, looking a bit flustered.

“Who are you looking for? Maybe we could help?” she offered.

“My partner, I doubt you can but I can’t make you leave” you said dryly.

You returned back to working on the generator, it was old but not broken. If you had something to jump it then maybe you could get the elevator to work again. You could feel someone looking at you and you glanced over your shoulder. Vash was staring at you with a dopey smile.

“Could I help you?” he asked.

“Unless you have a pocket-sized plant, then I don’t think so” you waved him off.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try,” he insisted.

“Fine, you take a crack at it” you moved over so he could examine the generator.

To your surprise, he got it working in no time. You kept your voice even, not wanting to show how shocked you were. It was hard though, he looked so pleased with himself.

“Okay, that was more than a crack. Good job… I guess” you sighed.

“No problem” Vash’s smile only grew brighter from your praise.

Now that the elevator worked, everyone rode it to the top. It was a quiet ride as the group was clearly wary of you. Well, most of them were. Vash didn’t shy away from you as you brushed by him. Finally, you were t the top and could see the control room.

“What are you going to do?” Meryl asked.

“I’m going to use a radio,” you said.

“You came all the way out here for a radio?” Roberto asked.

“Did you see a vehicle outside?” you asked him.

The group went quiet at the realization you must have walked here. It wasn’t in their place to judge you, not that you cared. The radio buzzed to life and you grabbed the microphone. You changed the channel to the emergency override, allowing you to speak on all of them.

You took a deep breath.

“IF YOU DON’T GET YOUR ASS TO THE TERMINAL IN A WEEK, I AM LEAVING WITHOUT YOU AND YOU’LL HAVE TO SCROUNGE UP YOUR OWN TICKET FARE. DO YOU HEAR ME NICO?!” you shouted into the microphone.

Your outburst took everyone by surprise, especially when you rolled your shoulders and let out a sigh.

“That felt good” you said.

You put the mic back down and turned to the startled group.

“Well, that’s all from me. I guess I’ll be seeing you then” you started to walk past them but Vash walked in front of you.

“Wait, did you hear that?” he asked.

You strained your ears to hear what he heard. There was something moving in the tower and it wasn’t the generator.

“Vash, are you familiar with old tech? Sometimes these buildings have security systems in place” you began.

“Yeah, in this case. They are probably-”

There was a loud bang as a machine crashed in from the floor. There was a single glowing eye as it reared its guns.

“Drones” “Drones…”

#Trigun #trigun stampede #vash the stampede #vash x y/n #vash x reader #reader-insert #x reader

[charmwasjess]

25 for Sifo, please 😁

25. What was your first impression of this character? How about now?

Oh Ingata, you've unknowingly asked me to present my thesis on my favorite topic and I love you for it. (Okay, this could have been a two sentence answer, but it's me.) So I wrote you an essay on Sifo-Dyas, but I'm putting it below a cut to save everyone from my rambles on Sifo in the old EU and the greater meaning of his doom-ass storyline.

Apparently, I once casually mused to readalong back in the day (exactly how long ago? No need to worry about that!) that Sifo-Dyas must have been a pretty nice guy, what with him putting up with Dooku all those years. Oh sweet summer child. If only I knew then how long I would spend thinking about this idiot and their dynamic.

Back then, he was on my mind simply because of Dooku. In Luceno’s Labyrinth of Evil, Yoda takes some time to describe in length Dooku and Sifo-Dyas’s close friendship, “bound by the unifying Force,” and speculates what Sifo-Dyas knew about the lead-up to Dooku’s fall. That he was desperately worried about Dooku, that he thought Qui-Gon’s death was a breaking point for him, that Dooku might have been actively hunting down his killer's Master to fuck shit up, and this was about to be A Big Problem for Everyone. 

All of this was very interesting, especially back then, when Dooku was not a popular character and depictions of him having meaningful, positive connections in the Jedi Order were few and far between. I want to be careful here, because I’m not calling the EU/Legends bad - Dark Rendezvous has some of the most beautiful Dooku character work I’ve ever read. But compare, say, Jude Watson’s Qui-Gon in Legends Legacy of the Jedi outright calling Dooku “too cold to love,” as a Master, versus examples from new canon, where Dooku repeatedly and effusively praises his Padawans, casts their relationship as mutually loving, and even offers to get drunk and cry it out over Rael’s dead Padawan. Those present really different pictures. So Sifo-Dyas stood out to me right off the bat as unusual for being close with Dooku: a meaningful connection for a character who, at that point, didn't have meaningful connections. 

As for my impressions now, I think I have a soft spot in general for characters who seem to exist simply to die in a tragic, unescapable way, sacrificed to the narrative or for other character’s growth. In a way, Sifo-Dyas’s story is still certainly both of those.

But he’s so much more. He walks into Dooku: Jedi Lost as this vivid, funny, weird, fearless, chaotic good goofball of a character. Sith Dooku is breathlessly, affectionately describing him to Asajj Ventress (of all people) within the first few seconds of his own life story. That's crazy?! "I was born, I went to the Temple, oh, I MET THIS INCREDIBLE PERSON." Sifo-Dyas's first scene in the damn book is to make a silly little song about Dooku’s name and then telling him to "tell it to your face"?! And we’re not supposed to love him?!

I could go on. But here’s the heart of it for me with the character. The penultimate scene in Dooku: Jedi Lost, comes when he and Dooku are estranged, having been for years over what seems implied as a breakdown over an escalating series of visions that cast Dooku at the center of a world-shattering conflict. Yet, when Dooku comes to Sifo-Dyas for help, one last desperate get-the-gang-back-together, he won’t deny him. When Dooku suggests what Sifo-Dyas literally describes as “insane, the worst plan I’ve ever heard” (I’m quoting directly here), his answer is, again, directly quoting: “I’m in.” He never stopped saying that to Dooku. For all their ultimate ruin, it's sort of beautiful.

That’s the impression that stands out the most strongly - not tragic doom or narrative foil - but the aspects of bravery and loyalty to the character. Someone who would have spent his whole life having visions about someone ending the world, and still show up for that person, and later, still come to them with their own problems. It seems very, very likely - he outright says it during a vision in the cursed book – that he knows Dooku is the person who will make all the futures converge into the one terrible timeline. But EVEN THEN, Sifo-Dyas would rather bring hundreds of thousands of lives into existence than take out Dooku. And whether you read that as friendship or something more, at the end of the day, it’s love.

#Of course this is all based on my reading of the supplemental canon and others might have different readings #And I’m not arguing that the clones were a great idea either #But it’s like Sifo-Dyas got told you have to go back in time and kill Hilter but guess what Hilter is your best friend #and he’s like no I’ll do some batshit crazy third thing because I’m the embodiment of living chaos #sifo dyas #star wars meta #dooku jedi lost

[hoffstrap-yuri]

In My Head, In My Heart

ao3 // masterlist

*Summary: Petra Strahm had come to terms with the fact that she was a lesbian after Husband #2, but never did she think she'd swing so hard for a pregnant woman.

*Rating: +18 for explicit mature content

*Content/Tags: Fem Hoffstrahm, Fem Coffinshipping, Yuri Coffinshipping, Yuri Hoffstrahm, WLW Coffinshipping, WLW Hoffstrahm, Petra Strahm (Fem Strahm), Maureen Hoffman (Fem Hoffman), Fluff and Smut, Shameless Smut, Plot What Plot, Pregnancy Kink, Pregnancy Sex

*Status: First Fic in Series/Completed (Second Fic Here)

Author's Note: Basically the thought of pregnant Fem Hoffman made me pass out with a nosebleed and when I woke up, this had created itself. But in all honesty I've poured at least 24 hours into this thing because I was like "I gotta write before my muse leaves my mind" so enjoy this fic!

I've got more fem Hoffstrahm coming, but this was just something I had started before taking requests so have this to tide yourselves over

Holy Shit.Petra had stopped a few steps short of the bottom of the staircase leading to the murder scene of their confidant, Alison Kerry. Sure she expected gore, maybe a head that flew off to one corner of the room…. But she hadn’t expected to see a heavily pregnant woman working the scene. She was going to launch into her ‘Open the Door and You Will Find Me’ spiel she had been mentally preparing while still in Perez’s car, ready to call out the city’s police department for its incompetence at handling a serial killer of this infamy. She decided better of herself and quietly hid behind her partner as she did the introductions. “Detective Hoffman, I’m Special Agent Lindsay Perez of the FBI. This is my partner, Special Agent Petra Strahm.” “Pleasure.” The detective leaned forward a bit, putting a strain on her dress shirt’s buttons and held out a hand for the two agents. Petra reached out first, surprised by the heavy grip the other woman hand. She pulled her hand back and behind Lindsay’s back massaged her hand. “How can I help the FBI?” “‘Open the door and you will find me’, does that mean anything to you, Detective?” Petra replied, the edge coming back to her words as she tried not to look at Hoffman’s giant baby bump square in the center of her plush body. “You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t understand your cryptic bullshit.” Hoffman scoffed at her, “Pregnancy brain leaves me so confused these days.” “Pregnancy brain, my ass.” Another officer under Hoffman’s command muttered under his breath. Hoffman’s heel just so happened to ‘hover’ over the top of his foot before pressing down; making the detective curse loudly before scurrying off to the opposite side of the scene. Hoffman covered her mouth behind her hand as she let out a reserved laugh. “Anyway, no. That means absolutely nothing to me, Agent.” She finally replied to the special agent’s inquiry from a moment passed. Strahm made some kind of grunting noise as she examined Kerry’s body. Hoffman pulled out a legal pad where she kept notes and flipped through them, hoping to provide some kind of information to the agents. “There must be another apprentice.” Petra stated “You’re sure that this isn’t the work of John…” “John Kramer was a bed-ridden cancer patient. Absolutely not.” Strahm countered “It could’ve been Amanda Young. Used a pulley system…” Hoffman offered once again “There’s no way. Amanda’s arrest record puts her weight at 107, and Detective Kerry was 130…” “Special Agent.” Hoffman batted her eyelashes at the other woman, “If you’re here for any other reason than just to assist, I suggest you back the fuck off.” “Wouldn’t want to miss anything your pregnancy brain let slip.” Petra bit back and walked through the crime scene. She heard Lindsay sigh behind her, probably shooting Hoffman an ‘I’m sorry about her’ look before following behind the older woman. After looking over everything, and some of the lower detectives shuffling back to the precinct, Hoffman approached the two agents. “You’re welcome to set up in the conference room back at my station.” One hand rested on her back for support, while the other rested over the crest of her bump. “Thanks, we could use a cup of coffee.” Lindsay cracked a smile at the matronly detective “You’re welcome. I’ll see you two later. I have another fire to put out.” She replied, turning on her heels before walking up the stairs. Lindsay craned her head up, making sure that Hoffman was out of earshot before nudging her partner with her elbow. “What?” Strahm asked, before being nudged again, “What?!” “I saw you staring at her.” “I was not.” Strahm rolled her eyes “Were too. She’s exactly your type.” “Bullshit.” “I’ve seen your ex-husband.” Lindsay retorted, “Only Maureen's got more curves.” “Why don’t you take the car to the precinct, and shut the fuck up.”

“Damn.” Lindsay laughed, “I’ll go at least get the car started. Might want to cool down a little before you get in the car.” “Fine.” Strahm huffed a little bit, taking another walk through of the crime scene before deciding she was calm enough to face Lindsay’s badgering about her attraction towards Maureen Hoffman. Though there really wasn’t anything there. She hopped into the car and sat silently across from Perez as they drove to the police station together. The officer that Hoffman had stepped on came out to lead them to the conference room, showing them where the coffee machine was on the way in before the two pulled out their briefcases. Lindsay sat on the edge of the table as Strahm flipped through the manila file folders she crammed inside the case. “Do you think we should tell Maureen?” “No Linds.” Strahm replied, not taking even a second to look up at her partner, “We don’t know what they know and the evidence is stacking up that it’s someone on the inside helping the Jigsaw Killer.”

“I know, it’s just the tape said that there’s two police that’ll be the next victims and it might be better…” She started to explain. The whole atmosphere seemingly shifted as the doorway creaked slightly under the weight of the pregnant detective leaning against the frame. Petra looked her up and down with a level of disgust that she couldn’t even pretend to conceal. “Hope this is comfortable for the two of you.” Maureen said, walking across the room and taking a seat across from Strahm, “Certainly better than sitting in the bullpen.” “It’ll be fine.” Lindsay assured the other woman. Maureen pushed her chair back slightly to cross her leg over her lap, showing that she had switched to flats after coming back from the scene. “If you don’t mind my asking, how far are you along?” “Oh.” Maureen smiled in a manner that made Petra wanted to gag. So saccharine sweet, and for what? “I’m in my third trimester.” “Oh, then you’re due anytime now.” “I still have a couple of weeks before the due date, but yes.” Petra scoffed a little before saying something completely lacking any kind of tact, “Shouldn’t you be out on maternity leave, then?” Without hesitation and after looking at the simple silver band on her ring finger, Maureen shot back, “Shouldn’t you be with your husband?” Lindsay had to stifle her laughter and Petra shot her partner a look of ‘you were supposed to be on my side on this one’. “I’m divorced for your information.” “Congratulations. Your ex must be a lucky man.” “Not nearly as lucky as I am to be rid of him.” Petra responded. “Either of you want coffee?” Lindsay got up and made a dash for the door before either of the other women could answer her. It was a courtesy more than anything, but she needed an excuse to get out from there. “I’d better go.” Hoffman grabbed the teddy bear she had in her arms previously when she walked into the conference room “What do you want from me, detective?” “What?”

“I said ‘what do you want from me’? Don’t tell me you were just walking in here to check on Lindsay and I. God knows you could have sent one of your lackeys to do that while you were resting in your office.” Hoffman scoffed back, “I’m not some delicate flower despite being with child. I can still flip a man over my shoulder… even though my OB/GYN has advised against it.” She got up from her seat and leaned into Strahm’s space when she heard the agent utter something under her breath. “I didn’t quite hear that, Agent, mind saying it a bit louder for me?” “It’s none of your damn business.” Strahm growled underneath the other woman. She looked over her shoulder for an opening, but Maureen was all up in her business. Maureen pulled Strahm’s chair back and placed her hands firmly on the arms of the chair, forcing the FBI agent to shrink herself further into herself. “I said, repeat yourself, Agent Strahm.” She said in a low voice. Petra was surprised she hadn’t miraculously turned into a pile of goop in front of the heavy woman before her. Barely louder than a whisper, she replied: “Hot.” “Louder.” “I thought it was hot.” Strahm kept her eyes moving, anything so as not to stare blankly at Hoffman’s chest. “What was?” “The idea of you throwing a man over your shoulder, in your state. A big bulky girl like you…” Strahm could feel a nosebleed starting and “You’re right, it is hot. And I’m not a girl, I’m a woman.” The hot air from her mouth sliding across the skin of Petra’s neck. Petra shivered in her seat, forcing her hands to dig into the fabric of the arm of the chair as she tried to keep herself calm and even-headed. Maureen lifted her tempting chest away from Petra with a mischievous little smile on her face. Strahm tucked her legs one underneath the other around the bottom of the chair and locked her knees. Maureen’s hands worked their way to her back and massaged herself as she stood upright. “That was a lot to make me go through, in my condition.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a fucking flower.” Strahm spit back “I’m not, but you’d better make up for this. You free tonight?” “Do I have a choice?” “You always have a choice, Agent. Make it.” “Yeah, I’m free.” Strahm switched the order of her legs to keep from fidgeting with her fingers “Good. I’ll drive you to my place tonight.” Maureen turned on the back of her heels out of the room and walked towards her office. Strahm sat still in her chair for a moment before realizing she needed to be looking at something before Lindsay came back with coffee. She unhooked her leg, and reached for the briefcase before realizing what a number Hoffman did to her. She brushed up against Lindsay as she returned with a drink for the both of them and Strahm made a beeline to the bathroom. --- “Is Nancy Drew still here?” Maureen entered Strahm’s office space, her jacket slung over her shoulder like she was a mob boss. Without the stupid garment, Strahm got a generous view of the suspenders that were probably functionally useless as the wide woman grew from her pregnancy. “Don’t call Perez that, she’s a damn good agent.” Strahm snapped back “Touched a nerve, did I?” Maureen smirked. “I’m done for the day, if you want to hurry it up and join me.” “I’m almost done.” Strahm flipped through her laptop and checked her emails one last time. Maureen’s foot hit the floor with a slight patter as she waited for the other woman to tie up her loose ends for the day. “It can’t take you that long to be ‘almost’ done.” Hoffman glared at her “What, you got a hot date with the baby daddy after you’re done screwing me for the night?” Strahm retorted

“You’re keeping me from what I want, Agent. And I always get what I want, when I want it.” Maureen bared her teeth, placing her palms flat on either side of the laptop. Strahm didn’t bother logging off the device, only shut the cover and grabbed her briefcase from below her. “Good. About time.” “Shut it.” Strahm replied as she fixed the collar of her dress shirt. Hoffman lead the agent to her car and slammed the door on Strahm’s side once she slid into the passenger’s seat. She buckled herself in, making a show of the way the material had to stretch around her stomach. “Gonna need a fucking extender if that bump grows anymore.” “You’d like to see that, wouldn’t you?” Maureen smiled down at her baby bump as she teased Strahm. Strahm crossed her legs in the other seat before saying, “Just drive us to your place.” She covered her beet red face the best she could behind the palm of her hand. Hoffman reached an arm around the back of Strahm’s head rest as she put the vehicle into reverse, pulling out of the station before driving around town. She turned the radio on when they were stopped at a particularly long red light and hummed along to some pop song. Strahm couldn’t help herself from looking at the way her lips curved as her mouth made ‘oohs’ and ‘you’s, the velvet lipstick accentuating her ‘ahhs’ as her hums turned to singing. Strahm pursed her lips as she watched, leaning in closer to the siren’s call from Hoffman. As she was about to kiss Hoffman’s cheek, Hoffman stopped the car. It jerked Strahm a bit forward and she stayed in her seat until Hoffman came around the other side of the car to get the door for her. She followed behind the detective once more as the woman rummaged through her purse to find her house keys. On a separate clip from her car keys, she pulled the keys from her bag and unlocked the door.

“Make yourself comfortable, Agent.” She slipped her flats off by the door and dropped her things across the living room as she made a line straight for the kitchen. Strahm sat in the armchair closest to the door, leaving her jacket on top of Maureen’s. She rested her head against her fists and spread her legs as far as they would go comfortably in the leather chair. Her leg started bouncing underneath her, and rather than try to force it down she just let it go until the urge to vibrate died on its own. Maureen came back with two plates of food, one with a slightly bigger portion that she put in front of her spot on the couch and put the other before Petra. While it was a friendly gesture, Maureen told Petra “Eat.” in a tone that sounded more like a command. Petra nodded and picked over the broccoli with her fork, going for the salmon piece at the center of her plate. She went back to the vegetables when it was clear that Maureen was watching her and begrudgingly ate the damn broccoli even though it was actually cooked fine. Almost as if to reward Strahm, Maureen took the straining buttons on her dress shirt and popped them open, showing off her ample chest. Strahm tucked her legs closer together and shoveled the rest of her food into her mouth before she said something even more stupid than before. With a heavy sigh, Maureen loosened her updo and let the almost raven brown hair fall onto her shoulders like a waterfall. Strahm’s hair was messy, full of split ends… what she wouldn’t give to run her fingers through the soft locks. Her heart was practically projecting through the whole house, or so it seemed to her. She felt her pulse pounding in her wrist as her hand wearily reached up to her own hair and ran her fingers through it to ‘fix’ it. “Come here.” Maureen was tired of the cat and mouse game the other woman was playing with her. Strahm felt her words pull her from her spot and before her at the couch. She didn’t think she was that desperate a woman until Hoffman’s hand wrapped around her shoulder and gently guided her down to the floor, resting on her knees before the pregnant woman. “The things I could do to you, Agent.” “Like what?” Strahm asked. Hoffman tisked, realizing that despite all her gruff and loud barks she really didn’t have any bite. “Let’s start off easy on you. God knows it already looks like you’re going to pass out from just looking at me.” She pulled her back up so that Strahm could sit behind her on the couch. She leaned back into Strahm and draped her hair over the other woman’s shoulders. Strahm carefully pressed her lips onto the crown of Hoffman’s head, who responded in kind with a satisfied purr. Her hands hovered over the space of the detective before resting them against Hoffman’s back. “Good girl, keep going”. Strahm hands slid down Hoffman’s back before resting in the space just above her ass, kneading into the tense muscles as Maureen lifted her feet up from off the floor. Strahm jammed her knuckles slowly into the soft fat that sat on the woman’s hips and worked her joints deeper into Maureen’s muscle. She carefully snaked a hand around the front of Maureen’s body and rested it under the baby bump before tracing a finger over the stretch marks that were created from Maureen’s gift of life. Maureen’s eyes were shut tight as Strahm spoiled her but every once in a while Strahm would extract a mewl from the mother to-be that was like music to her ears. Her hand slunk its way back to just under Hoffman’s shoulder blades and worked out the tension from the center of her back. “You’re such a good girl when you have something you want dangling in front of you… almost like a dog.”

���You’re a dog,” Strahm bit back, “A bitch even.” “That’s not very nice.” Hoffman didn’t even open her eyes as she gently scolded Petra. “I might look like a bitch in heat, but that doesn’t mean just anyone can say it. If you were my subordinate, I’d give you paperwork duty for a month for saying that.” “Spare me.” Strahm rolled her eyes “And you’ve been behaving so well up until now. Did I hit a sore spot, Agent?” She feigned naivety. “Do you want to breed me, huh?” “I…” Strahm started to stammer “Oh, dear.” Maureen opened her eyes and pursed her lips, “Darling, has that been your goal this whole time?” “I-No I mean…” “Why didn’t you just say so?” She guided Strahm’s hand in between her legs and pressed her thighs together, “Follow my instructions carefully.” “And then what?” “Then you’ll get what you came here for.” “Fine.” Strahm looked away from the woman “Go upstairs. My room is the first room on the right next to the stairs. On the opposite side of the door is my bed and next to that is my vanity. In my drawers get out…” “Okay, I get it.” Strahm walked off and went to find Hoffman’s room. She lugged herself up the stairs and went into the bedroom. The bed was made up perfectly and Strahm found herself gravitating to the silk sheets, sitting down on the over-sized mattress for one woman. She ran a hand over the comforter before getting back up and pilfering through Hoffman’s drawers. Without a doubt the toy that Hoffman wanted was there, and Strahm brought it back down to the detective. “Don’t act like you’ve never seen a dildo before, love.” Hoffman uncrossed her legs as Strahm approached her with the toy in hand. “It’s just so… pink.” Strahm looked at it for a moment before sitting down next to Hoffman. Hoffman leaned into her partner and covered her lips in kisses of varying lengths. The first couple were like a puppy lapping at Strahm’s face before Maureen’s teeth came down and tugged on the inside of her lips. Strahm dropped the toy onto the couch as she let out a moan. She pulled away for a second to throw the thing onto the coffee table before going back to making out with the woman in front of her. She wrapped her arms around Maureen, grabbing at her ass while their kisses turned into sloppy mashes rather than something coherent. “I need you.”

“Then take me.” Maureen purred into Strahm’s ear, backing off her slowly. Strahm swallowed back the fear sitting in her throat and tugged at the hem of Hoffman’s maternity pants. Even her underwear was stupid sexy… or at least stupid sexy to a woman in a very long dry spell. Maureen seemed aware that Strahm was distracted by something, so helped the other woman slide everything off her thick hips, past her generous thighs and onto the floor. Petra worked the buttons open off Hoffman’s shirt as her lips connected back to Maureen’s neck. Without looking up, she unhooked the back of Hoffman’s bra. The fat spilled out from the garment and Petra moved her mouth further south, sucking on the skin. Hoffman wrapped her fingers through Strahm’s hair and forced her head down further so that Petra would suck on her nipple. They both moaned as Strahm licked at the overly tender skin. “Oh, honey.” “Honey?” Strahm pulled her mouth away, eliciting a whine from Hoffman. Her hand slid under Hoffman’s tit and massaged her. “Yes, honey. Do I need to say it again?” “Eh, one more time can’t hurt.” Strahm shrugged, resulting in the most deadpan stare from Maureen. Strahm nervously hovered over the other woman for a second after the gaff before undoing her shirt and showing Hoffman a little more. “So pretty.” Hoffman leaned back into her, “I could devour you.” “I’d like to see you try.” “There’s my confident girl again.” Hoffman titled Strahm’s head up by her chin, “Now. Make me yours, love.” “Fine. Fine. How do you want to do this?” Strahm grabbed the toy and coated it generously in lube. Hoffman got onto her knees and leaned forward with her ass sticking up in Strahm’s face, “Guess you didn’t need to think much about that.” “No. Just been thinking about it all day since I saw you at the crime scene this morning.” Hoffman shot back at her. Before she knew it, she felt Petra slid the toy into her slowly. Hoffman bucked her hips up into Strahm’s hand, taking the agent by surprise. She wrapped her free hand around the inside of Hoffman’s thigh before slowly thrusting the dildo into her partner. Hoffman’s fist pulled on the fabric of the couch cushions underneath her as she backed up into Strahm once more. “I lied earlier.” Strahm said, adjusting herself so she could be over Hoffman completely. “You’re not a bitch in heat.” “Yeah?” Hoffman bit down on her own lip, “What am I then?” “You’re a fucking heifer.” Strahm’s words curled over the edge of Hoffman’s ear and sat in her mind for a moment. “Everything about you is fucking gigantic. Your chest… your stomach… On your knees like this you look just like a fucking cow. How much bigger are you going to get before you deliver your calf, huh?” “F-Fuck…” Hoffman stuttered as she kept riding on the toy in Petra’s hand. Petra’s hand moved from in between Hoffman’s thigh and up her stomach, stopping for a moment over the baby bump. After running her hands over it in a circular motion, she clutched one of Maureen’s boobs in the palm of her hand. She gave it a light squeeze and Maureen shoved her head into the fabric of the couch, suppressing her moan. Her legs shook ever so slightly and Strahm pulled the toy out before tossing it to the side and pressing two fingers onto Hoffman’s wet clit. She rubbed at the muscle for a couple of seconds before Hoffman’s legs gave out from under her. Her whole body twitched as she came with the help of Strahm. She balled up her fists and hit the couch until she was satisfied. She would’ve happily fallen asleep face first in the fabric were it not for Strahm’s help in repositioning her onto her back. She took Strahm’s hand and placed it in the space between her boobs, just over her heart. She looked up at her with eyes that asked for more from the other woman as her hair splayed across the pillow like raindrops ebbing along glass. Strahm leaned into Hoffman and pressed her lips onto her cheek, trailing her hand up just a little higher to rest just below where Maureen’s neck started.

Hoffman scooched over to allow for some room at her side, patting the space. Strahm laid on her side and wrapped an arm over Hoffman’s center, curling around the space heater of a woman. Hoffman pulled a blanket over Strahm and ran the back of her hand over Petra’s cheek. “Sleepy?” She asked “Yeah. Just a little.” Strahm replied, stretching out a little under the blanket. Maureen kissed her forehead and Petra returned it with her lips on Maureen’s. Maureen looked down at herself with a subtle smile before saying, “I’ve never been this happy with someone… You just feel right with me, Agent.” “Petra.” Strahm corrected her, “I think we’re past the point of titles.” “Alright, Petra…” Hoffman used her name cautiously, expecting some kind of scoff or a pull back from the FBI agent. “Like I said… something about you and I feels right. Don’t you agree?” “Yeah.” Strahm replied stoically, “I’ve never been with a woman…” Her thought trailed off “A woman like me?” Hoffman tried finishing it for her “No…” Strahm bit the inside of her cheek “Oh.” Maureen’s lip curled at the ends and she wrapped her arms carefully around Strahm. A hand rested on Strahm’s neck, nearly covering every inch. Strahm shivered slightly at the sheer size of the other woman’s hand, and Hoffman smiled back at her. It was a bit more devious this time, but Strahm couldn’t put her finger on why. “You’d look beautiful in a white dress.”

“I…” Strahm’s brain proceeded to force restart over and over as she thought about what Maureen had just said. “We could probably get hitched in Atlantic City, if we’re feeling real crazy.” She said it to diffuse any tension that was there between them, but did almost fear that Maureen would take her up on her offer. Not that she’d mind. Maureen Strahm had a nice ring to it after all. Her face must’ve been bright red because Maureen took her hand off the small of her neck and moved it to the center of her back instead. “I’d rather we go somewhere nicer.” Hoffman ran her other hand along the front of Strahm’s chest. “Plus we could take the babies with us.” “… Babies?” “Oh, you didn’t think I was this big for one baby did you, Agent?” Hoffman smirked “Yeah… I kind of thought you were.” “No. It’s twins.” Maureen kissed her “You’re lucky you’re so… hot.” Strahm fumbled with her words while she tried to wrap her head around the fact that she had gotten a girlfriend, and two children in a day. “I know, love.” Hoffman ran her fingers through Petra’s hair before telling her, “Sleep.” “Fine. Good night.” “Good night.” Maureen kept stroking the back of Strahm’s head until her partner was out. “You’ll be the perfect mother to my children… And I’ll have my happy little family.”

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[absurdthirst]

Family Feud {Dave York x F!Smith!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 18.9k

Warnings: Organized crime, guns, violence, drugging, kidnapping, oral sex (male and female receiving), loss of virginity, recording sex with out permission, fingering, domestic violence, threats, murder

Comments: You are a Smith, he is a York, pitted enemies in a turf war between your crime families. A meeting at the infamous neutral territory, The Lounge, ends up with Dave kidnapping you as a blow to the Smith family. Plotting to keep you until you give him something that would be priceless. Your virginity. 

A/N: While the reader does have a last name, there is no description for the reader. 

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The kind of wet work that went into the shading dealings of his family wasn’t for everyone. There were few that could kill a man with a baseball bat to the head and calmly go kiss their mother before cleaning up for the weekly family dinner. Dave York had been born for it. Only son of the powerful leader of the York crime family, he had killed his first man at fourteen. The blank stare in his dark eyes reported to shake a man to his core, rightly earned with the blood that stained his hands. Groomed to take over as the leader of family, associates and loyal men. To continue the turf war with their bitter enemies, the Smiths. 

You are the only daughter of Lewis Smith, raised to take over one day despite your cousin’s desire to be the head of the family. He doesn’t think you’re strong enough, but that’s typical. Most men underestimate you, they think of you as some weak, delicate flower, and not the stone cold killer that you are. You don’t plan to have a turf war when you take over. No, you plan to end it. You plan to kill Dave York before he can kill you.

“She’s gonna be there tonight?” Dave leans back in his chair and smirks at Resnick. His man was fucking your friend, not that she knew he had anything to do with the York family. Turning over valuable information on you during pillow talk, not even realizing she was giving it away. 

“Yeah, boss. Her and my girl and a few others.” Resnick nods and Dave sighs. 

“We can’t shoot up The Lounge, so we will be going in without the guns.” The Lounge was one of the few places in the city that was off limits to mafia activities. Coppola was a big, beefy, barrel chested man who had resisted joining a side during the street war in ‘82. As a result, both families respected his rules of no guns or no drama in his club. “The Ice Princess is coming out of her shell to play, huh?” Dave muses thoughtfully. It was rumored you were a virgin, but he had always taken you for a stuck up bitch. “Tell the boys to get ready.” He decides. “We’re going to the club tonight.”

You sit at your usual booth, sipping the dirty martini in your hand, when he walks in. “What the fuck is he doing here?” You growl to your friend, leaning over to look at her before you turn your gaze back to Dave York as he cockily strides through the club. “He’s handsome.” Your friend chuckles, and you scoff, “and he knows it.”

Dave sees you, even though he pretends not to. Instead he sits at a table that is front and center of everyone and orders drinks for the entire entourage he has with him. Waiting until he has a drink before he looks over at your table and smirks, raising his own glass and winking at you.

You narrow your eyes at him, his cocky smirk making you even more determined to kill him. “He’s an asshole. Thinking he owns this town because his daddy lets him kill or fuck whoever he wants.” You scoff, sipping your drink. You’ve heard the rumors, hearing about the women he’s taken to his apartment uptown. You’ve also heard the horrors of him killing a man just for looking at him the wrong way. That doesn’t sit right with you. You may be a killer, but you only kill people who have wronged you, who are beyond redemption. Hence your nickname, “The Angel of Death.”

“Look at her.” Dave ignores the petulance in Ari’s tone, too busy keeping his eye on you. “She’s sitting there like she owns the joint.” 

Dave just smirks, enjoying the obvious ire you are directing towards him. “She does own half the city.” He reminds his friend. “The part I don’t have…yet.” He motions the waitress over and his eyes linger on her breasts on display. “Send the pretty lady over there another one of her dirty martinis.” He orders her, handing her a one hundred dollar tip and patting her on the ass as she turns to do what he wants. 

You look up when the cocktail waitress brings you another martini. “I didn’t order this.” You frown, shaking your head. “Compliments of the man sitting in the VIP area across the room.” She says nervously, and you glance over to see Dave smirking and raising his glass once more. “Send it back to him and tell him I don’t accept drinks from men below six feet.” You smirk when she walks away, unsure of what to do. You want to get under Dave’s skin, want to make him angry. Anger is good. Men make mistakes when they are angry.

Dave stares at the waitress when she hands him the cocktail and passes along the message. Unable to believe that you had the balls to tell her to say that. Instead of getting angry, Dave starts laughing. His head tilts back and his bark of amusement fills his section, making the waitress sag in relief that he isn’t angry. Instead he laughs until he can’t and then he lifts the drink in your direction before he tosses back the dirty martini he had bought for you.

You watch him down the drink, and you huff. A little annoyed that he seems unfazed by your insult. He’s obnoxious and cocky, two things you hate in a man. “He’s gonna be dead before the end of the year.” You murmur, making a promise to yourself. You stand up, ignoring the protests from your friends as you stride over to Dave York and his cohorts. “I appreciate the drink, York, but I’m not one of your whores who can be won over with a stupid martini. I’m surprised you’re allowed in here after your behavior last time.” You cross your arms, looking down at your enemy as you remember the way he basically fucked one of his harem against the bar.

“Never called you a whore, princess.” Dave looks up at you and ignores the way that his cock twitches at you in that dress. “I provided entertainment that night.” He smirks, swiping at his lower lip with his thumb. “Now, be a good girl and sit down and I’ll buy you another.” He motions to Kovac to move over and make a space for you next to him. “You know you want to.”

You want to step away from him, go back to your section, but you know that’s what he wants, to make you run away from him. So you accept, shifting to sit down beside him. “First of all, I’m not a good girl. I’m your worst fucking nightmare. Second, I’ll get my own drinks. And third, I’m not a princess.” You scoff, glancing around the club to see everyone is watching you, shocked that you are sitting beside Dave.

“Sure you are.” Dave murmurs easily, leaning over and slinging his arm around the back of the half booth, motioning for the cocktail waitress again. “Princess of the Smith family, ice princess, whatever you want to claim.” He looks at you when the woman saunters over. 

“What can I get for you, Mr. York?” She purrs. 

“Ladies first.” He offers.

You smile at the cocktail waitress, “I’ll have a bottle of Dom Perignon. Ice cold. One glass. And I’ve changed my mind…put it on Mr. York’s tab.” You smirk, leaning back into Dave’s arm and you bite your lip when his fingers brush your bare shoulder. You hate that he’s so fucking handsome.

Dave smirks at your moxy, nodding slightly when the cocktail waitress’s eyes round in surprise. “Another glass of Remy.” He tells her, holding out another hundred to her. She turns and rushes off to get the bottle and his drink while Dave turns to you, focusing completely on you. “What brought you out tonight, princess?” He asks, leaning in unnecessarily close because the noise wasn’t that loud. “Just wanted to have some fun?”

You decide that maybe the best course of action is to play along in his little game, make him feel big and important before you shoot him down. Literally. You turn to look at him, your face close to his. “I’m all about fun.” You lick your bitten lip, your eyes meeting his dark gaze. “I don’t think you can provide the kind of fun I’m looking for though.”

You are up to something. You’ve never acted like this before and it’s not as if you don’t know who he is. Instead of calling you on your bullshit, he gives you a smirk. “All depends on what you want, sweetheart. I’m sure I could. I’m willing to try anything once.”

You falter for a second, slightly taken back that he isn’t calling you out since all you’ve done is be cold and rude to him. The waitress comes over, setting down your drinks and she pours you the glass of champagne after you taste it. You lean closer, almost kissing him, when you say, “how about going and fucking dying in a ditch, you piece of shit?” You spit, leaning back as you toss your drink in his face. You stand up, grabbing the bottle and you quickly make your way back to your section where your friends are staring at you in shock.

The expensive champagne drips down his face, making his scowl. Still, he shakes his head when Ari immediately jumps up, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his face. “I don’t think she likes my company.” He tells his men quietly, all of them well aware of Dave York when he is soft spoken. The quieter he is, the worse it will be for his victim. “Too bad she won’t have a choice in the matter soon.” He looks over at Kovac. “Get the car pulled around back.”

“You did really just do that? Oh damn. Your daddy is gonna be pissed. You know he’s been trying to keep the peace recently.” Your friend gasps, and you scoff, reaching for your clutch. “I don’t care. My daddy needs to grow some balls and stop letting the York family walk all over us. I’m gonna fucking kill him and take back the rest of the city. Just watch. But first, I gotta pee.” You tell them, striding back through the club, feeling Dave’s eyes on you but you ignore him, and make your way to the bathroom.

He watches you for a moment, disappearing down the hall and then looks over at Ari. “Pay the tab, meet me near the back door.” He orders his man, eyes narrowed in fury. “The princess fucked up tonight. Now she’s got to suffer the consequences.” He stands and strides towards the bathrooms, ready to confront you.

You are reapplying your lipstick when the door to the bathroom opens and Dave walks in. “This is the womens bathroom, asshole.” You scoff, continuing to apply the lipstick. 

“Oh I know. You misbehaved tonight princess. We can’t have you causing a scene like that in front of people. They are gonna think I’ve gone soft.” Dave says darkly. You snort, turning to back him. 

“I doubt that could ever happen. If my heart is made of ice, yours is made of stone.” You turn back around, checking your makeup, when he strides forward to press the handkerchief to your mouth. You struggle, trying to get away but his arm wraps around your waist to keep you close. You try to hold your breath but it’s not use, your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you slump against Dave.

There are people who see him, hard not to see someone carry a grown woman out of a bathroom and down the hall. However, no one makes a move to stop him. Through the door that Ari opens and out into the dark back alley where Kovac is waiting. With the car. Depositing you into the back seat, Dave climbs in beside you and shuts the door while the other man gets into the passenger seat. 

“We aren’t taking her to the house.” Dave announces, looking over at where you are slumped against the doorframe of the car. “Drive to my loft.” His loft was off the family books, purchased without the stigma of his name on it, unknown by the Smiths, or even his father. No one would disturb him there.

You groan, head pounding, and you struggle to open your eyes. Dazed and confused, you blink slowly, wincing at the bright light when you finally open your eyes. Your brow furrows as you glance around the room - a sleek modern bedroom - and you try to figure out where the fuck you are and what happened. Shifting off of the bed, you are stopped by the shackles around your wrists, and you start to panic. It hits you. Dave. The motherfucker chloroformed you. “York. You fucking bastard! Where are you?” You shriek, tugging on the restraints.

“Oh the princess is awake.” Dave opens the door, smirking at where you are quite literally chained to his bed. Ignoring the obvious implications of why he had restrained you there, he’s smug as he walks over. “Did you have a good nap? You were tired.” He coos condescendingly. “Fell asleep in the bathroom, of all places. You should really watch how much you drink. Maybe it was good you threw that drink in my face.” The last sentence is hissed in anger, eyes darkening as he glares at you, letting you know that slight was not forgotten.

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’re such a dick. Let me out of these fucking restraints.” You growl and Dave tuts, shaking his head. 

“You know I can’t do that. You’d kill me within minutes.” Dave sits down on the edge of the bed and you try to grab him but the restraints pull your arms back. 

“I’m going to kill you. You drugged me. You need to let me go otherwise my father will be after your head. He will know it’s you who’s taken me. Just let me go and maybe I can smooth things over with him so you don’t lose your head within the next twelve hours.” You try to reason, knowing that Dave can be reasonable when it’s in his interest.

“Do you honestly think you have the upper hand, princess?” Dave chuckles and shakes his head. “No one knows where you are. This place isn’t known by your family.” He arches a brow at you. “I found the knife strapped to your thigh. Tell me you weren’t going to slide it between my ribs?” He shakes his head in amusement and winks at you. “Relax and enjoy yourself. You're my guest.”

You growl at him, "fuck you York. You haven't got the balls to face me like a man, thinking you're big by restraining a woman. Scared of little ole me?" You chuckle mockingly. 

Dave nods, looking at you, "of course I am princess. You'd kill me as soon as I let you go. I'm not dumb. Your reputation is infamous." He offers you a compliment that takes you back. His smile falls, eyes narrowing slightly to show you that coldness he's known for. "Be a good girl, and you might get some dinner." He coos, standing up from the bed. 

"Fuck you." You spit, not willing to just give up. You will escape and then you're going to kill Dave York.

Dave chuckles again and shakes his head. If you weren’t a Smith….he breaks off that train of thought with a smirk. Deciding how he was going to both get you back for your insult and deal your father an upsetting loss. “I’ll leave you to get comfortable, enjoy the bed. Mattress is far more comfortable than a chair.”

As soon as he exits the room, you start to figure out how to get out of this place. Biting your lip, you smirk when you remember the Bobby pins in your hair. Reaching up, you take one out, stretch it out, and work on picking the locks. When you hear a click, you grin in victory, and quickly work on the other one. Once you’re free, you scramble off of the bed, glad for your bare feet, as you tiptoe through the loft. 

You can hear Dave’s henchmen talking in the kitchen, and you hold your breath as you walk past the kitchen and down the hall. You glance around for cameras or a security system, and see none nearby, so you open the door that leads to the trash cute and fire exit. Once the door softly closes, you begin running down the stairs, heart pounding as you try to run as fast as possible to get down to the bottom floor.

He hears the door clink, not in the kitchen with the others. Instead, he had been setting up one of the rooms to use as his own when he had heard it. Rushing out and out the door to follow you. It had to be you. Anyone else would have told him that they were leaving. He hears your panicked feet on the stairs. Huffing to himself, he hops over the side and lets himself fall down the stairwell a few sets before he lands on the landing you are coming down. “Where are you going, princess? Leaving so soon?” He smirks. 

You falter, not expecting him to basically jump a few flights of stairs. You can't give up now, so you surge forward, pushing on his chest as you try to run past him, but he grabs your waist and pulls you against your body, restraining your arms. "Let me go, York. Fuck- fucking let me go." You try to kick yourself free but he's stronger. "I won't have you killed if you let me go now." You lie.

“Sure you wouldn’t.” Dave tuts, shaking his head at you. “It’s not like you wouldn’t scratch my eyes out right now, if you could.” He turns and starts dragging you back up the stairs towards the apartment. “Come on princess, or I’ll strip you down right here to make sure you don’t have anything else that you can use to escape on you.” He threatens with a leering look. 

You hiss, trying to kick yourself free one last time before he drags you up the stairs, despite you screaming curses at him that echo off of the concrete walls, alerting no one of your presence. "Strip." Dave orders when you stumble in the bedroom you escaped from. 

"Excuse me?" You scoff, crossing your arms. 

"Strip. I don't fucking trust you in here alone now. Strip." He repeats, and you snort, refusing to follow his order. He withdraws the gun he has tucked into his jeans, aiming it after clicking the safety. 

You stare him down, unafraid of the gun. You stride closer to him, pressing the gun to your temple in defiance, "I won't strip for you."

“Fine.” Dave is actually enjoying the push back you give him. It’s rare to have a woman challenge him as much as you do. Most want to appease him however they could, from getting his drinks to sucking his cock. You are a delightful change from that. He pulls a switchblade from his pocket and flicks it open, shoving his gun back into his jeans and smirks. “Let’s see what you're wearing under that dress.”

You know there’s no use figuring against him. You keep your head held high as he cuts the silk material of your dress, and when you’re in your underwear, you look him straight in the eye. “Happy now?” You growl, feeling exposed but you’re angrier more than you’re anxious.

His cock twitches at the sexy lingerie underneath but he looks up at you with dispassionate eyes. Anyone would think he was looking at a boring ledger. “No.” He motions to the undergarments. “All of them, I’m not going to have you poking my eye out with your underwire.” He huffs, staring at you when you don’t move. “Take it off - all of it, or I'll cut it off you.” He growls.  

You narrow your eyes at him, "you're a fucking asshole." You huff as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. You shove it at him before you cover your tits with one arm, shoving your panties down until you can kick them away from you, crossing your legs to try and conceal yourself.

“Don’t flatter yourself, princess.” He chuckles, just to get under your skin. “I’ve seen plenty of women naked and I like my women willing.” There are a lot of lines he would cross, but in order for this to be the knife in the back to your father, you needed to want him. “Get under the covers if you get cold.” He orders you, swiping up your clothes and turning around to walk out of the room, not binding you to the bed this time. 

You immediately shift to slide under the covers, tears in your eyes when you realize you won’t be escaping any time soon. Dave will slip up, and you’ll be able to leave. You sob, covering your face with the pillow, until you pass out from exhaustion. Who knows what Dave has planned for you? All you know is that you don’t want to find out. It’s a few hours later when you wake up, unsure of the time of day without any windows in the room, and you get out of the bed. 

You take off the sheet, tying it around your neck and waist to make a DIY dress, and that’s when you get angry. You grab the pillows, slamming them against the wall as you scream. Desperate to get out of this damn room. You tried the door earlier and it’s locked. With no way to pick it, you can only take out your frustration on the furniture. Tossing the nightstands over, you grab the lamp and throw it until it hits the small tv on the dresser. “Fuck you York!” You shout, chest heaving as your heart pounds.

The key rattles in the lock and Dave sweeps into the room, changed into sweats and t-shirt. “Temper, temper, princess.” He coos, looking around the room with a frown and he shakes his head when he sees the shattered tv. “Feel better now that you’ve gotten it out of your system? Or are you hangry? Chloroforme is a nasty bitch of a hangover. You want to eat and take some aspirin?” He offers, lifting a brow at you. “I’ll even take a couple of them myself so you know they aren’t poisoned.”

You turn to look at him, striding towards him, and you raise your arms to punch his chest. He grabs your wrists, and you sob, collapsing against him, “fu-fuck you.” You choke, feeling helpless. You are used to being in control, to be the strong woman you are, but he’s worn you down within hours.

Dave holds you close, remorse for your seeming tears surprising him but he honestly knows it might be a trick. “Come on, you’ll be ready to stab me again after you have some dinner and take some medication.” He coos softly, rubbing your wrists gently. “I made some soup and grilled cheese sandwiches.” He offers. “Perfect for that nasty headache you are sporting.”

You nod, defeated when your stomach growls, and you step away from him, jerking your wrists out of his slackened grip. You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, "I'm not hungry." You lie, trying to remain stubborn after your display of emotion.

“Okay.” Dave agrees easily, turning around to walk towards the tv to unplug it and carry it out of the room. “The boys have left, every door in the apartment is locked. You can come out to eat when you feel like it.” He offers as he walks out. 

You watch him walk away, carrying the broken TV, and you sink to your knees, tears in your eyes once more. “Fuck.” You groan, rubbing your sore head, and you know that you won’t be escaping tonight. You’ll need your strength and your wits to escape this hellhole. You stand up, making your way out of the bedroom to the rest of the loft, frowning at how pristine and modern it is. “This isn’t listed as one of your places.” You announce as you walk into the kitchen to find Dave sitting at the kitchen table.

“I know.” He looks up and watches you looking around before walking over to the table. He opens the aspirin bottle, removing the brand new seal and shakes out to tablets before tossing them into his mouth and reaches across the table to pick up your glass of water and takes a sip of it. “It’s not a York family property” He tells you. “It’s mine.”

You hesitantly sit down, taking the two pills he offers you, and you take the cup from him, downing it as you are desperate to get rid of your headache. He stands up, refilling the glass, and setting it down in front of you. "Why do you have your own property? This where you bring your whores?" You snort, looking down at the sandwich in front of you, and your stomach growls.

Dave chuckles and shakes his head. “No, it’s not where I ‘bring my whores’.” He quotes, taking the bowl of soup out of the microwave where it was keeping warm and bringing it over to you. “You are the first woman here.” He admits. “This is my space. Away from family. Away from..expectations.” He frowns after he reveals that little bit and sets the bowl beside your plate.

You frown, understanding that more than anyone else. You have a lot riding on your shoulders as the only child of the Smith family. You have no living uncles, no brothers. You are the one to take over the grueling, sometimes cruel job of controlling the territory your ancestors fought for. "I- I get that." You murmur, "I guess that's why I hate you. Although...I don't even really have a reason. This is the most we have talked outside of our fathers' negotiations. Mind you, kidnapping me gives me a good reason to hate you." You murmur, picking up the grilled cheese.

“Well, I don’t hit women and you did throw a drink in my face after telling me to die in a ditch.” He reminds you, smirking slightly at the fire in your eyes when you had doused him with a forty dollar glass of champagne. “If you wanted me to have a sip, you should have poured it on your body and I would have happily slurped it down.” He jokes. 

You hate that you shiver at the thought, and not in disgust. You scoff, “as if I’d ever let you slurp any kind of alcohol off of my body.” You bite into the sandwich, unable to stop your moan as you realize how hungry you are. You see Dave watching you, and you sigh. “I- I know we have had our disagreements but I do want to reiterate that I think you’re an asshole. But you’re an asshole who makes a good grilled cheese.”

He grins, a bright flash that makes him look younger. “You’ll find that I’m good at a lot of things.” He tells you, sitting back down in front of you and picking up his own sandwich to duck into his soup. “Except for family dinners, I cook a lot of my own food.” He tells you, wondering if you do the same or if you are the princess you seem to be.

You hum, trying to conceal your surprise. “I love cooking. I wish I could do it more often. I- I love baking most of all.” You confess, picking up your spoon to dig into the soup. You are annoyed that you revealed that detail about yourself. You don’t want him to know anything. “Am i going to be given some clothes?”

“It’s a very fashionable dress you are wearing now.” Dave jokes, nodding towards the sheet. “If I give you clothes, will you try to escape again?” He asks. “Good behavior gets you what you want, within reason.” He amends, knowing you would demand to be let go. 

You set the spoon down, looking at Dave with raised eyebrows. “What does good behavior entail?” You cross your arms, “I’m not going to suck your cock for a fucking t-shirt. I’d rather be naked.”

“And have you try to bite my dick off? No thanks.” Dave shakes his head. “Rules are simple, princess. Don’t try to run away, don’t try to kill me in my sleep.” He flashes you a cold smile. “Easy, right?”

You snort, shaking your head. “Or you could just let go.” It’s Dave’s turn to snort. 

“And have your clan come down on me the next morning? I don’t think so.” You huff, “why are you keeping me here? Why’d you want to spend time with a woman you hate?” You ask, curious and confused.

Dave tilts his head to the side and contemplates you. “I’ve never said I hated you.” He reminds you. “That forked tongue of yours never fails to try to filet me. But I believe I bought you a drink and then a bottle.” He sighs. “I might be a York and you might be a Smith, but we aren’t our fathers. We don’t have to hate each other.”

Frowning, you absorb his words. He’s not wrong. You suppose your dislike of him is an inherited feud. “We don’t have to hate each other. Maybe…maybe things could be different.” You muse before you look at Dave. You laugh after a long pause, realizing it’s unlikely. You’re destined to hate him…but why is he making it harder to do just that?

Annoyance flashes through his entire system but he keeps his jaw unclenched. He’s killed men for laughing at him, and you have him furious at your refusal of the idea of not continuing the tradition of killing each other indiscriminately. “Guess you’re right.” He hums, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Might as well just put a bullet in that pretty little head of yours. Rather than taking a few days and getting to know you beyond your name, princess.” 

“It’s what you’re gonna do eventually. Might as well get it over with now. Although, I wouldn’t fancy your chances once you leave this fancy loft. My dad and his men will hunt you down like a dog and will kill you. Slowly, agonizingly. You think I’m worth being skinned alive?” You raise your eyebrows at Dave. “Or you could let me go now and I won’t come after you.” You lie, knowing you’d be ready for blood after he’s fucking kidnapped you.

Leaning back in his chair, he stares at you with cold eyes for a long moment before he tuts in disappointment. “You think you can scare me, princess?” He smirks, dangerous and dark before he picks up his fork, the one that he didn’t allow you to have. “Do you know what I did to the last man that threw a drink on me?” He asks quietly. “I used a fork, one from some shithole little restaurant downtown. Did you know it only takes the slightest pressure to puncture an eyeball? Have you ever seen the contents ooze down someone’s face? Or see them stabbed so many times they look like a piece of meat that a tenderizer has been taken to it? I have.” 

You stare at him, jaw clenched despite the way you swallow at his words, stomach twisting. “I’m not afraid of you, York. I’ve seen worse. I’ve done worse. Neither of us would be even considered to enter heaven. I’ve accepted my fate. I’m not an angel. I’m your fucking worst nightmare. Your angel of death, come to take you down to the lowest parts of hell with me. I’ll make sure you die for kidnapping me. I’ll take everything you own.” You continue your brave act, leaning over the table to wrap your lips around his fork, sucking on it for a second before you look up at him.

He’s had women on their knees, his cock down their throat, affect him less than your little display. His cock twitches and starts to harden as he imagines how fiery you would be in bed. How you would fight him for control, even if it was something you wanted. Or, more intriguing, let him have control and use you. Giving up your power and letting yourself go, putting yourself in his hands. “Then I guess I better lock you in your room tonight.” Dave growls, pulling his fork out of your mouth and standing quickly. “Dinner’s over.” 

You smirk, knowing you’ve gotten to him, and you giggle as he grabs your arm to drag you down the hall to your bedroom. Feathers still cover the floor from the torn pillows, glass still scattered around, but you don’t care when he shoves you onto the mattress. He looks at you with those dark eyes and for a brief second, you imagine him looking at you like that as he fucks you. You know he’d ruin you. Whether it would be in a good or bad way, you’re still deciding. 

You giggle when he growls again, clearly frustrated by your apparent lack of fear. “Goodnight David. Sweet fucking dreams.” You coo mockingly, loving when he slams the door in his annoyance. When the lock clinks, you slump, realizing you’ve fucked up again. “Shit.” You hiss, realizing you should maybe try and make him like you, to let you go voluntarily. Tomorrow, you’ll have Dave begging at your feet to fuck you. Then you can escape before you have to touch him.

“Fuck.” Dave groans, the hot water beating down on his skin while he pumps his cock. Imagining you under him. He had thought this was going to be easy but the pushback you are giving him is just spiking his blood. He knows you are fucking with him and it pisses him off even more. Twisting his wrist as he thinks of you whining and begging him to fuck you harder. Digging your fingernails into his skin while he thrusts into you over and over until you are screaming his name. “Bitch.” He hisses, trying to get control of himself but it’s no use. HIs balls draw up against his body and he switches to short, hard pumps of his cock while spurts of his seed cover the shower walls. Groaning as he works himself through it and sighing when he’s spent. “Get it together, York.” He huffs, turning the shower nozzle to wash the cum down the drain. “She’d rather kill you than fuck you.” He reminds himself while thinking about the ways to get on your good side. Maybe he would get some baking supplies for you, if you could behave yourself. 

The next morning, you wake up, sitting up quickly when you realize where you are, and you touch yourself to see your makeshift dress is still in place, no one had come in to see you overnight. You swallow, your throat dry, and you are desperate for some water. Shuffling out of the bed, you walk over to the door to bang on it. “Hey! I need to pee! I need water!” You shout, trying to get someone’s attention. You continue banging, unable to hear the clinking of the lock, and you stumble back when you see Dave standing on the threshold. “Well good morning handsome. Got any forks handy?” You tease, stepping closer to him until you are pressed against his chest. You had thought about how to get out of here, and you figure your only way is to make him want you.

“Fresh out.” Dave lifts a brow at your change in behavior, not trusting it for a moment. You are up to something. He grabs your arm and yanks you out of the room to start dragging you towards the bathroom he had cleared of every potential weapon. The only things that were in there were a towel, a washcloth, a bar of soap, a kids toothbrush, toothpaste and a roll of toilet paper. He opens the door and pushes you in there. “Piss, shower, brush your teeth.” He orders you. “If you don’t, you’ll go back into the room and you can piss in a corner.” 

You huff, watching him slam the door shut, and you walk over to lock it. Turning on the shower, you glance around at the window, walking over to it, you try to open the lock, but it’s sealed shut. Almost like someone glued it. Huffing in annoyance, you pee before you strip off the bed sheet and step into the shower, groaning at the hot water. You wash your hair, taking extra time in the shower so you can gather your thoughts, before you reluctantly get out when the water turns cold. You brush your teeth and you huff when you don’t find a hairbrush. Unlocking the door, you open it, and exhale sharply when you see Dave standing in the hallway. You keep the towel wrapped around you, as you step out and walk towards him. “Do you have a hairbrush?” You ask innocently, biting your lip as you look at him, crossing your arms to emphasize your cleavage.

He ignores the way you are trying to draw his eyes to your chest. “Are you going to try to cut out my spleen with it?” He demands, but you just giggle and shake your head. He rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’ll get you one, but the second you try something….” He leaves it open for your interpretation as he turns to get a brush from his room. 

You take the brush from his hand when he comes back, and he grabs your arm, not as hard as before, to drag you back to your bedroom. You set the brush down on the dresser, and turn back towards Dave as he stands on the threshold. You smirk, reaching up to untie the towel and letting it drop to the floor.

You don’t really want him to see your body. That fact alone keeps his eyes steady on yours instead of roaming over the skin that you are now displaying. Jerking off had made him realize that he wanted you to want him. He wouldn’t be satisfied with anything else. “I’ll get you a shirt to wear so I can wash your sheet.” He tells you, turning back around and leaving you alone in the room. 

You frown, watching him walk off, and you wonder if he doesn’t want to fuck you. You’re a little relieved at that fact. You don’t want to lose your virginity to Dave York of all men. You watch him come back into the room, eyes closed as he holds out a t-shirt and some boxers. You presume they are his but you don’t know for sure as you put them on. “Can I- I’m hungry.” You murmur, reaching for the hairbrush.

Dave nods, opening his eyes and watching you brush your hair out as gently as possible. “I’m not going to starve you.” He tells you before looking around the destroyed bedroom with a roll of his eyes. He will have to get it cleaned up and bring in some pillows for you. “I’ve got breakfast ready but I’ve also got some baking supplies if you want to see what you can make with it.” He shuffles slightly, confused at why he feels nervous about that. “Give you something to do.” 

You turn to look at him in surprise. “You- you got me baking supplies?” You ask, tilting your head. He nods, biting his lip, and you are shocked. You wonder if he’s doing this to lull you into a false sense of security before he kills you. Still, you have nothing else to do, so you finish brushing your hair, and you follow him into the kitchen to find bacon, eggs, pancakes, and coffee waiting for you. “You- you made all this for me?” You ask Dave, confused by his actions.

“Surprised a York could care about someone’s comfort?” He asks sarcastically, embarrassed by how much effort he had put in. “Never want you to say that I treated you poorly.” He picks up his own coffee cup and takes a sip. 

You sit down, picking up your coffee cup. “You act like I’m going to be leaving here alive.” You raise your eyebrows, aware that he plans to kill you. No doubt to ensure the territory you will inherit upon your father’s death, which you don’t doubt would come too long after yours. Dave doesn’t respond and you tuck into the food, unconcerned with being poisoned. You know he’s not going to kill you like that. It’s not his style. You groan at the syrupy pancakes, pleased to be eating something. You see Dave’s grip on his coffee cup tighten a little, and you smirk, deciding to moan again. You reach down to swipe your finger through the maple syrup, sucking it off of your fingertip.

“Maybe you will be.” Dave hadn’t really thought that far ahead, just thinking about the way that he could get at your old man. He leans against the counter and just watches you eat. “That depends on you, princess.” 

You snort, unable to believe he said that when he seems to be immune to your charms. Part of you is relieved he doesn’t want to fuck you. Another part of you is annoyed. Are you not good enough for him? You finish eating, and look at Dave as he refills your coffee. “What do I have to do to get out of here alive?” You ask, standing up from the seat, you walk around the table to Dave, standing in front of him. “Tell me what you want.” You demand, having had enough of his games. If he wants to fuck you, you’d rather he just tells you.

“Get to know me.” He tells you, arching a brow in challenge. “Not the York family heir. Me, Dave.” He cocks his head to the side and gives a small shrug. “Beyond the fact that I can ruthlessly kill someone and not feel a moment of remorse.” He smirks and takes another sip of his coffee. “I’m not an unreasonable man after all.” He’s getting under your skin, he can see the confusion in your eyes on why he is not making a move on you. 

You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s playing you. When you see nothing but truth in his dark gaze, you nod. “Fine. You can help me bake a cake.” You tell him, knowing he won’t want to spend time baking, and you want to see his frustration, to see him get angry. To be the Dave York you know and hate. 

“Fine.” He nods, standing up to clean up the plates from breakfast. You are soon setting out the ingredients you need, watching him as he picks up the bag of flour. “Can’t you just buy a cake mix?” He asks. 

You chuckle, shaking your head. “It doesn’t taste the same. It’s better when you make everything from scratch.”

Dave shrugs his shoulders and hovers, interested in how you are going to put everything together. While Dave cooks, he doesn’t bake, never having the urge when there are so many bakeries around the city if he gets a sweet tooth. “Why baking?” He asks, curious to know why you enjoy this especially. “What’s the appeal?” 

You measure out the sugar before you look at him. "It's methodical. Precise measurements create good bakes. You can wing it but then it would be a mess. I like the predictability in my otherwise chaotic life. I can zone out and concentrate on that and only that. It's...relaxing. Plus the way to a man's heart is through his stomach." You joke, turning back to grab the butter.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “True enough.” He will admit. “I’m sure you can poison a man easily if you put enough buttercream on it.” He jokes, imagining you giving you victims a sugary sweet death. 

You offer him a grin, "you guessed it. Although, there's nothing more satisfying than seeing their face when you stab them in the heart and they realize you aren't going to suck their cock like they imagined when they took you home." You giggle, measuring the butter. "Can you get me two eggs?" You ask Dave, noticing the slightly dazed look on his face. "Eggs?" You repeat. Reaching up, you throw flour on his cheek to get his attention.

He huffs, resisting the urge to demand to know why you kept throwing shit in his face. Instead he turns back to the fridge to get the eggs. “Poor fuckers.” He comments. “Just wanting a blowjob and they get wacked.” He shakes his head and brings the eggs over to you. “I don’t try to fuck them, just kill them.” 

You take the eggs, cracking them into the bowl, and you toss the shells in the trash. "I'm a flirt. What can I say? I am underestimated all the time, and I need to use my assets to do what I need to do. Most men wouldn't dream that I could slit their throat and walk away without a drop of blood on my dress. They think I am some ditzy spoiled brat with no brain cells that's gonna let them use my body for their pleasure. Probably why I'm a virgin. Haven't found a man worthy of fucking me." You chuckle, grabbing the electric whisk after adding in the baking powder, and vanilla essence.

“It’s different for me.” He acknowledges. “Women know I’ll kill, apparently it’s part of my appeal.” He watches you carefully, not to make sure you weren’t poisoning it, but because he was interested. “Except they are so eager to pleasure it makes for a boring fuck.” He rolls his shoulders back. “Not once have I had a woman grab my hair and demand I eat her cunt. Moxy is sexy. Because I’d do it, and then I’d wrap my hand around her pretty little neck and remind her who’s fucking her.” 

You can't deny the way your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought of being able to control Dave, to make him do what you want, before he reminds you of who's really in charge. The battle for power would be drawn out, resulting in painful pleasure that has your heart racing at the thought. Then you shake your head, reminding yourself about who he is. Who his family is. "What about a woman who demands you get down on your knees for her, demands you suck her clit until she cums? Or maybe a woman who pleasures you but controls it. Edges you until you scream with frustration? Is that what you are looking for?" You ask him as you turn towards him, your voice lowering slightly. Part of you wants to find his weaknesses, the other part of you is genuinely intrigued.

He shrugs slightly, trying not to show that he’s extremely interested in that dynamic. Of all the women he knows, you would be the one to do that. “I don’t know.” He grunts. “Never met a woman who made me want to give them control.” He admits, eyes fixed on you. “One that could possibly fit the bill but she’d probably gut me rather than fuck me.” 

You look into those dark eyes, unable to stop yourself from leaning a little closer. It's tempting, the thought of controlling this strong killer, making him beg you to cum. The oven beeps from its preheat and you blink, breaking the spell as you pull away from him. "Like you'd want a virgin." You scoff, continuing to mix the cake batter.

Blinking at your back for a moment he chuckles darkly. “Princess, you don’t know what I would want.” He tells you with a smirk. “For all you know I love taking virgins and breaking them in. Teaching them how to take a cock and cum all over it. Having them squirming and begging for it while I tease them. Watch their face when I really start hammering into them and pushing up against their g-spot to see if they are a squirter.” 

You swallow at his words, shaking slightly at the shiver that runs through you. You pour the batter into the cake tins after greasing them, and you turn to look at Dave. "And if that one that fits the bill would rather fuck you right now than gut you?" You ask breathlessly, unable to deny that you want him to fuck you. It's a bitter pill to swallow but you can't ignore the lust that surges through you.

“I wouldn’t trust it.” Dave admits. “No one runs as hot and cold as you do unless you are trying to get me to lower my defenses.” He narrows his eyes at you as he speaks. “You were threatening to kill me hours ago and now you want me to fuck you? Princess, I wasn’t born yesterday.” 

You flinch back at his words, annoyed that he thinks that after you’ve put yourself out there, given him the slightest chance, and he’s thrown it back in your face. “As if I’d want you to be the one to take my virginity anyway, York.” You murmur, trying to conceal your embarrassment as you walk over to put the cake tins in the oven, bending down to put them in before you shut the door and set the timer. “What kind of buttercream do you want?” You ask softly, trying to stop the tears in your eyes at his rejection.

Dave realizes you might have been serious. Your back is ramrod straight and your voice has a vulnerable quality to it. “Whatever you choose.” He tells you, wishing that he hadn’t spoken before he really thought about it. “You are in charge of this production right now.” 

You focus on measuring the butter, cream, and powdered sugar for the buttercream. “If only that were true.” You murmur to yourself, cleaning off the electric whisks and washing them before you reattach to whisk the buttercream. Some powdered sugar flies out of the bowl, and you yelp when the sugar lands on your face. “God. Not used to this kind of whisk. I have a mixer.” You chuckle.

Reaching over, Dave swipes the sugar off your cheek and pops it into his mouth. “Hmmm, sweet.” He comments, smirking at you. “I’ll get you a mixer, just tell me the brand and I’ll make sure you have it.” He promises. 

You falter when his finger caresses your skin for a moment. “Kitchenaid. Professional. Turquoise.” You tell him, wanting something bright in his otherwise dull loft. You work on cleaning the work surface once the buttercream is ready. The oven timer goes off and you grab the mitts, opening the door to pull the tins out and set them on the side. You’re pleased with how they raised.

He hums and watches you move, thinking that you seem completely at home moving around in his kitchen. It’s a homey atmosphere, making him think of family instead of the two of you being bitter enemies. You could have been his girlfriend or his wife, making dessert for tonight. “I’ll make sure you get one this afternoon.” He tells you, pulling his phone out of his pocket and sending a message to Ari for the mixer and more baking shit for you to play around with. 

You look at him as he puts his phone back in his pocket. “Thank you.” You tell him honestly, surprised that he’s trying to give you something to help you pass the time during your imprisonment. You wait for the cake to cool, and then you begin icing the cake. “When did you learn to do this?” Dave asks, still leaning against the counter. “When I was young. My mom - before she was killed - used to spend time with me in the kitchen. She taught me how to cook and how to bake.” You explain. “Do you want a slice?” You ask, looking up at Dave.

“Sure.” Dave walks to the fridge to pull out the carton of milk to pour a glass for himself. He sets it on the counter before he looks at you. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs softly, knowing that your father had blamed his family for her death. “I don’t think it’s right, what happened.” He was too young to have been involved in her death but he knows his family name is as good as a guilty verdict. 

You close your eyes, knowing he isn’t directly responsible for your mother’s death, but his family is and that makes him part of the reason why she was killed. Your mother was loving and kind, always asking your father to end the turf wars. You were young but you remember her begging your father to end the generations of feuding. After her death, your father doubled down on his efforts to destroy the York family. You look at him, “would you cut it up? Since I can’t find the knives.” You ask, carrying the cake over to the table along with two small plates.

Dave snorts and walks over to a cabinet that has a keypad on it. Entering the code and pulling out a knife before he walks over to the table. “I’ve heard of your penchant for knife work.” He tells you, stopping for a moment before he turns the knife around and offers it to you, handle first. How you react to that will tell him a lot. 

You smirk as you take the handle, looking at him, as you inspect the blade. You twirl the knife in your hand, and bring it down to cut a line into the cake. “Knives are unexpected. No one expects you to take a knife and stab them through the neck. Now, a gun? You can spot those instantly. Try to dodge the bullet. But when you’re inches away from the person wielding the knife? You have no chance.” You say, cutting a slice and sliding it onto a plate before you hand it to Dave. You cut yourself a piece and set the knife down, knowing he’s expecting you to try something, and unexpectedly to you, you don’t want to harm him right now.

Raising a brow, he sets the cake down before he walks back over to the counter to grab the milk and two glasses. “I don’t know about you, but having cold milk with cake like you’re five years old again is the only way to have it.” He tells you, holding up the carton. “Do you want a glass?” The air feels different right now, he can’t put his finger on it, but he wants to extend another invitation to get close that doesn’t have anything to do with family names and revenge. 

You nod, biting your lip as he pours two glasses of milk and hands one to you. It would be so easy to smash the glass in his face, incapacitate him for a few moments for you to get the knife and kill him, but you don’t want to. That confuses you. You watch him sit back down, and you actually offer him a smile when he looks at you. “Go on. Try it.” You tell him, wanting to see if he likes your baking.

Dave nearly asks if you managed to use baking materials to create a poison. He doesn’t though, instead he forks up a large bite of the cake and shoves it in his mouth. Eyes widening and he can’t help the moan that escapes his mouth when the flavors meld on his tongue. “Holy shit.” He groans and reaches for his milk before taking a sip and letting it mix with the cake. 

You fluster at his groan, imagining him doing that in another situation, and you take a bite of the cake. “Good?” You ask him, almost nervous that he’s going to like it. “I- I just did a basic cake. I have more recipes. Carrot cake. Red velvet. Death by Chocolate.” You smirk at him.

“Fuck, make that next.” Dave moans. “I’ll get you all the chocolate you want. He eagerly digs into the cake, inhaling his slice while you watch. Sweets were a weakness that he rarely indulged in, but this cake is just amazing.

You like that he likes it. That he wants you to bake more. For a moment, you can pretend that you and Dave are just two normal people, and you even allow yourself a second to think that you’re making the cake for him as your boyfriend, or husband. That thought is soon gone when you remember why you’re here. “Can I watch TV in the living room after this is cleaned up?” You ask him.

Dave scrapes up some of the buttercream frosting and licks it off his fork. “After this? Sure.” He agrees to that since he was honestly going to recommend it himself. Despite you being a Smith, he wanted you to enjoy being here. “I need to clean up the room you are in anyway.”

You bite your lip. “Sorry about that. I was mad you had captured me. Still am, a little, but I took it out on that room.” 

Dave nods, “just glad it wasn’t me.” He admits, and you exhale softly, glancing around the kitchen when you whisper, “me too.” You stand up, working on washing the dishes, and you even wash the knife, setting it on the side. You need to earn his trust, and then maybe he will tell you why you’re here. If he wanted you dead, he would’ve done it by now.

Dave does put up the knife, but it’s not just because he’s afraid he might get it in the back. Things are tenuous between you, but the knife actually does go in that cabinet. He likes keeping the counters clutter free, although he thinks that might change the longer you are here. “I’m going to get you some new pillows and bedding.” He tells you. “And vacuum up the feathers. Watch whatever you want.”

You nod, making your way to the living room. You admire the nice leather couch, and grab the remote to turn on the TV. Listening to some random episode of “The Office,” you also listen to Dave as he cleans up your room. You wonder why he doesn’t just have his men do it. You switch channels to the news, swallowing when you see the bulletin for your kidnapping. Your family - as well as Dave’s - have professional, legit business fronts, and you are known as the daughter of the best real estate investor in town. The newsreader announces your kidnapping from the club, but no video has been released. You frown at that, wondering if they had video of you being taken.

Dave cleans up the room, putting fresh sheets on the bed and making sure that there are pillows that aren’t split open. He knows he should have made you clean this up, but honestly he didn’t want to start an argument with you. He likes the tentative truce that you have. Besides, it gives him a chance to answer messages. Of course your kidnapping is public so his father wants to know if he had anything to do with it, but he finds himself hesitating to tell him.

You bite your lip, trying to figure out why you're here if Dave isn't going to kill you. Maybe you're a bargaining chip in a deal with your father. Dave walks in, sitting down on the sofa next to you. You turn to look at him, "why am I here?"

“Honestly?” Dave sighs and sends you a small grin. “You pissed me off when you threw the drink on me, so I decided that I would get you back. But I didn’t want to kill you. I’d be dealing with your psycho cousin.”

You chuckle, shifting to tuck your legs underneath you. "Get me back by locking me in an expensive loft with a nice bed, and baking supplies. Really punishing me, York." You snort, "plus my psycho cousin would kill me if he could. Always wanted to take over. He thinks a man should be in charge, that I'm not capable."

Snort, he shifts to face you. “I’ll kill him for you.” He offers jokingly. “Men are not nearly as wily as women are. Women have ruled the world through their cunts for millennia.”

You smirk, deciding to mess with Dave some more. You move fast, straddling him in his t-shirt, and you grind down on him. "Is that so? Is pussy really the secret weapon to bringing down a man? To rule the world?" You ask innocently despite your hips slowly grinding onto him.

He grunts and while his hands go to your hips, he doesn’t move you and push you away. Instead he lets you grind down on him, feeling himself harden under the heat and friction of your cunt moving against him. “Yes.” He says hoarsely, fingers digging into your flesh slightly. “You should know. How many men have you killed that thought they had a chance to climb between your thighs?”

You lean closer, almost so your lips are brushing his, and you whisper, "Too many. And none of them ever got this close." You tell him, before shifting off of his lap after you know you've made him hard. You settle back onto the sofa, grabbing the remote to change the channel. "Ooo Mr. and Mrs. Smith. I love this movie." You declare as you settle into the sofa.

He grunts shifting slightly and wipes a hand down his face to hide his grin. Yeah you were fucking with him, and he should be mad, but he wasn’t. You know you are a beautiful woman and could make a dead man hard, so it’s not like he’s giving away a secret that he finds you attractive. “Good movie.” He agrees, leaning back. “Rivals, married and finding out they want to stay together. Classic.”

You snort as you look over at him, his legs now crossed, and you can’t help but smirk. “Like us. Rivals. Except we aren’t married, and we don’t want to be together.” You hum, frowning slightly when you realize that leaves a sour taste in your mouth. Dave tries to ignore the way his stomach twists at the idea of you being his wife, wondering why it doesn’t sound so repulsive. 

****

A few days pass by, and you keep yourself busy by baking. Cupcakes. Cookies. You’ve even made the Death by Chocolate cake that Dave requested. You would deny that his groans of appreciation made you rub your clit when you were in the privacy of your room, wondering how he’d sound with his cock deep inside of you. “Dave! The cheesecake is ready!” You call out, happy it’s now refrigerated and cool.

“I swear your plan is to make me so fat that I can’t move.” Even as he’s grumbling, he makes his way into the kitchen to have a slice. This week has been surprisingly fun. His father has found out that you are here, and while he’s not happy that Dave won’t bring you to the house, he does approve of his plan. Even if he had felt guilty for even saying it out loud. “I was drooling on myself out there.” He compliments, biting his lip at the sight of you in another pair of boxers and his t-shirt.

You giggle, setting the plate down on the table as he walks in. “Getting old, huh?” You tease, and he growls in faux annoyance, smacking your ass. You would’ve killed him for doing that last week, but now, you can’t deny the thrill that runs through you at his touch. You can’t deny it any longer. You want Dave. You want him to touch you. Maybe it’s because he’s the only person you’ve seen for the past week, or maybe it’s because he’s not as bad as you thought he was. He has his faults, so do you, but he’s actually a funny, handsome man. “Sit.” You order, wanting to see what he thinks of your latest dessert.

He eagerly does so, before forgetting that he hasn’t gotten a knife out of the cabinet. “Code is 8753.” He tells you, sitting down and leaning over the cheesecake to take a deep breath. He’s come to trust you over the past week, if you want to threaten him and leave, he’s honestly to the point where he would take you home himself. He’s gotten soft and he hates it but he also can’t help it.

You inhale sharply when he gives you the code to the knife cabinet. You know it’s what you’ve been trying to achieve, for him to trust you, but now that the moment has arrived, you find yourself reluctant to take a knife and throw it into his head. You want to stay with him. You frown at that, wondering when you went soft for Dave York. You take a knife out, admiring the blade for a moment, before you turn towards the table. “You do the honors.” You tell Dave, setting the knife down in front of him.

He’s a little shocked that you set the knife down, but he looks up at you and nods while he picks it up. “Thank you, princess.” He murmurs, voice low and husky. He cuts thick slices of the cheesecake and dishes them out onto the plates, but when you move to go sit down, he wraps a hand around your wrist and tugs you into his lap. You gasp but he picks up the fork and cuts a bite of the cheesecake to offer to you first even though he’s been looking forward to this ever since you said you wanted to make one. “Ladies first.”

You glance at him briefly before you lean forward to wrap your lips around the fork, moaning at the decadent taste of the cheesecake you made. You make a show of licking the fork, wanting to make him squirm beneath you, and you hum. “Delicious, even if I do say so myself.” You smirk, grabbing the fork, and cutting off a piece for Dave, before you offer it to him.

Dave watches you while he takes the bite, moaning when the tangy taste of the cheesecake hits his tongue. His lips make sure that the fork is clean when he pulls back and his eyes close, savoring the bite while the sinful noises resonate in his throat. “Fuck.”

You can’t help but clench around nothing at his groan, the way his eyes close. It turns you on more than anything you’ve ever known. You know he’s your sworn enemy, the man you most hate more than anyone else, but this past week has made you realize how attracted you are to Dave York. How deadly he is, but how soft he can be. You can’t help it anymore, you want him. You surge forward, pressing your lips to his.

The kiss catches him off guard, the fork he had been holding for you clattering to the table while he wraps his arms around you. Leaning into the kiss and dragging you closer to him while his mouth opens at the insistence of your tongue. It might be a trick, you might be about to gut him with that knife, but he doesn’t care about that right now. Too focused on how you taste and how your tongue is tangling with his while you gasp into his mouth.

He hums, loving the way that you arch your back, giving him more access. “What do you want?” He groans against your skin. If you want, he will go back to eating cheesecake, but will probably have to go take a shower after. He had meant it when he said he liked his women willing. “What do you want, princess?”

“You.” You respond breathlessly, meaning it. You want him. You don’t know if it’s because he’s the only person you’ve spoken to for a week or because he has managed to change your opinion of him as some ruthless monster. “Please. I want you. God. I fucking hate it but I want you Dave. I want you to fuck me.”

Victory is sweet, but you are sweeter. His cock twitches under your and he groans against your pulse. Technically it’s not moral to fuck someone you’ve kidnapped, but he’s never claimed to be a moral man by the standards of others. He slides his hands around you and squeezes your ass. “You’re gonna let me?” He demands breathlessly. “Make you cum and then push inside that little virgin pussy? Claiming it as mine?”

You pant, grinding down onto his hardening cock, and you know you should be ashamed of his words, of giving your innocence to him, but you want him to take it. You nod, leaning back to look at him, “yes. Yes. Please. I want you to make me cum. Then maybe you can fuck me. Depends on how good you are at eating pussy.” You smirk, gathering some of your wits back to be that fiery woman he knows.

Gripping your ass, he lifts you up a few inches to push you back onto the table. Making the dishes clatter as you scatter them behind you when you flail out for stability. “I’ll show you how good I am.” He promises, reaching under your shirt to grip the edge of his boxers to drag them down your thighs.

You feel exposed under his dark gaze when he shoves your shirt up and pushes your thighs apart. You shiver as the cool air hits your damp folds, and his eyes seem to devour the sight of your cunt. "Dave." You sigh when he rubs your thighs, and you whimper, needing him to touch you.

“I’ve got you, princess.” He promises. He wants to make this good for you. Unforgettable. You will always remember the first man you slept with and he’s determined to make sure you have no reason to naysay his abilities. He lowers his head and engulfs your cunt in his hot mouth with a groan.

Your eyes roll back, unable to believe how good his hot mouth already feels like heaven. You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair. You've had men go down on you before but none had satisfied you enough before they wanted to fuck you. You weren't a tease, you let them know you didn't want penetration. Dave's tongue flicks over your clit, making you cry out, and the cheesecake falls to the floor when your arm flings out to knock it off of the table. "Shit." You hiss, tugging on his hair to push him deeper into your folds.

He groans into your flesh, obeying your silent command. He’s not gone down on a lot of women, but he knows exactly what to do. He sucks your clit into his mouth and tugs on it before he’s running his tongue up and down your folds, over your clit while you grind down on his face.

You moan loudly, certain that no man has ever eaten you out with such vigor and you tug on Dave‘s hair even harder, desperate for him to make you cum after all of the nights you spend imagining him between your thighs. “Fingers. I want your fingers inside of me.”

He pulls away from your cunt, making you whine but he slips two fingers into his mouth to coat them in his spit. “Look good, princess.” He coos, sliding them up your folds and starting to push them inside you as he takes you clit back into his mouth.

You cry out as his thick fingers stretch your walls, and you curse when he curls them inside of you, quickly finding that spot that makes your walls clamp down on his digits. “Dave! Oh fuck, right there. That’s it. Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.” You warn as he pumps his fingers and leans down to suck harshly on your clit. Couple of more pumps of his digits, and you fall over the edge, soaking his fingers with your juices.

He works you through it slowly, pumping his fingers and scissoring them to stretch you open to take him. Watching you ride out your high until you are satiated and pushing at his head. He lets go of your clit and smirks. “How was that?” He hums.

You sit up a little, looking at him, and you grab onto his hair, pushing him back down towards your cunt. "One more. Then you can fuck me." You promise, knowing you need him to make you cum again so you can savor this moment. You've heard stories about how bad sex can be the first time, and you desperately want it to be good after waiting so long.

He snorts, amused by your bossiness. “Whatever you say, princess.” He grunts, not minding at all because your walls are tight and you will need it if you are going to take him easily. His tongue licks at your clit. “Need to make sure you are ready.”

He hums, feeling it vibrate against your clit. He looks up at you and sucks harshly, keeping his fingers pressed against that spot. Drawing circles on your flesh between sucks, willing you to cum as he watches with dark eyes.

He pushes you higher and higher until you crash, clamping down on his fingers with a whine, you soak them again, and fall back onto the table as your thighs shake. It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had, not that you’d tell him that, and you try to catch your breath.

Dave hums in satisfaction at the wet sound of his fingers as he pulls the out. Massaging your thigh gently while waiting for you to tell him you want more. He’s not going to assume, not with you being a virgin.

You sit up, looking down at Dave, and you surge forward to press your lips to his. Sliding your tongue into his mouth, loving the tangy taste of your cum on his lips. “Fuck me, want you to fuck me.” You tell him, shifting off of the table to straddle his lap again.

Letting you grind down on him is the sweetest torture. Until he needs to pull away when you start reaching for his pants. He cups your cheek, staring into your eyes. “Bedroom, princess.” He murmurs. “Your first time should be in a bed.”

You huff in frustration, wanting to see him here and now after hearing several rumors about him being…well endowed. Shuffling off of his lap, you are careful of the broken plates and cutlery, as you watch him stand up, his pants tented to display his own frustrations. “Who knew you were such a gentleman?” You tease, stepping out of the kitchen, and you grab his hand to guide him to your assigned bedroom.

He almost pulls you towards his bedroom, but stops himself at the last minute. The camera in the smoke detector is in your room and will pick up every moan and whispered word, the high resolution video making for perfect material to send your father. He pushes away the guilt and lets you drag him into the room, smirking when he finds the room neat and the bed made up. “Eager to get me into your bed, princess?” He coos.

You chuckle, tugging on his shirt, “like you aren’t eager to fuck me. Your crotch says otherwise, York.” You reach down and squeeze him through his pants. “Come on baby. Tell me what you want.” You murmur, nipping his jaw. You caress his chest before sliding your hands lower, pulling his shirt out of his pants so you can run your palms along his stomach.

He growls and grabs your hands, smirking when he sees your confusion bloom for a second. “I want your shirt off.” He pulls your shirt over your head and tosses it aside, reaching up to pinch both of your nipples. “Then I want you to lay down and spread your legs while I strip off. Show me how badly you want me to fuck you.”

You obey him, shifting to lay down on the bed, head against the pillows so you can watch him, and you waste no time in spreading your legs. Your cunt is dripping, and you reach up to squeeze your tits as he unbuckles his belt. When he pushes his shirt off of his shoulder, you notice the scars and blemishes from his violent upbringing. He kicks off his shoes and socks, and when he pushes his pants down, along with his briefs, your jaw drops. “Fuck Dave. That- I don’t think I can take that.” You exhale honestly, eying his girth.

He smirks, proud of your reaction to him. “Oh, you can.” He promises, wrapping his hand around the base and squeezing. “And you will. Every inch will be buried deep inside that tight little cunt and you're going to cum all over it.”

You swallow, eager to feel him, but undeniably apprehensive. “I- okay. Do you- you have a condom? I'm not on birth control.” You tell him, keeping your legs spread as he slowly pumps his cock. His words, although making you anxious, also make you wetter.

“In my pocket.” He bends down to pick up his pants and pull the ever present wallet out. A habit from times when he had to be ready to abandon a place at a moment's notice during the height of the blood feud. He pulls out the foil wrapper and tosses everything else onto the ground. “Come put it on me.” He orders, stepping over to the end of the bed.

You smirk, shifting onto your hands and knees as you crawl towards him, you take the condom, and open the wrapper. Before you put it on him, you can’t help but lean forward to flick your tongue over the bead of pre-cum before wrapping your lips around the head, looking up at him.

“Fuck.” Dave hisses, knowing that you haven’t had a lot of cocks in your mouth but you’re sucking on his. He reaches down and caresses your cheek before putting his hand on the back of your head and urging you down.

You gag as he pushes you further but you exhale slowly, and continue pushing him down your throat. Your jaw is stretched wide, and you swallow around him, loving the way he moans. His length twitches as you bob your head, it’s a little sloppy and lacking rhythm, but what you lack in skill, you make up for in enthusiasm.

“It’s good.” He praises and eases up on the pressure while pulling his hips back. “But I want to fuck you.” He is closer to blowing his load than he wants you to know. Instead he cradles your jaw. “Put it on me so I can sink into you.”

You pull off of his cock, grabbing the condom, and you fumble as you pinch the tip before you roll it down his cock, twisting your wrist as you pump him a couple of times. “Lay down.” He orders, and you nod, shifting to lay back against the pillows, your heart thumping in your chest.

He knows the cameras are recording everything but he’s not thinking about that. Instead he’s thinking about how good you look spread out. Instead he’s shuffling between your thighs, swiping up some of the slick arousal that is coating your cunt and smearing it over the condom. Sliding his cock through your folds to wet it even further before he pushes your legs back to notch himself at your entrance and slowly starts to break you open.

You close your eyes, feeling the stinging sensation of him pushing inside of you, but it’s manageable. Your hands grab onto his upper arms, nails digging into his skin slightly as you feel him push deeper. “Shit.” You exhale shakily, your heart thumping as you feel him push all the way inside of you, the pain subsiding a little. 

“Are you okay, princess?” He asks, and you nod. Leaning up, you press your lips to his, needing a moment to adjust to the feel of his thick cock inside of you.

Dave groans when he feels you start to relax around him, getting comfortable with him inside you. He licks into your mouth as he slowly pulls his hips back to thrust back into you smoothly. Swallowing your gasp and twitching when you grip him tight again.

You cling to him, "God Dave. It's - it feels good." You moan, the pain fully subsiding as he slowly rocks into you. You kiss along his jaw, unable to believe how he feels above you, his body covering yours, and you fucking love it.

He picks up the pace, rocking into you fast with hard, deep pushes of his hips once he feels that you can take it. Watching your mouth fall open in pleasure when he hits a certain spot inside you and he tilts your hips up to make sure he can hit it again and again. “That’s right. Tell me how good it feels.” He orders harshly through panted breaths.

You love the way he pants, neck strained as he tries to control himself. Part of you wants to have him fuck you harder but another part of you wants to savor this moment. You wrap your legs around his hips, hooking your ankles together. “It’s so good Dave. Fuck. Didn’t - didn’t know it would feel so good. You’re so big. My tight little cunt is barely taking you.” You moan, all inhibitions lost as you give yourself over to the pleasure.

You swear you could pass out from the way he feels thrusting inside of you. “Dave. Dave. Oh God. I- I’m gonna- gonna cum.” You squeal, unable to help yourself as he rocks into you. His pelvis is grinding against your clit, and you scream his name when you cum, soaking his cock, lower stomach, and balls. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

“Fuck.” Dave hisses, loving how tight and wet you get. It’s a struggle to keep pushing into your spasming cunt and he grits his teeth. “You liked that?” He demands, shifting to get closer to you, biting down on your bottom lip before he kisses you again. “Want to cum again? Really show me how much you love my cock?”

You slide your tongue into his mouth, moaning your agreement at him making you cum again. “Please. Yes. Make - make me cum again.” You plead into his mouth, clinging to him because you are squashed beneath him and there’s nothing else you can do.

He shifts, sliding his hand down so he can rub your clit. Speeding up to where the solid thwack of his hips against your ass is loud as he fucks down into you. “Come on.” He groans. “Give me another.  Little pussy is so responsive. Loves getting fucked.”

You cry out, throwing your head back, and when he hits deep again, you cum once more. A sob escaping your lips as you soak his cock again. “Oh Dave. Dave. Oh God. So good. So so good. Want - want to see you cum.” You plead, reaching up to cup his cheek, and you want to watch him as he cums because of you.

You love watching his brow furrow and his mouth fall open as he cums. It’s intoxicating and you wish you could see it over and over again. “I never thought I’d lose my virginity to you.” You chuckle breathlessly, stroking his neck as you kiss along his jaw. It’s intimate, but it feels right.

He huffs, turning and pressing his lips to yours for a moment while he catches his breath. Carefully holding the base of his cock and pulling out of you so he can dispose of the condom, he rocks back into his knees and lets your legs fall. “Want to clean up?” He asks, knowing he wants to get out of the bedroom so he’s not being recorded anymore. He’s got what he needs, even if it's making his stomach turn. “Soak in a bath?”

You nod, feeling a little sore from being pulled around in a way you’re not used to. You wonder if he will get in the bath with you or if he will abandon you now that he’s gotten what he wanted. You know he wanted to fuck you, maybe to tell everyone he’s taken your innocence, or for his own private victory. You hope it’s neither and he genuinely wanted you, but this is Dave York. You shuffle off of the bed as he disposes of the condom, and you unashamedly walk out and down the hall to the bathroom so you can turn on the bath.

He follows you out of the bedroom, leaning against the door to watch you pull out towels. “I, uh, I have some fizzy bath salts.” He offers hesitantly, feeling slightly foolish. “Good for sore muscles and things.” He gives a small shrug as if he’s not making an ass of himself. “If you want I can go get them. I don’t want you to be sore, princess. And I was a little rougher than I should have been with a virgin.”

You smile to yourself, unable to believe Dave York is discussing bath salts. You turn to look at him, “that would be nice. Yes…I, uh, I didn’t think - I didn’t think it would be sweet. Wasn’t like you were making love to me. It was fucking.” You shrug, turning to the cabinet where he points out the bath salts. You pour them in and watch the water rise, feeling Dave’s eyes on your back.

“Do you want some water?” He offers. The comment about fucking bothers him for a reason he doesn’t want to examine right now. It was fucking. It had to be. You were his literal hostage and he had recorded it to hold power over your family. “I can go get you some. Need to clean up the mess we made in the kitchen.” He can’t help but chuckle at getting one bite of the cheesecake he had been drooling over all morning.

You chuckle, feeling a little guilty that the cheesecake was knocked to the floor. “Water would be nice.” You murmur, testing the water. “Are you- do you want to get in here with me?” You ask, knowing you should hate him, but he makes it so hard to do so now that you’ve gotten to see another side of him. Part of you worries that it was all a show. An act to take your virginity and lord that over you.

“Do you want me to?” He doesn’t care about your last name or his last name right now. He stares at you, wanting you to answer him honestly. “I - it’s up to you.”

You stare back at him, unsure if you should say yes, but the way he looks at you nodding. “Yes. I want you to.” You answer, testing the water before you step into the bath, shifting forward so he can get in behind you. You aren’t sure when your hatred faded for Dave, but right now, you don’t care. You just want him to hold you.

“Let me grab the water.” He flashes you a grin and bolts from the door to hurry to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle out of the fridge, he avoids the mess and rushes back to the bathroom. “Here.” He holds it out for you to take before he starts climbing into the bathtub behind you.

You take the water bottle, downing half of it before you hand it to him as he settles behind you. “Here, baby.” You offer, not even thinking of the nickname as you settle back against him.

He hums, taking the bottle and finishing it in two large gulps before he is tossing it towards the trash can and wrapping his arm around you. “You aren’t too sore, are you, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, leaning your head against his shoulder, and you close your eyes. “No. I’m okay. It’s…it’s nice. I like the soreness. Reminds me of what happened.” You caress his forearm, turning your head to inhale the lingering scent of his cologne. You allow yourself some time to forget that this isn’t real, that he’s keeping you hostage, and you’re certain that being locked up has made you crazy. You’ll likely regret it when you do escape.

His fingers stroke your body, amazed that you are here with him like this. He’s always wondered how you would be behind the public persona and he loves it. Biting his lip, he considers erasing the DVR after you’ve gone to sleep tonight, destroying the evidence of what you’ve done together. Kissing along your jaw and down your throat softly, he murmurs your name. “Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?” He asks softly. “With me?”

You are surprised, but ponder it for a moment, knowing you would like to continue this tender moment before reality hits and he locks you up again. You turn your head to softly kiss his lips. You were surprised to hear him say your name for the first time. “I’d like that.” You murmur, wondering what will happen next.

“If you aren’t too sore.” He slides his hand down to cup your mound. “We’ll go slow this next time.” He murmurs in your ear. “Show you what sensual feels like.” He can’t call it making love, it would be silly and you would accuse him of being a sap. His fingers tap your clit through your puffy folds. “What do you think about that?”

You whimper when he circles your clit, your hips bucking up slightly. “God Dave. Yes. Yes. I want that. Want you to show me everything about sex. Want to suck your cock too.” You groan, head lolling on his shoulder, and you are getting tired but it feels good to have his fingers rubbing your clit. You aren’t too sore, you feel worn out, but in a good way,

He groans, twitching against your ass at the thought of your sweet mouth around him again. “How many cocks have you sucked with that sassy mouth of yours?” He coos, keeping his fingers moving over your sensitive clit. “One, ten?”

Whining at the way he rubs your clit a little harder, you nip his jaw. “Three, including yours. High school party in a bathroom - wasn’t my best moment - and in college, during a date and when he found out who my dad is, he left before he could fuck me and I never saw him again.”

Dave snorts. “Pussy.” He is glad that the asshole hadn’t gotten a chance to touch you. “His loss, my pleasure.” He scrapes his teeth along your pulse and switches his thumb to your clit so he can twist his wrist and pushes two fingers inside you while he other hand comes up to cup one of your tits. “Glad he didn’t fuck you. Probably wouldn’t have done it right.”

You moan, covering his hand on your chest. “God Dave. No. No. Only you. Only you can fuck me right.” You turn your head to press your lips to his, sliding your tongue into his mouth as he rubs your clit with his thumb. You can feel his cock hardening against your back, and you grind back onto him.

Pride surges in his chest and he deepens the kiss. Rubbing your clit harder and pushing his fingers deep. You are just about to cum. He can tell from the way your body is trembling and wants to see it again. This is probably the least selfish he’s ever been but he loves seeing you fall apart because of him.

A few more pumps of his fingers, and you fall over the edge, clamping down on his digits. “Oh fuck.” You gasp, until it turns into a cry when he continues pumping his fingers. “Dave. So- so much better than- than my fingers.” You murmur against his lips. You want him again. “Let’s get out of the water. I need you.” You tell him, wanting him again.

He chuckles, pulling his fingers out of your cunt and slapping it lightly through the water, making you squeal in surprise. “Have to my bed since you soaked the sheets on yours.” He reminds you smugly.

You shift to get out of the bath, grabbing a towel, and you wrap it around yourself before you hand a towel to Dave. He gets out and dries himself off. You take his hand once you’re both dry, guiding him out of the bathroom. “Come on baby, want you inside of me again.” You demand, feeling confident now that you know he wants you.

Smirking, he smacks your towel covered ass. “You want me inside of you again, huh? From virgin to vixen in just a few hours.” He chuckles when you put an extra sway in your walk, swinging your hips and shaking your ass as you walk to his locked door. Dave punches in the code, not caring if you see and open it. “After you, princess.”

****

You blink, the morning sun shining through the curtain, and you turn to see Dave is still sleeping. Smiling to yourself, you shuffle out of the bed, deciding to get up and make breakfast for Dave before he wakes up. You make your way out to the kitchen when you find the men you’ve seen hanging around with Dave during his visits to the clubs and when you arrive at this loft. You frown when you hear them cheering, all gathered around a laptop. 

“Oh look at that. The fucking prude little bitch is actually a needy whore. Wait until her daddy sees this.” You step closer, hearing moans and when you hear “oh fuck. Dave.” You stride forward to see a video playing on the laptop. Your eyes widen when you see a video of you and Dave, of last night. The men turn to see you, chuckles escaping their lips, and tears sting in your eyes. 

You stare at the screen, unable to believe this is happening, and then the rage hits. You grab the rolling pin from the counter that Dave had bought you, and you run into the bedroom where Dave is still sleeping. You waste no time in whacking him in the chest with the rolling pin, “you fucking bastard!” You scream.

“What the fuck!” Dave is immediately awake, throwing his hands up to block another blow from what he quickly figures out is a rolling pin. “What the fuck has gotten into you?” He demands, jumping out of bed and glaring at you. At least it wasn’t a knife to his kidneys but the fucking rolling pin still hurts.

You try to hit him again. “I can’t believe - you asshole! I’m going to fucking kill you!” You shriek. Dave grabs onto the rolling pin, taking it from your hands so you surge forward to whack his chest. 

“Can I at least know why you’re going to kill me?” He asks, trying to grab onto your hands. 

“You filmed it. You filmed us having sex. You- I knew shouldn’t have trusted you. You’re a fucking bastard.” You choke on a sob, collapsing forward onto his chest as your anger transitions to upset that he has betrayed you like this. You should have never trusted a York.

“Fuck.” His eyes widen slightly, wondering how you found that out. Until he sees the door is open and hears the laughter out in the living room. The boys must have accessed the video. That pisses him off, he didn’t fucking tell them to do that. “There was a camera in the room.” He drops the rolling pin and strokes your back for a moment before he pulls away from you. Your tears are killing him and that pisses him off even more. 

“They - fuck, I’m gonna kill them.” He growls. If they have seen it, they will talk about it and he’s already decided that he’s not going to use that moment against you, fuck you being a Smith. He pushes you away gently and turns around to open his nightstand and grab his gun from the drawer.

Your eyes widen as tears stream down your cheeks, and for a second you think he’s going to kill you, but he strides out of the bedroom, and you follow him. Confused until his men turn to look at him. “Dave! Fucking good job getting your dick in the-” Risneck doesn’t get to finish his sentence before Dave raises his hand and shoots him in the head. You’ve seen men shot and killed before so you aren’t bothered about the blood splattering against the cabinets.

Ari’s eyes widen in shock, jumping slightly and leaning away from the body as it is flung back on the sofa. “What the fu-“ He’s holding his hands up and there is a hint of a plea for his life as Dave shoots him just as coldly as he did the other man. These were men he’s known for years, even would have considered them friends. It didn’t matter though, they had snooped where they shouldn’t have and he didn’t want them knowing about this, so they had to die. 

“I’ll delete the video.” He doesn’t even spare another glance at the bodies as he reaches for the laptop. Turning and looking at you, he sighs, knowing that this little interlude is over. “I’ll delete it and let you go.”

You stare at him, wondering if this is a trick. “Dave. I-” You choke, finding yourself torn on leaving. “Why- why did you do it?” You just want an answer on why he decided to film you having sex. Filming you losing your virginity. “Are you- I really thought you were - I trusted you.” You finish with a whisper.

“At first it was to get you back.” He admits, voice low and there is the hint of shame in his words. “To use it to embarrass your father, to embarrass you. But, I-“ He sighs and sets the gun down while he deletes the video, wiping it from the hard drive. “I was going to delete it last night. The camera has always been in that room. To get rid of it and then video while you were sleeping but then I fell asleep with you.” His dark eyes find yours and his smile isn’t pleasant. “You won’t believe me, and that’s fine, but I had decided that what happened between us was going to stay private. And since they watched it without my permission, they caught a bullet.”

You feel betrayed, which is ridiculous considering he’s been your enemy for as long as you can remember. Since birth. You wipe your eyes, straightening your back as you shift back into the woman that hates Dave York. You allowed yourself to be vulnerable and you’ve gotten burned. It will never happen again. “I’d like to go home now.” You tell him, spinning on your heel, to go to your bedroom to get your shoes. You are wearing his t-shirt. You walk back to your bedroom, eying the ceiling, and you narrow your gaze at the smoke alarm, knowing that’s where he hid the camera. Opening the closet, you’re surprised to find clothes hanging in there that weren’t there before. 

“I- I wanted you to be able to wear something other than my shirts.” Dave explains from the threshold, pain evident in his voice, but you don’t care. 

“Thanks.” You snort, “giving me clothes despite intending to show my naked body to anyone who would watch your stupid video.” You grab the nearest pair of jeans and slide them on, grabbing a shirt as you take his off, your naked back to him as you pull it over your head. Grabbing some sneakers, you turn to look at Dave. “I want to go. Now.” You declare coolly.

He sighs, deflated at your anger even though he knows it’s justified. “I’ll get dressed.” He murmurs softly, turning around and walking back into his bedroom so he can put clothes on. He doesn’t even bother picking up the gun from where he had left it, not caring if you grabbed it at this point. In the last half hour, he had made a horrific discovery that would probably haunt him for the rest of his life. He has fallen in love with you. Completely in love in the purest sense, and you hate his guts.

You wait in the living room for Dave. Arms crossed as you stare at the two dead bodies, wondering if Dave killed them for watching the video before he could show it off, or if he killed them because he didn’t want anyone watching the video, if he genuinely changed his mind. You bite your lip, eying the gun he had abandoned, and you curse yourself for not having the want to grab it and kill Dave. Something you’ve wanted to do for years. Why not now? What has changed? You don’t get to dwell on that when Dave walks out of his bedroom, dressed in black pants and a shirt that fits just right. You hate that your immediate thought is that he looks handsome.

He can’t help but think that you are beautiful, even if you are glaring at him. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the men he killed, feeling no remorse for what he had done. “Let’s take you home, princess.” He murmurs, his keys in his hand and he unlocks the door leading outside the apartment. “The video is deleted and they are dead. No one will know that you slept with me.” He promises, knowing you don’t want anyone knowing what happened. “I’m not going to tell anyone.”

You nod, silently following him out of the apartment to the elevator. You awkwardly stand there as the car descends to the parking garage, and you want to glance over at Dave but you can’t. The betrayal still stings. He guides you to his car, and you open the passenger door before he can reach for the handle, getting in before he can help you. With a sigh, Dave rounds the car and gets into the driver's seat, starting the engine before he backs out of his space.

The drive towards your family’s turf is quiet, so much left unsaid between the two of you. “I am going to drop you off at the club.” Dave speaks up finally. “It’s neutral territory and I’ve let them know to have a car for you.” He has called the owner and let him know he was bringing you back. He takes his eyes off the wheel and glances over at you, wishing you would look at him but you just stare out the window. He sighs and taps his fingers on the wheel.

When you arrive at the club, there's so much you want to say, but you keep your mouth shut, knowing you could tell Dave how you feel in the midst of being angry. You swallow down the torrent of words and get out of the car once he's cut the engine. You enter the club, sensing him walking behind you, and you finally turn to look at Dave. "Seems like a lifetime since I was last here." You confess, looking to meet his dark gaze.

“A lot has happened.” He murmurs, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a card. “I know you hate me. You have every right to. But if you ever need anything, even if it’s to call me a bastard again, this is my private cell. Nothing to do with my family.” He tells you, wishing he didn’t love you but he does. Wishing you weren’t a Smith, but you are. “Goodbye, princess. I’ll see you around.” He turns around and walks away before he can do something stupid like tell you that he loves you and he’s so sorry for hurting you.

You stare at the card in your hand, looking up to watch him as he walks towards the door. You open your mouth to say something, trying to gather the words to explain how you feel but someone beats you to it. “Not so fast, York.” Your eyes widen when you see your father appear, gun in hand as he walks towards Dave, stopping him from leaving the club.

“Shit.” Dave hisses, having brought no weapon on him since they weren’t allowed in the club. Obviously Smith couldn’t follow the rules. “Smith.” He holds up his hands causally. “Surprised to see you’ve come to collect the princess yourself. Never leave that house of yours.”

“Dad-” You step forward but your father shakes his head. 

“Oh. I had to come this time. I had to see the man who took my daughter's innocence.” Your eyes widen, suddenly feeling sick. How does your father know? “Imagine my surprise when I received an email with a video. After clicking on it, I see it’s you defiling my daughter after you kidnapped her. How fucking dare you!” Your father yells, and tears swim in your eyes at the fact that Dave lied, he didn’t delete the video, he sent it to your father.

His brow furrows in confusion, knowing he didn’t send it to the man. “Fuck.” He spits, shaking his head. “My father sent it to you. Didn’t he?” He demands, vowing that he will kill the old man for meddling when he had no right to meddle. The apartment and the video was his. “I deleted it, it’s gone, and I killed my men for watching it.”

You step closer, “you didn’t - you didn’t send it?” You half accuse, knowing that Dave has stooped lower than most, but you never thought him capable of this. Your father clicks off the safety to show Dave he means business. You step even closer to your father. “Dad. He- he isn’t - Dave is capable of many things but - but I don’t think he would’ve done this.” You realize looking back on it that he killed his own men for seeing the video, he wouldn’t have sent it to your father. 

“Bullshit.” Your father spits, “you planned all of this to humiliate my family, my daughter. You fucking kidnapped her and violated her-” 

You shake your head. “He didn’t violate me. I - I wanted him. I wanted him to fuck me.” You say, and your father turns to look at you. 

“What?” He growls. 

“I - I wanted him because - because- I love him.” You finish, looking over at Dave. Your father’s eyes darken as he strides over to you. He doesn’t say a word, choosing to reach out and hit you, his hand meeting your cheek in a smack, and you collapse to the floor from the impact.

Rage fills Dave, along with terrifying joy that you love her. “Don’t fucking touch her.” He growls, making your father laugh as he turns the gun back towards him. 

“Or what? You don’t have a gun. I knew Yorks were stupid but you walked right in here unarmed.” Dave scoffs and steps towards your father, ready to rip him apart for slapping you. Even he hadn’t done that when you were his hostage and he’d be damned if he would let anyone hurt you. “Don’t make me kill you quickly.” Your father growls, lifting the gun up higher to point at his head.

You scramble to stand up, cheek throbbing, and you put yourself between Dave and your father. "No! No. You aren't going to kill him. I'm tired of this. You are - you're a fucking monster. You've treated me worse than Dave ever did when he fucking kidnapped me." 

Your father scoffs, "get out of my way, you stupid little girl. I always knew you were fucking weak, just like your mother. She was useless. That's why I had to get rid of her. She wasn't strong enough to be my wife." Your father declares and your jaw drops. 

"I thought - you said it was the Yorks-" You stammer, and your father snorts. 

"It was the perfect excuse for escalating the war. Your mother couldn't give me a son so I killed her when she couldn't handle what our life entails. Good thing too. She was weak and so are you. We will change that." Your father promises, and you scream, reaching out to grab the barrel of the gun, and you wrench it away from him before he can pull the trigger, flipping it in your hand so you are aiming it at your father before you pull the trigger, shooting him in the head.

Dave stares at the man as he falls to the ground before he looks back up at you. The gun is shaking in your hands and he takes a cautious step towards you. “Princess?” He keeps his hands up, aware that you are still possibly angry at him. “Don’t shoot me.” He takes a deep breath. “Not until I tell you that I love you. I know I was a bastard for recording us, but I swear to you that I was planning to delete it. I didn’t want anyone seeing you like that. I fell in love with the ballsy, fiery woman that challenged me and I couldn’t do it. I don’t care about a fucking turf war. I don’t want to fight you.”

You stare at him, still in shock about shooting your father, but you don’t regret it. He’s abused you for years and upon hearing he killed your mother - the parent you adored- you couldn’t hold back. You had to take him out. He wouldn’t have let Dave leave the club alive. You surge forward, dropping the gun from your hand and it clatters to the floor. You wrap your arms around Dave's neck and pull him towards you so you can press your lips to his.

He groans, pulling you close and letting his tongue tangle with your while you kiss. Heart pounding in his chest as he forgets about the feud, forgets about the fact that you just killed your father. Everything but the fact that you are kissing him. “I love you.” He murmurs. “I love you, princess. I wanted to kill him when he hit you.” He pulls back and stares at you solemnly. “I will never lay a hand on you. I don’t think it’s right.”

You believe him when he pulls back. He was rough with you when he took you hostage, but he never hurt you. You cup his cheek, “I love you too. I- I never imagined I’d say that to you of all people, but I love you.” You murmur, leaning forward to peck his lips once more. You glance down at your father, knowing there was no love lost, he has always treated you cruelly because you weren’t the son he always wanted. He blamed you for your gender, and he blamed your mother. To find out he’d killed her, you couldn’t stand by and let someone like that kill the man you love. “What now? I- I don’t know - our men…they will blame you for his death, they would never believe I killed him.”

Dave knows that it will be tricky, but he doesn’t care. He smirks at you. “Want to join the families?” He poses. “Hard to argue when your boss marries the guy who killed your father.” He caresses your cheek. “Instead of fighting each other, we just run the whole damn city.”

You blink a few times, taken back by his suggestion, but you end up grinning. "Dave York...are you suggesting I marry you?" You smirk, sliding your hand down to his chest. You know he is right about joining the families. It would honestly be the best thing for the city, to have peace.

Chuckling, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. “I did take your innocence.” He remembers, sliding his hand down to squeeze your ass. “It’s only right I make an honest woman out of you.” He’s joking, of course but he does like the idea of you being his. “It’s either that or we both end up leaving town, because I’m not going to let you go again. I love you, sweetheart.”

You nuzzle your nose against his. "I love you too. I'll marry you. I - I don't want to let you go either, but you are gonna have to make up for kidnapping me...perhaps a few orgasms." You joke. You lean back and look down at your father, sighing at the sight of his blood pooling on the concrete floor.  "Guess we better get our story straight, huh? Who would've guessed it...a York and a Smith marrying. Ending generations of feuding. I suppose we are the end of the line." You turn to look at Dave again, who nods. 

"A new beginning for us and the city." He hums, kissing your forehead. 

"Come on York, let's go get hitched." You giggle, taking his hand. You will deal with your father's body later, right now you want to marry the man you love. 

"Let's go, princess." Dave kisses the back of your hand, unable to believe the woman he hated less than two weeks ago is now going to be his wife.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #Dave York #dave york x reader #dave york x you #Dave York x f!reader #dave york smut #dave york equalizer 2 #Dave York imagine #Dave York fanfic

[jonathancrane-scarecrows]

" You just going to stare or join me?"

#open starter #open rp #muse: bruce wayne #killer bat #open to everyone #open to anybody #open to all

[hollandorks]

shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter ten

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: so sorry it took me so long to post this besties! This chapter is on the shorter side but yay, I managed to get it done! I honestly love this chapter even though it’s a bit more of a filler chapter. 

Series Masterlist 

word count: 2079

“Let’s go see Gordon,” she said as she kissed him lightly on the lips. “And in case it wasn’t clear, I’m glad you aren’t dead.”

A ghost of a smile on Bruce’s lips before he kissed her back. “Me too.”

The Batmobile started with a comforting roar. At least Bruce wasn’t further risking his life by taking the bike, y/n mused as she got into the passenger side. She’d tried to talk him into letting her drive, but of course he stubbornly refused. 

“At least tell me why,” y/n said after a couple of minutes of riding in silence. She had her crossbow at her feet, a stun gun at her belt, and a baton that lengthened with an easy snap of the wrist. 

Bruce glanced over at her. “Why what?” he asked, his voice still rough. He was in pain, she knew, but only because she’d seen the bruises. The moment he’d been suited back up–the cape replaced with a spare–his spine had straightened and he’d seemed to shake off everything that he’d just been through. 

“Why you risked your life like that,” she said flatly. She was still alternating between fear and anger and relief. It was exhausting. Her hip still ached from where she’d hit the floor at the memorial. A headache was blooming between her eyes from the stress of the past several hours. 

Bruce was quiet for so long she was certain he wasn’t going to answer. 

But, finally, as they pulled up to the signal tower, he said, “He was about to tell me who the rat was.” 

“The rat?” 

Bruce made a noise of acknowledgement. “I thought I could save him and get the information I needed.” His voice was flat too. But she knew it’s because, inside, he was berating himself for failing to do both of those things. She softened a little bit more. “Let’s go.” 

He pulled himself out of the car carefully, only showing a hint of the pain he was in because he trusted her. Around everyone else, his guard would be up. She followed him to the elevator, glancing around to make sure no one else was around. 

“Gordon told me you were alive,” she said as the elevator started to rise. Bruce said nothing. “You said he helped you escape?” 

“Yeah. Cops aren’t happy with me.” 

She snorted. “I bet you sure made them look bad.” 

A ghost of a smile on his lips, there and gone again in a blink. “One of the detectives there works for the Penguin at the Iceberg Lounge. And I doubt he’s the only one.” 

“You saw him at the club?” The elevator jerked to a stop and they stepped onto the dark tower. 

“Hit him in the face with a bat that first time. Selina saw him guarding the elevator too.” Bruce limped over to the signal and flipped it on. 

The memory surfaced slowly in her mind. “Oh–he has a mustache, right?” 

Bruce winced at the reminder that she’d been at the club. “That’s the one.” 

She frowned. It was worse than she’d thought. There’d been so much corruption the year before, she’d just assumed they’d taken out most of it when the old mayor had been arrested. But apparently not. Maybe they’d only made things worse. The power vacuum they’d created had only let the corruption fester and spread like an infection in the city’s blood. 

They lapsed into silence. She shivered at a cold gust of wind. Bruce was staring out across the city with a blank expression. His mind was going a thousand miles an hour, she knew. Sorting information, figuring out what was important, deciding their next steps. She could practically hear it whirring quietly like a computer’s motor.  

Finally, just as she was considering going to wait in the Batmobile to try and warm up, the elevator descended. Within a couple of minutes the doors were opening and Gordon was stepping out. 

“Could have at least pulled that punch, man,” Gordon called to Bruce, who was standing broodily next to the signal. Y/n’s eyebrows shot upwards. 

“I did,” Bruce said, voice still rough with pain. But he was hiding it well. 

“Oh–y/n,” Gordon said when he saw her standing in the shadows. 

“Hey, Gordon,” she said. “He punched you?” 

Gordon huffed a laugh. “Had to make it look real when he escaped.” 

“Damn. Sorry, I would’ve brought an ice pack.” She eyeballed Bruce, who was still standing stoically. 

“What are you doing here?” Gordon asked. He peered at her through his glasses in the dim light. 

“I still have connections at the Iceberg Lounge. I heard about the girl who disappeared, the patrons the Riddler is targeting. I figured I could help, so I made him bring me along. Good thing, too, since he just got his ass handed to him by a bomb.” She tried unsuccessfully to keep the venom out of her voice. Thankfully Gordon didn’t question it. 

Satisfied, he turned to Bruce. “Bock put out an APB on you. You really think he’s in on this?”

Bruce’s lip curled slightly. “I don’t trust any of ’em. Do you?”

“I only trust you.” Gordon looked over at her. “Both of you.” 

“What’s a narcotics cop doing with Falcone’s right-hand man?” 

“He was keeping watch over the VIP club,” y/n added in. “I…went undercover recently and saw him. Didn’t know he was a cop.” 

“Colson said, ‘Cops protect the rat.’ Maybe Kenzie’s part of it.” 

“You think Penguin’s the rat?” Bruce asked. 

“His club caters to the mob. Maroni practically lived there. Penguin would have been privy to a lot of dirt. DA was a regular too. Maybe Penguin got himself into a jam and working a deal was his only way out.” Gordon’s gaze was intense as he spoke. He was getting stirred up. She saw, yet again, why he and Bruce’s alter ego got along so well. She would bet that Gordon liked riddles too. 

Y/n crossed her arms. Was that why the Penguin had been pretending he didn’t know her or Bruce at the memorial? Because he was a rat and trying not to draw unnecessary attention to himself? 

Bruce’s expression cleared a bit like he’d figured something out. “The Rata Alada.”

“The what?”

“Riddler’s latest. The cipher in the maze. It means ‘a rat with wings.’ Like a stool pigeon.” 

Gordon glanced back over the city, then said, gravely, “A penguin’s got wings too.” 

“Time for me to have another conversation with him.” Y/n almost snorted. Bruce’s definition of a conversation with the Penguin would likely involve fists. He’d always wanted to beat the shit out of the man, and now would be the perfect opportunity. Two birds with one stone–let out some of his anger from the events of the previous year and get information at the same time. 

“What about the Riddler? He’s gonna kill again,” Gordon said.

Bruce met y/n’s eyes then looked away. “It’s all connected. Like it or not, it’s his game now. You want to find Riddler, we gotta find that rat.” 

She knew what his brief look meant. He wanted her to go home. To leave him and Gordon to the dangerous parts. Like hell, she thought. She wasn’t letting him risk his life again. He’d just been blown up and hit by a moving bus, for God’s sakes. Now he was going after the Penguin. 

“He’ll be at the club,” y/n said. “He keeps an eye on everything, keeps it all running. He doesn’t usually leave until closing time.” And closing time was approaching. 

“Let’s go, then,” Bruce said to Gordon. To y/n he said, “We’ve got this.” 

She rolled her eyes. “You just got blown up, remember? You can take all the help you can get. I’m not letting you and Gordon get yourselves killed.” 

Gordon chuckled. “Man, sometimes I forget what it was like to work with you two at the same time. By the way, y/n–we got that guy you sniffed out the other night. The rapist. Derrick Smalls. He says some crazy chick in a mask and hood broke all the bones in his hand.” One of Gordon’s eyebrows rose. “One of you running around beating the shit out of these guys was enough. Two of you is…effective, but you might drive me to drink.” He chuckled again as the elevator doors slid open. “You’re making me look good with all of the cases I’m closing, though.” 

Y/n couldn’t help her cringe. Beside her, Bruce went very, very still. She avoided looking at him as the three of them stepped into the elevator. 

“That’s great,” y/n finally choked out. “Glad you got him.” 

Gordon pushed his hands into his pockets, utterly unaware of the storm brewing in the kevlar next to him. “He’s looking at twenty-five years at the least with all the evidence we got. Turned out he recorded the attacks. Deleted them from his phone but kept them stored in the cloud. It was a good call. With that girl Kendra reporting the attack, we were able to get a warrant and look into him. You’re making my case records look great.” 

The elevator doors slid open. 

“Wait here a second,” Gordon said, jogging over to his car. “We need a way to communicate. I brought some radios for when we do special ops.” He handed them over, showed them how to use it. It was like Bruce’s earpieces, but slightly clunkier. 

And then Gordon was gone, and they were alone. 

Bruce’s chest was heaving the moment Gordon was out of sight, but he didn’t say a word. He simply got into the Batmobile, the engine roaring to life. Y/n scrambled to get in before he left her. Because one look at his face and she knew he was about to. 

He wasn’t just angry. 

He was hurt. 

“What is he talking about?” Bruce finally asked in a deceptively calm tone. 

Y/n winced. “I–I–”

“What did he mean by two of us?” His voice rose slightly on the last words. His fists clenched around the steering wheel. 

“Two vigilantes,” she finally whispered. She shut her eyes. “Sometimes, I–go out and…do what you do.” 

She braced for the explosion, but it was quiet. Too quiet. 

“You lied to me.” Bruce’s voice broke on the word. “You lied.” 

She opened and closed her mouth. Tears stung her eyes. “I didn’t–I didn’t want you to be distracted worrying about me, but you can’t be everywhere at once and–” 

“How often?” Bruce said. The words were laced with steel. 

“I–” 

“How often?” he demanded. 

“I–a couple times a week, unless I’m working a case. I went out most nights working on that rapist case he just mentioned.” Her eyes stung and her cheeks burned. Something acidic churned in her gut. Guilt. She felt guilty. “Bruce, I–” 

“You told me you were at work.” He shook his head sharply. “I need to focus. We’ll talk later.” 

She cringed again. 

It would have been better if he had shouted. If he had cursed at her, raged at her, argued with her. 

Anything would have been better than his cold, hurt silence. Anything would have been better than the crack in his voice. 

Y/n stared as the skies opened once more and rain started pouring down. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but Bruce said nothing. “Bruce–” 

“No.” The steering wheel creaked as he gripped it tightly. “Don’t say another word.”  

A single tear dripped down her cheek but she nodded. 

Was it worth it? she asked herself miserably. She wasn’t so sure it was. She’d known–this whole time she’d known–it would hurt him. That he would be upset. But that seemed like the better option. Because she knew him, better than he knew himself sometimes, and she knew that he would waste time worrying about her and trying to help her. He would drive himself to distraction trying to keep her safe. He would risk himself to keep her safe. 

The engagement ring around her neck suddenly weighed a ton. She could feel it dragging her down. 

What kind of woman agrees to marry a man and then spends weeks lying to him and going behind his back? 

Another tear slipped down her cheeks to chase the first. 

Y/n shuddered and forced herself to focus on the mission. 

She could explain herself later. They had had fights before. They always made up. They would talk it out, she would apologize, and they would move forward like they always did. Right? 

But first they had a rat to find and a serial killer to catch.

Next Chapter

taglist:

@pop-rocks-and-skittles @calumspupils @n1ght5h4d3-24 @keepingitlokiii @11mb0 @illicitghosts @cat-purrsonified @blue-aconite @junggoku @ohheyitsrowan @angxlictexrs @avengersgirllorianna @brynhildrmimi @takeyour-pants-off  @twilightdollie @p-writes @lady-x-red @xingqiusliegee @scxrletwitches @justine-en @philiasoul @srryxmate @thecherrybombcom @minstens @call-me-nayo @cosmicbreathe @deadflowerd @iimawinchester @ventila98 @thecraziestcrayon @blossomedfloweroflove @dcgoddess @nautixa @leastlikelytoachieve @slutforblueeyes  @pajerita19 @marvelsangels @leiaofthestars​  @lwtmonster91​ @vellania​ @uncle-eggy​ @goldbvtton​  @angelsarecallin​ @rockagurl​ @zaminoo​

#bruce wayne x reader #the batman x reader #batman x reader #the batman fanfic #bruce wayne fanfic #batman fanfic #bruce wayne fic #the batman fic #battinson fic #battinson x reader #battinson fanfic #the batman #the batman 2022 #battinson #robert pattinson #bruce wayne #sitn #shadows in the night

[za-baransu]

MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strikethrough what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

TAGGED BY: my own stash TAGGING: mhm!

@quirofiliac ; @pwophet | @thusspoke | @nekurooma | @adenial | @baishouqijia | @kuraikyu | @determinazione | @zajevre | @owabisuru ; @gyakusama | @cinghialefedele | @keikakudori | @imagend | @yasuhtora ; @inouehs | @despairforme | @huntiburon | @deathleads | @jinjahime | @bornhollow | @hxbiris | @kamitakes | @lured-into-wonderland | @liecoris | @amaranthineoni | @deityforged [ and whoever wants to! just say i tagged you ]

CLASSIC.

black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. ghosts. dark alleys. empty streets. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. suspicion. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the American South. the American Northeast. England. analog cameras.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw marks. bite marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities. urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking. backpacking.

GOTHIC.

gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches. catacombs. mausoleums. books. stitches.

PARANORMAL.

malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons. poltergeists. dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at unseen things. iconoclasm. black ooze. old photographs. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

SLASHER.

bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity. newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. passing shadows. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. cut wires. character masks. scrunchies. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

THRILLER.

daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms. empty rooms. killer in plain sight. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots. a noise in the distance

#☆ [ headcanon ]

[darckcarnival]

MUSE AESTHETICS: HORROR EDITION.

bold whatever applies | italics what sometimes applies [ both if it's perfect for your muse ] | strikethrough what doesn't apply & tag people. repost; don’t reblog!

CLASSIC.

black and white. powder puffs. red lipstick. winged eyeliner. white kitten heels. black lace lingerie. icy blue eyes. rain. abandoned cars. skeletons. acid. poison. voyeurism. switchblades. strangling. overcoats. looking over your shoulder. trans-atlantic accents. private detectives. dinner parties. haunted mansions. cobwebs. perfect blonde curls. kitchen knives. shock. cellars. dust. ghosts. dark alleys. empty streets. horn-rimmed glasses. radiation. zombies. serial murder. suspicion. the city. witches. the devil. cannibalism. conspiracies. amulets. abject terror. the American South. the American Northeast. England. analog cameras.

CRYPTID & URBAN LEGEND.

aliens. blinding light. dark woods. driving at night. claw marks. bite marks. men in black. memory loss. dismembered bodies. sewers. flashlights. cell phones. video cameras. cars with tinted windows. unlabeled cassette tapes. bugs. big cities.urban crimes. clowns. something rustling outside your window. glowing light. unsolved mysteries. suburbia. mirrors. the american pacific northwest. the american midwest. hiking. backpacking.

GOTHIC.

gaslights. corsets. ballrooms. candlelight. mist. starless nights. full moons. cobbled streets. horse-drawn carriages. mysterious strangers. bogs. moors. forests. mountains. castles. velvet. silver. brass. gold. jewels. domino masks. the opera. dangerous romances. tragic romances. violins. roses. lilies. empty graves. crosses. cemeteries. snow. ice. the gallows. crows. milk-white skin. ambiguous illness. fangs. pointed nails. something howling in the night. capes. gloves. top hats. straight razors. lightning. pipe organs. underground caverns. bats. mice. rats. ravens. cats. pearls. attics. talismans. axes. wood. isolation in a room full of people. vampires. werewolves. ghosts. coffins. western europe. eastern europe. bones. churches.catacombs. mausoleums. books. stitches.

PARANORMAL.

malevolent spirits. seances. spells. missing bodies. hidden graves. white noise. static. flickering lights. rings of salt. demons.poltergeists.dark histories. old buildings. cold air. wells. urban exploration. a dog barking at unseen things. iconoclasm. black ooze. old photographs. dark bodies of water. crucifixes. priests. possession. exorcisms. dolls.

SLASHER.

bloodbaths. massacres. wanton nudity.newspapers. leather jackets. letterman jackets. converse sneakers. obscured faces. social unrest. bonfires. lakes. babysitters. high school. lockers. dead leaves in the fall. jack-o’-lanterns. passing shadows. outdated television sets. nightmares. psychiatrists. hospitals. unstoppable forces. gunfire. police. landline telephones. improvised weapons. halloween. secrets. revelations. cut wires. character masks. scrunchies. wild curls. jeering children. parties. fire. swearing. revulsion. california. the american midwest. ambulances.

THRILLER.

daylight. fluorescent lighting. morgues. unwavering eye contact. tension. lit rooms. empty rooms. killer in plain sight. a dog digging in the newly-planted flower bed. steely gazes. paperwork. anagrams. codes. convicted killers. missing persons. law enforcement. federal agents. small towns. paranoia. subdued terror. dimly-lit parking lots.a noise in the distance.

Tagged by: @fantomevoleur

Tagging: Again steal it from me and tag me~

#Awareness Of The Darkness :: Darck Headcanons #Time to Join The Party :: Dashboard Games and Quizzes

[deadprocess]

You're writing is amazing! Would you be willing to write a third part to Idolize me? <3 <3 <3

//Its been awhile...but I did it//

//Triggers: gore mention, blood mention, dub con, violence, cursing...it's dead by daylight. Most of this needs a warning//

xx IDIOLIZE ME pt 3 xx

You couldn’t recall how long you’ve been in this world of terror. However you could vaguely recall when you first met him. He stood there with a gore covered bat that had collided with your friends head, raised high in the air and ready to swing back down to silence their gurgling. His yellow eyes blazed with a reflective glow similar to that of the cats. Though if you’re honest, you could barely see them from how blown out his pupils were.

It was unadulterated bliss on his face. Bliss from the murder of your friend. Or… Whatever this was. You never got used to how many of your friends died, how many times you died. You all came back. Fit as a fiddle for the next round, but just a little bit more tired and a little more desperate. How many times has your skull been crushed in? How many times has your body been torn apart? How many times has your fingers been bitten off? How many days since this began?

When did he decide that you were his?

He was such an odd character. A bright spectacle with human normalcy that stood out amongst the murk and darkness. But it was nothing but a colorful façade, that of a peacock showing its feathers. He was just as ugly as the rest of them. His mind just as fucked.

“Sing for me.” He’d purr, face so close to yours you could feel the wind of his breath. It was neither hot nor cold. Didn’t even have a smell. He wasn’t human was he? Not any more.

How long has it been since you were stuck in this realm? His realm? You never woke up by the campsite anymore. Only here in this tiny back room of the Crotus Prenn Asylum. You figure out this was the only place that would allow him. You weren’t aware that these monsters would be able to harm each other until he came hobbling back, covered in blood with the rabbit woman’s axe deeply embedded into his shoulder. He coexisted with the clown and the floating woman dressed in old time nursing clothes. You wondered if she pitied you by the way she lingered for a moment or two. She never stayed long, especially not when he was around. You supposed even killers had their limits. Or maybe she just didn’t want to see him knuckles deep inside you, forcing you to scream for all that you were worth. You supposed that was more of a mercy on her part.

You knew for a fact he was getting more pleasure out of this than you ever could. By the way his mouth hung open, drool pooling at the corner of his mouth and eyes heavy lidded mumbling something in Korean far to fast for you to understand. His finger nails digging into all the fresh cuts he made on your skin, forcing more blood to rivet down your arms and legs. You never screamed anymore, just let small grunts and gasps escape you as he sunk deeper into your warmth over and over again. You were hesitant to make anymore noises than that, lest he get the newfound inspiration to produce more of his "music" with you being his muse and starlet.

You missed your compatriots at the campfire. You wondered briefly if they missed you, but your curiosity began to fade as Ji-woon (as you come to find out when he screamed at you to moan his name, his real name, during one of your earlier rendezvous) lifted your hips to slam them back against his. You vision blurred as a knot tightened deep within you when he dragged against that special spot. Maybe you were becoming sick just like the rest, but who were you to deny the one pleasurable thing in this personal hell. It was just you and him now, and death couldn't do you two part.

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