Gentle Worship
If your taking requests at the time you get around to seeing this can we get some flirty Keegan? My man needs more love and I'm starving for more stuff with him. Maybe some downtime just cuddling and flirting and being relaxed with his s/o at home. Or perhaps some jealous Keegan, a night out and he doesn't like the way someone keeps eyeing his s/o. Your choice. ❤️
Gentle Worship
Pairing: Keegan P. Russ x F!Reader
Synopsis: The days when Keegan was home were rare, but always cherished.
Word Count: 5.03k
Warning: Slightly suggestive, pure fluff
A/N: Since these two requests were pretty much the same I combined them, hope you two don't mind. (I'll just tag you, @angsty-microwave, so you'll know right away that I posted this). This is the fluffiest thing I've ever written...Enjoy!
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
His arm was wrapped around your waist, tight and gripping you like you would disappear if he let go. The sweeping sensation of his hand was spread over the skin of your abdomen, nestled under your large shirt, and a calloused thumb moves gently back and forth over any available flesh. Just above the swell of your opposite hip, which digs heavily into the mattress, fingers tighten as you shuffle slightly.
It was early – perhaps too early to be awake – but Keegan was nothing if not as constant as the morning birds who sing their songs outside the window every day. Cascading light was just beginning to crest into the shared apartment, rendering your sheer shades useless.
The only upside to that cheap purchase was that it helped get you out of bed in the morning, even if it was only to find a blanket to throw over the curtain wrack.
Your boyfriend’s bare chest expands over your back and a silent sigh rustles the strands of your hair. A nose is pressed into your neck, a soft nuzzle leaving the flesh of your lips twitching into a sleepy smile. It was rare you woke up with him still home, but quickly remembered this was his scheduled day of leave.
“I know you’re awake,” Keegan’s voice blesses your ears, deep and layered with gravel. You wondered if he got any sleep last night; when you went to bed he wasn’t back from work yet.
The man fixes his grip on you and pulls, and, unbelievably, you end up closer to him. The Ghost presses your form deeply into his body like you were a teddy bear and not a grown woman before he continues. You go willingly, of course, the sheets rippling like water around the two of you as you slide. There was no better space heater than Keegan, and when he touched you, your skin turned to malleable clay.
Smiling, your eyelids keep stubbornly closed as a kiss is pressed into the fabric of his t-shirt you had stolen, just by your shoulder blade.
“How?” Your voice whispers, lips forming a smirk. How had he known you were awake? The answer was incredibly simple – you already knew it, in fact. But it was better when you heard it from him.
Keegan grunts, legs intertwined with yours. Sluggish, his free hand goes to circle around under your neck, leeching onto your throat as you sleepily make a noise at the action – not surprised but more annoyed at the jostling of your head. He doesn’t apply pressure, simply grips you and curls his fingers to find that specific place.
“Pulse,” He says, squeezing for a moment and feeling your heart rate spike before his hand drops like lead. Your face heats, lungs tighten.
Stifling a small giggle, you bring your limp hand up and grab at Keegan’s digits. You intertwine your fingers with his and pull, flipping his hand over and bending his wrist to an angle so you can lay a quick kiss to the burn scar along his knuckles.
He had gotten it shielding Ajax, another Ghost, from debris flying off a grenade blast a long time ago. The damage extended down his arm and ended at his elbow – he always said it was ugly, and from then on you had never gone a day without kissing it. Every part of him was damaged, but you had never seen someone as beautiful as Keegan.
The Ghost shivers at the feeling of your lips, and his breath stills in reverence as you lay another.
To think he knew you so well he could tell when you had awoken by a small uptick in your veins; hear your heart pulse back to consciousness with his ear pressed to your neck, curled around you so tight you didn’t need a blanket for warmth.
The man thinks to himself that even if you were a thousand miles away he would always know how you were just because of how much he cared for you. Like some fucked up sixth sense.
When Keegan was out in the field he often looked at his watch and knew exactly what you were up to – at seven you woke up, made the bed, and entered the kitchen at seven fifteen still in your pajamas. From then on you made breakfast, took a shower, and so on. He could be in a gunbattle with Federation soldiers and his mind would blank when he spies his timepiece.
She’s going on a walk right about now, The Ghost would blink, balaclava bunched over his nose and chin; he would snap back not a mere second later as if he was never distracted.
If anything those moments grounded him – reminded him of what he was going back to when the sting of gunpowder made his eyes burn and his blood thumped with adrenaline. They should have distracted him, made him sloppy, but the thought of you waiting for him turned his focus to razor-sharp. He’s never going to leave you waiting for him for too long, hoping beyond hope that he’s not dead somewhere.
“Welcome home, Kee,” You whisper against the skin of his wrist, and the man seems to remember to breathe as his heart skips a beat in his ribcage, “I’m glad you’re back.”
Keegan hums, expression softening, and the grip on your hip moves back. His callouses leave goosebumps in their wake, scratching your skin so perfectly as they start a journey to the opposite side of your waist. Traveling, the limb tenses to roll you onto your back with practiced ease. Keegan moves slightly, and you half-open your eyes with a grunt of surprise only to be graced with the blurry view of his toned chest, ivory scars you love just as much as the rest of him on full display. Grey sweats sit loosely around his tapered waist, the string united and tickling your navel as Keegan shifts his weight to be above you, knees pushing your legs open. Slumping forward, his hands land right by your head, crimpling the pillow below you and bringing your adoring attention to his eyes.
Gun metal blue, with flecks of pure iron near the center – usually hard and cold, they stay half-lidded and weighed down by the early morning; silken in a way only you knew.
You loved his eyes, how they gave you so much so willingly. It was a feat that others could dream about but never attain as you had.
Keegan’s black hair is ruffled, the longer bits sticking out in a way that reminded you of a black cat who had just gotten into a fight in the back alley. The rising sun caresses his sharp cheeks and makes playful shadows.
Gawking at him would be an understatement, but it wasn’t like the man wasn’t doing it back to you.
Your body was sagging with fatigue, eyes red at the corners and watery. The shirt that once belonged to Keegan was now claimed as your own, baggy and swamping the sleep shorts you wear as if they weren't even on you. But that wasn’t really a surprise anyways – the shorts were barely sizable enough to be considered attire.
Keegan wouldn’t have it any other way.
His eyes travel the expanse of your visible throat, how it bobs as you swallow, tongue clicking; going down he grunts lowly as his gaze lands on your bare thighs and the way they spread nicely around his fitted body and allowed him to grip you where he saw fit.
You were so small compared to him…different. Soft and good. There were times the man was confused as to how this relationship even worked as well as it did because of how starkly contrasted your worlds were. Keegan, when he was away, was silent – so silent people could go days without comment from him unless it was necessary to the mission, so how you got him talking to you at that bar was an utter mystery.
She’s good, Keegan thinks to himself as he spaces out above you, hands near your head tightening into the pillowcase, Didn’t even realize it was too late ‘til she had me in bed with her.
Just as your body started to squirm with anticipation from how Keegan was admiring you with eyes that bleed lust, his weight suddenly drops on top of you without any warning. Going to press his lower body between your legs, your sleep shorts bunch at the skin of his waist; his arms snake under your shirt - groping at any skin available. You yelp as your eyes bulge but don’t say a word as the Ghost situates himself as a gigantic dog would. A quiet moment passes where you hear the birds outside the window, chirping away and calling to their mates, but then your chest jerks in raspy, delayed, laughter; face wrinkling as warmth floods around your all-encompassed body.
You were all but disappearing under him like you were never there.
Keegan smirks from where his head is pressed into the crook of your neck, muttering, “Good to be back…Missed ya.’”
“Hm,” You make the sound in the back of your throat, raising a hand to card your fingers through his hair, “Well, you better have. I made brownies yesterday.”
Itching at his scalp, the man releases a sound akin to a purr, and the grip on you tightens, shoving you down even further into the mattress. By now the sheets had been pressed to the far end of the bed, thrown into a pile you would have Keegan straighten out when he made the bed later. You continue your action on his head as the weighted blanket above you presses light kisses to your sleep-warm skin.
Keegan pours himself into the action – knowing how to tell you everything without uttering a word.
It wasn’t long before your eyes started fluttering again, a delicate sigh falling from your lips as Keegan’s nose slides up your pulse point to your sensitive ear.
“Go back to sleep,” He says, voice so smooth it travels over you like rain and leaves you shivering, “It’s too early for you to be up yet.”
“M’kay,” You mutter, knocking your head to the side so it lightly connects with his scalp, the strands itching your cheek. He chuckles from over you, and you feel it more than hear it, but nonetheless, it leaves a warm fire in your veins as your breath evens; your lungs suck in careful breaths.
You don’t notice, but your hand stays pressing Keegan’s head into you, latched onto the ebony of his hair strands like a lifeline. His hands around your waist squeeze once before they fall stationary – pointedly staying still as his heart beats opposite yours.
And then a slow, steady, silence.
The birds chirp and the sun rises, but in the bedroom, two lovers fall into a gentle slumber that only they could achieve in each other's presence. A strange phenomenon, really, to find a man like Keegan so eager to disappear into a dream – he rarely had nice ones. But, one could suppose that when he was with you the bad dreams never plagued him as they did in No Man’s Land during extended Ops.
Because he never uttered a peep as he, in a pure sleep, nuzzled his head deeper into your neck instinctually.
—
The sun is noticeably more visible, no longer a deep red but rather a goldish-orange that makes it look like the curtains are on fire. There are shadows of flying birds passing by behind the glass, whizzing about to catch insects mid-air before zipping back to their nests; no doubt feeding hungry children.
Groaning your fingers twitch under the cream-colored comforter pulled up to your chin, and your eyes blink open. There’s a moment where you wonder where the weight on your chest has gone before you realize the absence was much more than a force.
Where did Keegan go?
His weight was absent from over you, his defined muscles not heavy on your skin just the way you like. The disappearance of those rough hands carding over your body made you huff, nose scrunching in annoyance. Already you knew he wasn’t in the bedroom or the Master Bath.
Keegan was always silent when he went about, but when he was home you always found him making more noise so he wouldn’t scare you – walking more heavily, closing the cabinets so they made a small thump, even whistling when coming into a room you were in. There were too many broken mugs in the garbage admittingly but, now, the numbers had all but halted.
Sitting up, you rub at your eyes before yawning, stretching your arms above your head, and arching your back before feeling the chill of the air invade your now-shed cocoon. Goosebumps rise as you shift your body and throw your legs out, bare feet dancing just above the wooden floors. Before you were about to graze your toes a grating sound from the kitchen stalls you; freezing your body as it leans forward, hands by your hips.
With twitching ears, you look at the slightly ajar door, eyes wide as your head tilts.
“Keegan?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing.
“Kitchen!” Your boyfriend calls back, and the scraping of a cast-iron pan makes itself known to you.
Smiling, you look down at the cold floor and come up with an idea to keep as much body heat as possible while also making it to your Lover in record time. Throwing off the remainder of the covers you bolt to the door like a deer, pushing it to the side and squealing as the chill begins to enter your bones. Bouncing, you dash down the hallway laughing with a wide smile before entering the joint living room and kitchen.
You see Keegan’s bare broad back at the stove, defined build falling to a tapered waist that begs for your legs to be wrapped around it. He still wears those gray sweats, only held up by the swell of his hips. Keegan’s head tilts to the side, listening to your glee as his hand lowers the spatula to rest on the counter.
What’s she up to this time? He wonders, face blank but eyes crinkling at the sound of your echoing laughter. Keegan loved your laugh – loved it even more when he realized it was only for him to keep.
Taking a step back from the eggs he’s cooking, the man is just about to turn around to see what’s going on, and why you’re running feet are pounding over the floor, but you’re already upon him.
Thumping up the two stairs that separate the kitchen and living room, you dodge the island counter with nimble feet and launch yourself at Keegan’s back.
Grappling like a koala, the Ghost below you grunts in surprise as your arms wrap around his neck; legs over his waist and locking. Reeling back away from the heated stove top so no one gets burned, Keegan’s hands snap back to your scalp and to your thigh. His eyes widen as he whips his head to the side to stare at you. Shock lives in the deep pools of his iris’.
“What the hell are you–?!”
Your laughter interrupts his loud exclamation and the boar of a man pauses under you, fingers at your thigh squeezing the flesh like you were going to fall off of him; as if your legs weren’t clasped around him for dear life. Keegan keeps eye contact, raising a brow in mute exasperation.
“You mind tellin’ me why you thought that was a good idea, Doll? One mistake and you would’ve sent me right into the stove.”
You press your face into the back of his skull, cheeks heating with sheepishness as you nuzzle the strands of his hair, “...The floors were cold…”
A moment of silence ensues, the sizzling of the eggs in the pan the only sound bouncing off the walls. The nothingness trickles before a jerking motion of the body you hold makes you bounce up and down, hands along your form tightening.
Keegan chuckles velvet-like, eyes crinkling at the edges as a small smile stretches his lips. You, in turn, giggle quietly into his skin, peeling your head back just a smidge to look him in the eye with a mischievous glint. The man turns his head back to the pan and releases the hand from the back of your head, going to grab the spatula with long fingers. His second stays on your thigh, lightly squeezing when you lean farther into his back.
He shoves down the feelings of delight that your close contact gives him.
“Smells good,” You comment, chin going to rest on Keegan’s shoulder. It was a wonderful thing that your boyfriend was tall – you had a perfect view of everything below you so long as you used him like playground equipment, “I missed you cooking half-naked in the mornings. Gave me a good view and a meal…” Cheekily, you nudge his ear with your nose, “Sometimes both at the same time.”
You hear the man huff, but the redness that blooms over his ears makes you smirk, half the grip around his neck moving to trail over his Adam's Apple; nails lightly dragging over the scars and burns over his pecks and upper body.
“Careful,” Keegan warns, but the gravel in his voice betrays his enjoyment. As well as the sly tone he takes.
“I am being careful,” You tease, drawing your hand back for stability when Keegan moves to grab the plates from inside the nearby cabinet, “If I was any more careful I’d be you.”
“You’re makin’ it sound like an insult,” He distributes the eggs evenly, sending you a quick glance out of the side of his eye – the makeup of them back to that regular blank slate but still glazed with care – and raised a brow.
You have to choke down the whimper in your throat when he stares at you like that.
“Well, how do I put this,” Looking to the side to hide your burning cheeks, you continue, “You’re the only person who could be you, attractively, Love. I think It would induce a heart attack if anyone else acted like you around me.”
“The hell is that supposed to mean, Civ?”
You laugh as Keegan jostles you, shaking his shoulder so you have to grip him tighter around the neck and waist. He scoffs, but a slight curl to his lips tells you everything you need to know.
The damn bastard likes me hanging off him, You realize, Son of a Bitch.
But you can’t help the way your pulse sings.
Grabbing the filled plates, Keegan moves to the island with you still stuck to his back before striding smoothly to grab forks; carrying you like you weigh nothing to him.
For a man like your boyfriend, you do weigh nothing.
“Off you get,” Keegan mutters, turning around when he gets back to the island so your backside is just above the countertop, “Careful.”
You release your legs from around his waist, flinching lightly at the chill of the granite as your skin connects, and allow the man to turn around with your fingers still locked together behind his neck.
“I think you’ve forgotten something,” You lift a brow in expectation, and watch Keegan tilt his head.
“Forgotten? I don’t forget things, Doll,” He says, but steps closer regardless, placing down the forks on the island with a clink before his large hands go to your waist, pressing heavily into the fabric of your shirt, “You’ve confused me with someone else. Hesh, probably.”
“Hmph,” You roll your eyes, “If I remember correctly you woke up first, so it’s your turn, Kee. And Hesh isn’t that bad at forgetting stuff – he remembers Riley’s birthday well enough.” Smirking, you puff out your chest.
Keegan frowns down at you.
The man’s grip rapidly travels to your back, forcing you right into him with a dig of his fingers and all you can do is gasp in retaliation. You feel his muscles move and writhe with the action, biceps bulging over your side as they shove into your flesh.
“Hm,” Keegan grunts from above, and you feel his chest expand against yours because of it. He leans closer so that his breath hits your lips, and utters sarcastically as his eyes bore into you wide ones, “Alright. But only because my girl asked so nicely.”
Keegan moves his hand to grip your chin tight and angles your head up without hesitation, thick digits brushing your skin before his lips descend and encompass yours.
All of it happened so suddenly that you barely had time to react before he was already groaning into your mouth, guiding your head to the side. Sighing through your nose, your eyes flutter shut as you both move together, and when you dig into the sensitive skin of his neck with your nails you let your teeth graze his plump flesh.
Pulling at his bottom lip, you revel in the sensation of his palms sliding down your spine, going to tighten a hold over the band of your shorts at the small of your back. He opens his mouth for you, allowing your tongue to meet his own. A deep humming in his chest showed his pleasure.
Keegan could never fully describe how kissing you affected him – how it broke down his psyche to the bare essentials that he would use to make you feel good in turn. It was like trying to describe a drug trip, wanting more with a deep ache in his chest.
This really was the best way to wake up.
Grunting and pulling back for air, you pant as your nose twitches. The scent of the eggs was at your side, tempting your empty stomach like a Keegan was testing your willpower. Smirking when the man’s bitten lip comes into your field of view, your boyfriend moves and puts his forehead against yours. His eyes silently urge you to continue what you were doing moments ago, but you pause.
“I’m hungry,” You say simply, eyes sparkling as your heart bounces inside of you; lungs slowly gaining back the air that Keegan had stolen. Ever the overachiever, he doesn’t even look partially winded.
The Ghost’s expression shifts, eyebrows turning in at your comment. He mutters, “I can take care of–”
A finger snaps to his mouth, and you press until the skin bulges out at the sides. Chuckling, you catch Keegan’s fake pouting and less-than-amused expression and use your free hand to ruffle his hair. He scoffs, pulling his head away from your attacking grip.
“For eggs, Keegan Russ.” The man groans quietly, backing up a step, “You perv.”
Your arms immediately gravitate to one of the forks and a plate, legs still handing off the counter limply.
“Tease,” Your boyfriend mutters before squeezing your thigh and going to grab the milk from the fridge. Smiling, you watch his back as he saunters away, chewing the food he had made for the both of you.
—
“Love?” You call from the living room, digging around in the drawer, fingers sliding over the old vinyl records, muttering the names under your breath before pausing, “Where’s My Way?”
“Frank Sinatra?” The man asks from the office where he was finishing up some reports from Elias.
Usually, you would be annoyed by the Ghost leader for giving your boyfriend more work to do on his day off, but seeing as it was only a single file this time, you could stave off the fiery phone call to the Captain.
It’s a good thing Elias’ nice, You think with a furrowed brow, Otherwise, I’d have no problem yelling at him.
“...Third drawer to the right, fifth down just under Louis Armstrong.”
“Thanks!” Following Keegan’s instructions, your dig around and, sure enough, after passing What a Wonderful World you find the blue sleeve depicting Frank Sinatra’s face and smirk, “There you are, lovely,” Muttering, you close the drawer and carefully peel the vinyl out of the protective layering and walk over to the record player sitting on one of the side tables near the couch.
Dropping the sleeve on the coffee table, you set everything up just right and place the needle in the groove carefully, making sure not to scratch it. Soon enough the catchy song is wafting out into the air, leaving you nodding your head along to the late ’60s tune. Humming, and feeling quite content, you turn to go and grab a book and wait for Keegan to be done with his work; your comfy pants and sweatshirt hugging you warmly along the way.
“Thought you hated Sinatra?” Yelping, your heart stutters as your head snaps to the hallway opening, “Called him overrated, if I’m not mistaken.”
Leaning against the wall, Keegan watches you closely, a black tank top on but still sporting those gray sweatpants. It was like he knew that you loved the way he looked in them.
“You need a bell, Kee,” You force out a quick breath, frowning over at the man, “You know that? And I did not say I didn’t like Sinatra – that was The Beach Boys.”
Keegan rolls his eyes but stays where he is, arms crossed as you still hum to the song under your breath. He looks at your clothes, freshly washed hair, and the way the light covers you like a shroud. You looked so simple like that…domestic…he calls the word forward to his mind.
It was one he never thought he would use to describe a situation he was in – not even when before ODIN was fired over the Western United States. Domestic. Try as he could, being like that with you was far better than anything he had ever experienced.
You brought him comfort that he would kill to keep.
Suddenly, Keegan pushes off the wall just as you start to head over to the bookshelf. You had simply expected him to leave and go back to his office; finish those reports so the afternoon could be free.
“Keegan?” You ask as he continues to stalk forward, your legs halting in turn, “What are you doing?”
He stops right in front of you as the song meets the high point and his silent feet pause ahead of you. Looking at him strangely, you tilt your head and smile, slightly confused.
He has to finish work…why is he…
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Amusingly creasing your brow, you watch as Keegan tilts his head. He holds out a hand to you, beginning to smirk at the question.
Wasn’t it obvious?
His eyes were burning again, littered with wells of silver and iron that gleam like stars when the warm light hits them. You’re reminded of a story you were told as a child about an immortal prince of starlight, who waited through every century to find the reincarnated woman he loved – the lady only able to remember their lives together when she looked into his eyes.
Now, Keegan was no prince. He was far too covered in blood and gore to ever be considered one…but at that moment you swear he came close to one.
“Dance with me, Doll.” Your expression freezes, breath stilling, before a heavy heat blooms all over your face and neck; ears burning. Watching your boyfriend with soft wonder, your heart beats out of order.
Dance? You can’t help the giddy look on your face, ears twitching, He wasn’t to dance with me?
The music in the background swells as you place your hand in his, feeling his rough callouses and sucking in a breath when he squeezes your limb so gently – like you were made of glass.
Your hands go around Keegan’s shoulders, fingers itching the back of his neck as his own circle your waist. Both of your chests brush, and you wonder if he can feel how fast your heart is beating. Humming My Way under your breath, you begin to sway back and forth softly as your boyfriend stares down at you. A smile graces his lips, pulling back to show pristine white teeth.
Those true smiles were only promised to you, and you would have it no other way.
“You’re a real softy, Mr. Russ,” You whisper, setting your head into the crook of his neck and sighing, “What would you do if your friends saw you like this? Slow Dancing? Talking all the time instead of grunting out orders?”
“I’d have to off ‘em,” He grunts, ironically, with his breath rustling your hair, “Can’t ruin my reputation now. Worked too hard for it.”
Pressing a kiss to your head, you feel Keegan’s chest begin to rumble, causing you to let your body lose all tension and tautness. Closing your eyes, you let him guide your movements with his own and listen to the sound of him humming to you. The music was lost to the two of you, only absorbed in each other – the feeling of skin and beating pulses.
These moments were rare, but so, so, worshiped. You knew Keegan’s job was dangerous, but, hell, the world was dangerous now. All you could ask was that he came home – not that he would come home uninjured because he almost always would. Your boyfriend was selfless, giving so much and never asking for anything. Worthy of all the love in the world.
And you would give that to him – freely. Because you know he loved you in turn.
You were both the receivers of a gentle type of worship; a blessing that can only be given to a kind of bond that would never be broken despite the limitations of death.
And as Keegan lays his hand under your chin and brings your lips into a kiss, you knew that even long after you were both dead and gone the very bones that live in you would always yearn to be by his.
Keegan was your future, and, so too, were you his; he would always return home just for you.
For this.
For a gentle, unselfish, worship.
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expedition 33 is a game about what would happen if you died and your family went insane fighting over your minecraft world you made when you were 12
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Alejandro Vargas x fem!reader
Warnings: pure fluff, mention of injuries, probably very wrong medical information, prescribed drug use, some cursing.
Summary: whenever you get ketamine as pain relief, you lose all thought-to-speech filter.
On AO3
A/N: I just watched an episode of one of those shows about air ambulances from the UK where they gave a guy ketamine, and he was high as a kite and kept telling the doctor (who was like 20 years older) "you're my kind of bird 🥺♥️". You really can get inspiration from anywhere, huh.
•~•~•~•~•
It had been one of those missions that went to shit really quick but somehow the Ghost team got the upper hand in the end. The intel was found, the hostage was rescued, and most of the team got away with minimal injuries.
Unfortunately for you, you were the exception to the last one.
The bullet and the stab wound you had received left you at a risk of bleeding out. One of the Vaqueros - Fernando, you learned - had enough medical training to treat you on site, but you really needed the MedEvac stat. The stim shot you had given yourself during the heat of the battle had long since worn off, and you were administered a strong dose of ketamine to keep your blood pressure from spiking any further and help with the pain once you all made it to the safe house.
However, one funny secondary effect you always got when you were given that drug, was that you lost all filters with your musings. They were never inappropriate per se, just plain weird. In a few words, you were high off your tits.
"...Mars is the only planet in the universe to be entirely inhabited by robots…" you mumbled to no one in particular as you stared straight at the roof over your head, past the top of Fernando's head who was still stitching a scratch on your forehead - only God knows how you got that one. Fernando just blinked at you and shook his head, focusing on his task, while Soap, who wasn't that far from you, was having a really hard time trying not to laugh at your stoner talk.
The utter (non?)sense that came out of your mouth was indeed amusing to whoever was listening closely, mostly Soap and Ghost, who, like the rest of 141, were already used to your reaction to ketamine from previous experiences, and would sometimes even prompt more unhinged thoughts from you. Price tried not to pay too much attention to whatever you said - he knew that as long as you were somewhat coherent and cohesive with your words, they could rule out any brain damage. Whenever Gaz heard your comments, it actually made him think about what you said, always coming to the conclusion that you were actually onto something.
Fernando finally finished with your care and left to check some of the others, while you kept staring at the ceiling of the safehouse, completely lost in your thoughts again. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you weren't sure if it was because of the drug or the blood loss. You were trying really hard to stay awake, but now that your body wasn't burning with pain and the adrenaline had worn off, all the exhaustion from the previous days caught up with you.
You looked over at Ghost, who was now speaking to Alejandro, and couldn't help but sigh dreamily at the leader of the Vaqueros - your inhibitions had really flown out of the window when the ketamine hit. They both glanced at you and you blinked twice, each time your eyelids got heavier.
"LT, 'm sleepy," you groaned, not noticing that you were pouting at both your Lieutenant and the Colonel like a grumpy toddler that needed a nap.
Alejandro somehow maintained a passive stare at you - inwardly though, he was already cradling you in his arms and cooing sweet nothings at you until you fell asleep.
Ghost simply stared at your lying form, and walked closer to you, crouching down to take a better look at your bandages.
"...Well, since you aren't actively bleeding out, I suppose you can take a nap," Ghost huffed but quickly held a finger to your face before you could take him up on it, "but someone will wake you up every 30 minutes just to make sure you still live, copy?"
"Copy, LT, loud and cle-" you interrupted yourself and just stared straight at his skull mask. Ghost frowned, wondering if he should feel concerned.
"...Are you-"
"A cheeseburger," you interrupted him, your eyes wide like sauce plates, "is a dead cow covered with its lactation." As soon as you finished your sentence, your head lolled to the side and you were knocked out cold, a soft snore leaving your barely open lips.
"Bloody fucking hell, kid," Ghost sighed, shaking his head in defeat as Soap wheezed not far away from you.
Alejandro could only stare at you, his hand clutched to his chest. "...Ay, ternura…"
•~•~•~•~•
Thirty minutes had passed when Alejandro decided to check on you. Activity had lulled to a stop and most of the people were catching on some sleep, except for those keeping guard.
He could've gotten some shut-eye too, but he was the kind of leader who wouldn't completely rest until it was totally safe to do so for the whole team.
As he approached you, he noticed you were already awake and staring at the ceiling. He smiled softly, wondering if you were getting lost in your silly little thoughts again, and sat down next to you, watching your eyes focus on him this time.
"What's in your head, preciosa?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper so as to not wake the others.
"...Are you looking for a wife?" You whispered back at him after a few moments.
He blinked twice before leaning a little closer, wondering if he had heard you right, and if you could hear the way his heart rate picked up. "... Perdón?"
"Are you looking for a wife, Alejandro?" You repeated, dead serious.
He cleared his throat to get rid of the knot that formed there, before grinning at you. "...why? Are you offering?"
"... Yes," you nodded, offering him a little grin of your own, "where should I turn my résumé?"
He chuckled softly and reached down, fixing a stray lock from your forehead and tucked it behind your ear, "ask me again when you're sober and I might tell you, tesoro."
"Oh, the ketamine wore off," you sighed, slightly leaning into his fingers, "the pain woke me up, my whole body burns, actually."
His grin dropped and he frowned at you in concern, you looked awfully calm to be in that much pain. "...Want me to ask Fernando to give you some more?"
You shook your head, offering him a smile, but this time he noticed the sweat on your forehead and the frown in your brow as you tried not to move too much, "nah, I want to be sober to hear your answer. So? How do I apply?"
This time Alejandro could barely check the volume of his chuckle as he leaned even closer to you, his knuckles brushing your cheek, "If you're available, the position is all yours, preciosa."
This time you offered him a toothy smile, a flush staining your cheeks and all signs of pain gone from your features, "I make a mean huevo ranchero, you won't regret it."
"You could make me only tostadas for the rest of your life and I'd still look forward to them," he cooed, before signaling Fernando over to you, "now, let's get you comfortable for the trip, si?"
Just as he spoke, the rumble of the heli echoed in the distance, and little by little the teams woke up from their slumber. You got another shot of ketamine and were prepared for the journey, and it wasn't long until you started sharing your wisdom again with whoever could hear, much to Alejandro's delight, Soap's amusement, and Ghost's chagrin.
"If you think about it, the Miss Universe pageant should be called Miss Planet Earth, because no aliens participate in it… that we know of…"
A/N2: *quietly tags @ragingbookdragon here* 🤫♥️
I'm imagining how Logan letting you see his claws up close for the first time would go and like not to be too tmi, but I do think Logan's claw slits would be soooo sensitive.
I could imagine him not really holding hands with you or letting you get too close to his hands in general until the two of you have progressed past something superficial.
The first time he lets you even get near his hands is when the two of you are lying in his bed. Your back pressed to his chest and his chin resting atop your head.
You've got one of his hands held by both of yours, running your fingers over his blue veins and tracing the divets and scars of his skin.
"How'd you get this one?" You ask, running your thumb over the rough line of skin, tilting your head up against his chin some.
His other hand momentarily stops its path where he'd been smoothing it down the soft of your arm.
"Think I was cutting up an apple," he jokes.
The two of you burst into a fit of giggles and he presses a kiss to the side of your temple, moving to speak before he's suddenly caught off with a moan so low you almost weren't sure what it was at first.
Logan doesn't even seem as though he's noticed as his brows remain furrowed and his body relaxed beneath you.
"What was that?" You turn to him, brows arched. You know he can already read the scheming expression written over your features.
Wordlessly, he pops his neck as he moves his hand upwards towards your face, pulling your hands along with it.
Balling his hand into a fist, he turns his knuckles towards you.
Your eyes catch on three small slits between each of his digits, only about half and inch or so long.
Cautiously, you run the tip of your finger down the length of one, earning a shiver from the man beneath you.
"Does it hurt?" You say quietly, nearly a whisper. Almost as if speaking too loud would startle the riveting atmosphere of the room.
You feel him shake his head 'no' behind you before he says gently, "feels good."
You give a slow nod at that, eyes glued to his knuckles.
"Can I touch them again?" You ask after a quiet moment passes.
Logan hums from behind you, "Go ahead."
You're careful in the amount of pressure you apply as you gently stroke the tips of your finger down each slit, relishing in the soft hums earned by the man behind you.
You can feel Logan's eyes watching you – as if equally enthralled with your newfound fascination of his mutation.
He lets you enjoy the delicate nature of it. A man so brutally threatening and deemed almost wild for the majority of his life subdued by something so seemingly trivial about the very thing that labeled him dangerous in the first place.
It's sweet to him.
"D'like it?" Your voice pulls him from his haze.
He seems to mull over his response, unfurling his hand to flex all five fingers in a spread palm.
"S'okay," he offers before unsheathing his claws, letting you look them over.
The lights from his room add a sparkle to their sharp tips, and for a moment, he finds his loathed despotion for them to be almost futile.
"They're pretty." You comment, meeting his hazel eyes in the metallic reflection of them.
He scoffs, "That's just cus' you're lookin' at yourself in 'em."
You feel him reach towards his beer on the nightstand. "I mean it." You click your tongue.
It's a sensitive topic for him, you know that.
Logan takes a swig of his beer, taking another look at his claws. He turns his hand back and forth before retracting them with a 'Shing!'
"Well, in that case," he flicks your temple with a chuckle, "Thank you."
"Can I see them again?" You pull his hand back into your own.
With a sigh, Logan unsheathes his claws for you again.
He takes another swig of his beer, mumbling "Brat."
— [ 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 .ᐟ ]
![— [ 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 .ᐟ ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5928b59de2008ba9aea480b64c7b15c7/80766e4c10093ae9-b5/s500x750/af9315f1305a8769ac6c1f5e7361bdfee5fc32c4.gif)
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: g5 luffy × gn!reader 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: 1717 wc, spoilers for wano... kinda? sfw, fluff, all fluff. a lil' goofy, plot is kinda w a c k y, kaido almost kills you but not in the way you think — and i can't he just looks so silly 'n lovely. i wanna hug him so bad 'n swing him around like a whip. look at him, LOOK. and dripping divider by @ benkeibear !! 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: as the fight continues, you can't help but worry for luffy. you decide to reach him... and you realize it was stupid of you to think he'd be in trouble.
![— [ 𝐑𝐄𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄 .ᐟ ]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/15b3c9c0861cbf752f14a66f0409cea0/80766e4c10093ae9-30/s500x750/5ffe36b93a469f79c750f404f654c8a7385abafb.gif)
"Luffy!"
Specks of dust littered everywhere. Debris replaced what were once massive boulders, crumbling beneath the force of one of the Emperors of the Sea and the man who would one day become the King of Pirates; your captain.
Your eyes widened at just how battered the top of Onigashima was. You shouldn't expect any less from them, but it still baffled you. They were so unbelievably strong. So strong you couldn't help but be worried.
You believed in Luffy, of course, you did. But when fighting such monsters... even he could have a hard time. So you made it your job to reach the top floor and get to him, the same medicine Zoro was infused with resting in your hands (you stole it) — it was no easy task and probably the dumbest thing you could ever think of, but somehow, you managed to do it. Surprise overtook you before as guards were taken out by a surge of haki coming from above; one that managed to shake you too. It was tremendous. You felt a little light-headed from it, but thankfully you handled it well.
As tremendous as it was, you could tell who it was from. It wasn't from Kaido, no. Some of the shockwaves you felt before had violence, brutality, and bloodthirsty intent oozing from them. This one, however, was very different; almost... warm.
Then, you reached the top. And here you are.
Other than the landscape, the air around you was rather chilly. Distinct from inside, another dimension altogether. Too cold, somehow refreshing. A shudder traveled down your spine, goosebumps all over your skin. The moon above was lustrous, the sky limpid and not as bleak as before. You felt at peace.
Which was weird considering...
"OOOOH!"
There was a dragon coming right towards you.
"... H—huh?"
Jaw slackened, eyes widening — your expression morphed from concerned to straight-up comical in less than a second. There was Kaido, in all of his glory, flying in your direction at probably a thousand kilometres per second and you remained still, not even running because whether you did sprint away from him or not the outcome was still the same. Death.
That one time you do something dumb you regret it. How could you possibly dodge that gargantuan lizard? You were an ant compared to him — wait, were you dreaming or he looked as shocked as you? — you were done for.
"AAAAAAAH!!"
Screams tore from both of your lungs in unison. Then, the ground beneath you turned... malleable, making you lose your balance and fall — the long blue dragon right above you crashing in a nearby pillar, pebbles and rocks scattering like fireworks. You, on the other hand, were sent in the air thanks to the elastic pavement.
Boing, boing, boing.
Perhaps luck was on your side... strangely enough. The floor felt oddly comfortable; soft yet stiff, the texture not at all feeling like dirt and rocks. Groaning, you pushed yourself up, shaking your pulsing head, the ache faintly going away.
"Heeeeey!"
Then, a call; one that made you snap your neck with how swiftly you looked up. Not just a sound. It's him.
Your pupils dilated at the sight — he was so... different. And yet, it was still him.
"Oh? Oooh? Is that you? It's you! It's you!"
How sweet his voice,
"It's youu~ it, is, you!"
how warm his presence,
"Look at me, look at me! Heeeey! Look at me!"
how lovely he himself.
"Ah..."
"Shishishi! You're looking!"
Your heart might've stopped at that moment. Did he know? He seemed to know. Grinning, laughing, ah, he's coming closer and closer. Luffy, Luffy...
The little mantra in your head replayed in your mouth, his name slipping out unconsciously — the corners of his lips curving up; broad, glowing, and so so familiar, so comforting. His hair seemed velvetlike to the touch... Perhaps it resembled rubber? No, marshmallows. He was a big marshmallow right now. Was he even real?
"Yeah! That's me! It's me!" twirling, bouncing, flailing around; he did not stop at all. Oh, no, he didn't — not until he saw you laugh. Not until he heard that precious sound. He had to do it now that you were here. You were worried, weren't you? He could tell. That slight inclination of your brows — He had to ease you!
There was nothing to worry about.
... If only he knew you were just analysing him with extreme concentration.
"See? See?"
He spread wider and wider, his arms suddenly changing course and going straight towards you — at the speed of light. He's so, so energetic for no reason. But he always was, wasn't he? And you've always loved it.
"Luffy..."
You wanted to ask what happened to him. How he felt, how he was, what he was, what was going on. But nothing left your lips, other than a breathless, inaudible mumble of his name. It made him laugh, and with that same buoyant tone, he shouted yours. You could not help but melt further.
"Yeah! It's me, it's me!"
It's him. Luffy. The tottery wobble of your knees quickly became a full-on quake, you couldn't move, you just couldn't. He seemed to — no, he knew. Your brief struggle, your sudden hypnosis.
At that moment, something, in the back of his mind, called to him,
"Come to me. Please come to me."
And it oddly resembled your voice. It came from his heart. Instinct, perhaps — plain as that. Who was he to not follow it, he who always did? It was alright. You didn't have to move at all. He'll come to you.
"I'm coming there! I'm right there!"
His hands finally grasped your shoulders after he yelled. So precious, so... silly. Yes, it's him. He hurled himself like a rocket, just to briskly stop right before you, his face now smashed against yours. His appearance was so different... so adorable. He will always, and inevitably, be him,
"Luffy."
"Shishishi! Hey! Hello!"
Not even Heaven could compare to him. Nothing could compare to him.
The biggest grin on the planet — his cheeks, faintly pink and so warm under your palms, were crinkled as he showed all the rows of his teeth. Dazzling, rotund vermilion eyes met yours, twinkling moreso at the sight of you. You looked so pretty right now. Did you know? He always thought you looked pretty. But you had something different now, something he couldn't describe with words. Though his tongue wouldn't collaborate, he could tell it was positive. You... you're—
"You look weird!" ironic how he spurted out those words when he's the one that metamorphosed. Even his clothes... once a vibrant red, now a blinding white.
"Ah... it's just — you're..."
"Me?"
Luffy tilted his head, his grin remaining. "You're wonderful, lovely, ethereal," is what you wanted to say if only your voice hadn't failed you, stuck in your throat, struggling to be liberated. A few moments passed, your mouth agape and your captain happily waiting. Then,
"You're..." something came out, "so, so... beautiful, Luffy. I can't... you know?"
Ah, there it is.
See, he knew! And so, he laughed. And laughed, and laughed, and laughed; boisterous, contagious laughter that never, ever ends, the one you could hear every time you were down, for he would always bolt there where you sat, no matter what. A constant reminder that you were never alone. He will always be with you.
"Hehehe. I do!" chuckles and giggles seeped from his sentences, rending them clipped and broken. So warm, so warm — your chest mimicked his soon enough, sweet laughter bubbling from your throat too, lighting him up. If a fire was in his heart, now there was a whole festival. Your voice was so, so..! You know?
"You, pff, you do?"
"Yeah! Hahaha, I do! I do!"
If anyone were to see you both, they'd probably think you were out of your minds. You could picture it, your friends scolding you both, just to laugh after too. It was, so normal, so simple, yet it made you smile even more, and that caused him to do so too.
And then, then, he couldn't help himself; please forgive him, okay? He really couldn't help it! Those limbs that stretched so far to grab you, were now enveloping you both like a cute little present — hehe, a cute little present! — getting tighter and tighter, but not too much, just perfectly. Torso heaving up and down, his curious, rough yet tender hands coming to rest on your cheeks, his chortles fortissimo as he poked, pressed, squished them; nimble fingers pinching and pulling the skin, making you giggle even more. It did nothing to ease the heat within you, oh no it didn't. There was only more. More, more and more.
Was he greedy? (He was,) Look at you — you were so happy! You're enjoying it! You're laughing! He wanted to see you happy, always. The crew, his friends, you, you...
Maybe he was a little greedy (so greedy.) But for you, he'd gladly be.
"Oh, Lulu... Luffy!"
"Yeah!! Yes! Heheeheh!"
You both managed to pepper each other with some kisses — his giggles so cute and mellow — before the reality of the situation struck you both. The enemy's sluggish roar rang in both of your ears,
"Oi, Strawhat! What the hell are you doing, getting all kissy-kissy with your partner? I thought we were fighting!"
Right. Your captain was supposed to free this country. You both forgot.
"Oh, right! Kaido!" he perked up, untangling himself from you and shifting his attention to the enormous blue reptile, "Sorry, I got distracted. It'll take no time, just watch!" he tenaciously said, though a noticeable pout was on your lover's face.
"Y—yes, Lu... Go kick his ass." you muttered dreamily, a dumb dopey grin on your face, as you watched your boyfriend building a weird-looking cage with the floor to "protect" you before goofily walking up to Kaido, bouncing around in a frenzy like a spring.
All that was left was the show. And boy... did you have fun watching him beat that overgrown reptile up — your cackles fuelling the Warrior of Liberation. Soon, he'll hear the others, too. Soon, everyone's laughter will echo in this land, free from torment. He'll have a big, delicious banquet with you...
And all will certainly rejoice.
𝖉𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖙 𝖗𝖔𝖘𝖊 | cmj.
choi mujin x fem!reader
warnings: suggestive content; violence; death; slightly toxic relationship; age-gap;
song: desert rose — lolo zouaï
word count: 2k
disclaimer: scene slightly based on that one joker and harley’s scene on suicide squad (yes, the club one)
THE LOW BASS OF THE MUSIC PUMPED THROUGH YOUR VEINS, RACING AGAINST THE THUNDERING SOUND OF YOUR HASTY HEART. The golden dress that ran down your sweaty body, twirled like rain droplets as you took another spin around the pole, your only free hand caressing your flying hair as you did so. More and more people surrounded your small stage as you did another risky move, this one bringing two men to almost faint at the close proximity of your bodies, yet you never once touched them. It wasn't their hands you were interested in, you contemplated after another seductive dance move. A small tear of sweat caressed your forehead, kissing the bridge of your nose as you threw your head back in giddiness, however, you didn’t bother to wipe it. It was only the beginning of the evening at your husband’s club, and you knew that you would be sweating much more by the end of the night.
The crowd began whistling as you lift your leg up, right against the silver pole, yet your eyes only crossed with one single person across the dark-room, neon lights reflecting the sharp features of Mujin as he tentatively licked the same lips that he had used to so easily roll a blunt, to which he offered to the man in front of him, the one he was trying so hard doing business with. Your husband’s net was growing by the day, almost taking over all of South Korea’s darkest corners as it did so, and it came to no surprise to you that he was now trying to breach Japan’s underworld as well. Soon enough, all of East Asia would know and fear your husband’s name, and whilst it couldn’t make you prouder, it also made you incredibly worried by his safety, and, well, yours. More power meant more risks to take, and after so many betrayals for the past year, you actually wondered if this was actually the right time to take such a huge step.
And although his love met no end, you knew how he felt about you interfering in his business. It wasn’t as if he wanted you meddling in his affairs, he just feared the consequences of you doing so. Mujin knew the effect of working on this field, after all, he made a livelihood of it, and the thought of you gaining a single scratch just from sharing that burden of his, brought an ache to his soul that he refused to feed. Both of you had agreed to leave you in the dark about his business, mostly to your safety, and the only exception he made to this rule of yours only happened when things went down south or when they had to lay low for a while.
But you trusted Mujin. If there was anyone capable of pulling through hell and back was that fierce husband of yours. As long as he remained by your side, there was nothing that could possibly go wrong. You loved him as much as he loved you, and you knew his intelligence and wit didn’t have an end.
And that was why, when he called for you with a casual whistle, you obediently left the small stage and happily walked over to him, sitting by the back of his sofa as you finally reached his cabin. Taeju scoffed ironically at your dainty smile, offering you his large hand so that you could pass over the sofa and right into your husband’s side, rightfully yours since the day you had met him, over three years ago. Mujin tilted his head in your direction and lazily threw you one of those smiles of his, the ones that made you weak in the knees, right before inviting you to his empty lap. And how could you refuse such an offer, especially when he was so lovingly looking at you?
So, you carefully sat down on his thighs, the dress moving slightly higher as it almost showed all your intimate bits, much to Mujin’s displeasure. He grabbed the hem of the sparkling skirt and gently pulled it down, right before adjusting your position so that you could rest against his chest as he gave one more puff on his blunt. You felt the temptation to steal the small roll and put it in between your lipstick-covered lips, but Mujin, as if reading your thought, gave you a warning look before offering the blunt to one of his colleagues. Drugs were definitely out of reach as long as you were married to him, and sometimes it infuriated you how much he cared about your health but completely ignored his.
The man in front of the two of you, however, seemed to be enjoying the little spectacle, for the way his smirk lifted the corners of his pink lips. He seemed younger than Mujin, and far healthier than your nicotine-addicted husband, although that was part of his charm. You had always had a spot for men “rough around the edges”, it’s what made the relationship so much interesting. He couldn’t have been older than Taeju, though, maybe in his thirties, and with dark-black ink covering both his neck and the length of his arms, which were fairly shown by the sleeves of his paper-white shirt. There were some Japanese words that you could almost recognize on his exposed chest, yet when the man caught you looking, he couldn’t help throw Mujin a knowing smile. The man under your body didn’t move an inch, yet you, who knew him so well, could see the deep change in your husband’s gaze.
⸻ Is the girl familiar with Japanese?⸻ His voice was sour and pitched like an expensive martini, whilst Mujin’s tasted like an old fashioned. It made you cringe at how venomous it sounded on each word he spoke. Mujin, however, remained impassive. Stone-cold. And you sank into his embrace even more under the stranger’s attention, as if it could shield you from his wandering eyes.
⸻ Perhaps. Her family is half Japanese, after all. ⸻ Your love had answered quietly, gesturing for the bartender to refill their now empty glasses. To say you were confused at how easily he had shared such important information of you was an understatement, yet you simply hid your hand on the inside of his jacket as you hugged his torso, finding his warmth comforting.
⸻ A Japanese family in a Korean country sounds very polemic. I’m sure it brought a rough upbringing. ⸻ The man had mused, finding it enthralling how much you side-eyed him and his cocky attitude. If you could, you would gladly grab the gun attached to Mujin’s ribs and press it to his provocative smirk, but you knew better than to cause a scene in your husband’s favorite club.
⸻ No rougher than others, I assure you. ⸻ He seemed delighted at your response, laughing merrily at the rage that you so boldly carried in your frowning eyes. Mujin remained observant, casually caressing the back of your neck whilst fiddling with the opening of your necklace in order to distract his hands. Taeju noticed this quietness of his, and knowing his boss better than anyone, he simply grabbed the handle of his gun discreetly and waited.
⸻ You’re a very lucky man, Mujin. I wouldn’t know what to do with a lady like that attached to my arm. Maybe I’ll find out, if I’m lucky enough. You’ve got a bad bitch by your side. ⸻ That was when you tensed at his words, nostrils flaring at the way he had so casually mouthed the name as if it had been your birth one. Not even your husband dared to call you such lewd things, preferring to stimulate you with words of reassurance that so amazingly fed your praise kink. It came as to no surprise when Mujin stopped playing with his drink and carefully lifted his eyes, barely moving a muscle before letting out a raspy laugh that you knew to be bitter.
⸻ Oh, her? The fire in my loins. The blood on my veins. The one and only… Choi Y/N. ⸻ His voice reached a crescendo the more he spoke, and although you felt the familiar sweet taste of pride blooming in your chest, the way his words were so carefully picked made you uneasy in his arms. You despised violence, ironically enough, yet you knew in your gut that this situation wasn’t exactly going to end peacefully. ⸻ I suppose… You want her?
The man must’ve sensed that same prediction, for his demeanor too changed at the same pace as your husband’s, fear taking over his dilated pupils as he realized the nerve he had touched. Not only were you his wife, but also the one he had killed far more important men for.
⸻ Nah… That's your lady, Mujin. ⸻ His companion had reassured him, eyeing the floor as he did so. The blunt they had shared was now halfway done and it’s flame completely out, as well as the amusement and formalities inside that same cabin. Mujin’s free hand, the one he had caressed your neck with a moment ago, found its way towards the back of your head, and with it he gently pushed you to meet his perfumed neck, shielding you while he himself pulled the gun out of its holster. You shifted at the clicking sound of the weapon.
⸻ That’s right… That’s right. ⸻ And so he shot twice, the sound of it being muffled by the loud music that prevented the rest of the crowd from noticing the blood that had been spilled on the heart of the party. You had maintained your eyes open, not daring them to close at the rush of fear that it drowned you as it always did whenever your husband expressed his violent tendencies. You knew now why he had shared such important information about you; the man wasn’t meant to leave the club tonight. You just had to wonder whether Mujin had already planned to kill him, using you as an excuse, or if he had just pressed the right nerve of your husband. ⸻ Take him out of my sight.
You heard the sound of a heavy body being dragged out of the cabin, and from the corner of your eye, you saw the trail of dark-red blood he had left behind. It made your mouth dry in an instant, and you muzzled back against Mujin’s neck in order to try to forget what you had seen. He noticed this act of yours, as he noticed everything else about you, and in response, he simply kissed the side of your head and caressed your beautiful hair, the one he loved so much to pull.
⸻ You understand why I did it, don’t you? You always do. ⸻ His lips chanted against your forehead as if muttering the holiest of prayers. And that you did, even when he didn’t explain to you. It felt easier convincing yourself that every death was deserving than constantly asking him why. And so you kissed the vein on his neck, lifting your head so that you could meet his always tired gaze. You loved this man so dangerously much, it felt like walking at the edge of a knife. ⸻ I’m sorry that you had to witness it this time. But if I had sent you away he would’ve known.
⸻ I know, my love. I know. ⸻ You gave him another peck, this one on his beard-covered chin, and muzzled your nose to it, taking in the comfort he so easily brought to you. ⸻ Does this mean we can go home, now? My feet hurt from dancing.
He hummed a faint laugh, the sincerest one of the night, and deeply kissed your dry lips, ignoring the discomfort that it might bring. This man worshiped the ground you walked, the air you breathed, and the only thing he asked of you, his sole and most important request, was your understanding, even in the bloodiest of situations. And that was something that you could give, although not always easy, as long as he ended up in your arms at the end of every day. You felt so young and naïve sometimes with these thoughts of yours, always loving a man with so much red in his fingers, a man so much older than you. Yet you were so far deep in this relationship that you couldn’t find the surface anymore. Not that you were particularly searching for it.
⸻ Let’s go home, then, my love.
kaeya kinnies/simps when i tell them i main kaeya but i’m in his slander club be like:
FOR YOU, I SHALL DESTROY MYSELF
PAIRING: Obsessive!Vergil Sparda x GN!Reader
WARNINGS: NOT PROOF-READ, alcohol consumption, stalking, obsession (obsessive behavior on vergil's part), possessiveness, acts of ownership, mentally unwell reader, submissive reader, sensual themes, smut (lightly written), murder, violence, small blood-play.
WC: 7,481
DESCRIPTION: To save yourself, you make a deal with a demon.
11:35 PM ; DECEMBER 31st ─ THE DEAL.
Eyes are watching you, sparing simple glimpses through each passing second. Irises and pupils that become distorted and ugly as they peek through wine glasses, the color glossing over with a crimson hue. The vision feels judgmental, full of ridicule. Too many people huddled close, speaking in hiccupping boasts. Everybody here wishes you gone. They're all watching, smiling. Smiling at your failure.
The air is pungent, reeking of sweat, and of rotten musk. People are slicked over, kneeling over the bar's countertop, sloppy lips molding over one another while with a lazy smile. You swear you feel the graze of an unwanted hand across your back, but you had mistaken it for a waft of air coming from the entrance doors. The breeze comes just as quick as it goes, you wish you could have drifted with it.
How embarrassing of you to slouch forward on the marble countertop, and draw nervous breaths of panic, thinking that someone had fancied you of all people tonight. How wrong you were. That’s how you had always been, for no one cared for your presence. Just another breath that got lost amongst the others. Another squeak that was overpowered by a shriek.
You want to scream, want to shout, “stop it all!”, but then you catch yourself with a quick breath, and it all comes crashing back down on you. The eyes are looking, yes. But at you? Never. Maybe it was the thick atmosphere, the bustling bodies, the cheers of the new year arriving upon the hour. Maybe it was this that made you feel so anxious, so afraid. So alone. No one by your side.
No one was holding you at this hour, kissing you happily until you saw the clock strike 12. Is that what this is about? You couldn’t understand. You were not blissfully drunk, rather pitifully intoxicated, your mind foggy and your conscious drawing blanks. Your senses were locked, your emotions deepened from the shots of vodka.
Is that what you wish for? For someone to long for you? Arrive right at this location, this exact bar, in hopes to see you?
Why did you come here? How pathetic you were, standing here isolated, swallowing glasses of alcoholic beverages that you found rather disgusting, and all for the hopes it would ease some cracking that formulated inside you. To dull the sharp edges of your ache, your sorrow. It did rather the opposite, only tended to the embers that now rose to flames deep within your soul.
“I must go”, you whispered solemnly, but you did not know who you were whispering it to. Mostly yourself. A woman gives you a strange glance as she hears you mumble to yourself, thinking you're completely hysterical.
I must go, I must go, I must go. You did not need to leave, you only wanted to. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't, but stubbornness is a passion, and you were quite stubborn.
Your movement is quick, unnoticed when you escape away from the public and into the darkness. The atmosphere is light now, fresh, natural as you embrace the cool night. The air is still damp from the rain that soaked the Earth a few minutes ago, but you don’t mind the puddles that soak into your pants as you hustle through them. You would rather thank the chilling water that grows slick upon your calves, the sensation of it easing your heated skin. You prayed it would sober you up, save you from this spinning world of madness.
It's much better to feel this, you think as your drunken state leads you stumbling into an alleyway. Much better to be away, in the darkness, where you belong. Sheltered, and untouched.
You stumble once more and swallow up a whimper as you feel a twist in your ankle, your shaking hands reaching forward to grip sturdily on the brick wall. Your nails flick against the rough surface, growing tarnished with every daring step forward. You were shocked you hadn't fallen yet, but the sprain in your ankle only mocks you, tells you ‘just wait’.
This night, right now, you were to go home.
Had you known any better, you would have prevented a thickening curse that looped into your life just brief moments from now. But instead of caring about your future, you carelessly dawned on the past. Letting a drunken wail tumble down your lips and echo amongst the abyss of the alleyway, not a shroud of light in the distance.
Where do I go? Do I go home? Who will take me home?
Another stumble. You sniffle.
Where are my keys? I can’t see, my eyes hurt. My head aches.
There’s still no light to be seen. Snot bubbles in the blacks of your nostrils, pooling forward.
I shouldn’t have drank. I'm so stupid. Please help, someone help me.
There is a sound of hissing.
“Yes”, you sigh, voice hoarse and groggy. You presume it must be the sound of a car, albeit the sound of a rattling engine that has just been powered to life. To you, it must be a sign you're near a street. You will ask someone to give you a ride, take you away from this area of mental wreckage, and bring you home. Home? You shake yourself for a moment, brushing the confusion away as you keep pushing your legs, turning a sharp corner and searching the best you can for a gateway of exit.
What you find though, is not a chance of escape. It is a street, indeed, but there is no one in sight, no voices to be found, not even the guttural hiss that you swore was an engine. Nothing. Only the copper scent that permeates the air. It is too dark, and too close to midnight for you to make out any colors or hues, only shades and glimmering objects underneath the moonlight.
There, laying upon the gravel, a puddle is slick amongst the road, soaking into the indents of the asphalt. Just like the other rain puddles, you thought the same as this, but as you near it, one thing only becomes clear. The scent. The puddle. The moonlight. The darkness. The hissing. The street.
It is clear now, it is clear. It is the scent of death. Slick upon the road in front of you lay a fresh pool of blood, not yet yielding the hue of brown, rather, crimson. It was new. A new murder. The body is limp, a man that had streamers once grasped firmly in his palm, you could tell as you knelt to examine him. He was most likely late to a new year's party, but now he will be late to any other event in life. His life was cut- taken by the grasp of death.
Your mouth felt dry, your tongue tasted nothing but sour.
Across his bloodied shirt, skin is parted, flesh jarred open like cutting a piece of paper apart with scissors. His laceration is deep, and his organs are no longer holding, being that someone- something has slashed him so thoroughly. His face is colorless, pale, solemn. He was young, he could have had a purpose.
Your heart- you think it has stopped. You take one last look at his lifeless palm, streamers still spread across it, before rising and daringly twisting on your heel, heaving a dry lump down your throat with a solid gulp.
It is only then that you understand, you should have been home. Shouldn’t have gone out. Shouldn’t have been here.
You knew you had done wrong by turning on this street, but the audacity you had to try and run. No one, especially the drunken likes of you, can escape an inhumanly being. But you are stubborn, and you are pitiable. You are by no means an athlete. You are by no means an agile contortionist. You are by no means an intelligent and stable specimen. Only fragile, and weak. Ready to be shattered, like glass.
You are limping with your sprained ankle, and your breaths are erratic as you hear it snarling from the skies above, the hissing- the ecstatic and primal bloodthirst in its howls becoming known as it leaps from the rooftops, crawling down the brick of the buildings and knocking down street signs in its treacherous wake.
You do not last; you had expected this much.
You are taken down by one powerful blow from its elongated arm, sharp like a blade, and as red as the blood you had seen on the street. The creature bounces thematically, so quick to pounce whenever it wishes, its speed and agility making you tremble. Its skin is like armor, rough and built like a shield, you are no match, you are just a human.
“Oh god”, you squeal, its blow not landing on a fatal position on your body, but rather, an area that makes the experience more tortuous, and grueling. Its blade-like hand has swooped through the air and slashed across your arm. You are quick to start bleeding, the wound so deep your body caves in, but you attempt to put pressure on the gushing area with your shaking palm, the salty sweat you leak only makes the ache worse. Your tarnished nails are now drowned with red.
“Oh! Oh”, you cry and cry, not capable of formulating words, but it's not like anyone would hear you now. The creature smells you, draws your scent in. It seems to play with you, revel in the way you squirm and sputter whimpers amongst the concrete. Smells your purity, your innocence. You smell amazing, and delicious, and delectable, and so much better than the man it had originally planned to feast upon. It has decided to play with its food.
You have stopped your attempts to scramble away, you are too weak. Still intoxicated, slightly sobered from the adrenaline that has pulsed within you. Your ankle is still sprained, and your feet are blistered beyond repair. Now, you leak your bloody essence from your arm, and you sob desperate tears, the whites of your eyes now a shade of pink.
Who am I, anyway?
You blink, the demon draws closer.
I shall die here, won't I?
It swipes its blade across your leg, the unharmed one. You scream dryly.
No one will save me...I am doomed.
The monster licks away at its weapon, hissing in glee at your taste.
No one. I have no one. No purpose. I will die here. Yes, I will die.
It brings its arm in the air for the final blow, and you watch without fear, seeing the glint it beholds underneath the moon's luminescence. You are ready. Even through sorrowful tears. You are ready to die here, so beautifully, under the moonlight.
But the blow never reaches you, and the sound of its howl echoes through the air, up and down the street, reaching every space, every crack, every pit of darkness. Its shrill is a sign of its defeat, and you watch in horror as a sword has pierced through its body of armor, tinted with red and black. With much haste, the weapon is sheathed, its slice sounding slick as it pulls out from the demon's flesh, letting the villainous thing fall flat on the street, fallen victim to the same act it made on the young man it killed prior.
You had been so ready, but now here you sit, staring ahead with a curiousness come about your dampened eyes, pupils dilating at the sight of a man. You make out his figure, his face, his weapon, even all through your blurred vision. You had made him out to be aged, his precision with his sword showing experience, but the smoothened, porcelain-like skin he had made him appear youthful. He is beautiful, stunning beyond reason. His majesty standing before you. ‘How old may he have been?’ you found yourself wondering, just as much as he found yourself to be ignorantly staring. A glint about his sharpened, light blue eyes. So light and mysterious that they could resemble gems.
“How ungrateful” the man speaks, his voice is so proper, and yet you make out a scowl from his words, his lips curving to produce a grimace. His jaw is solid, and sharp when he speaks, full lips soft and plump when they frown at the sight of you. You must have looked foolish, for he eyes you with judgement.
“Not even appreciative for the saving of your pitiful human life” he speaks once more, airy, and soft, but it still pierces your soul. “What have you to give?”. His appearance is comparative to his speaking. Monotonous, and yet striking. Dressed in a blackened leather vest, blending into the sheen of his leather pants clad on him, sculpting him out like a shadow of the night. If it wasn’t for his whitened hair, he would be unnoticed, one with the abyss.
You shift for a moment, stained fingers dismantling from your tainted flesh, letting the blood feel cool amongst your skin. You do not move as much as you wished, as once you move your feet to shuffle upward, you wince and pipe out a squeak of agony. You had forgotten the demon tore up your leg, too. You glance upward to catch his eye, to look at him properly, and catch a slight flare of his nostrils, like he had been smelling the air. His adam’s apple bobs in his throat, and you watch with a distrusting expression. He must have been disgusted by your injury, because the glint in his eye becomes something different. Something you cannot describe. You had mistaken it for being censorious.
“What-what can I give?” you stutter with your words, your speech impaired and jumbled from your prevalent fear, “I...I have nothing to give you. I do not know if I even have a home” you shiver under his predatory gaze, his entirety nothing short of intimidating. “But I have called...I have no one, but I still called. I thought no one would come. But you came. You saved me-you...you-you saved my life. Thank you-” you cut yourself short, your cheeks flush and your breathing growing unstable from your rush of words.
You cannot tell now if you are still intoxicated, still swayed by the alcohol, you do not think you are. You think your emotions have just been bubbled up inside you for so long, that now when you speak to this mysterious savior, you only speak with earnest desire. The desire that has been trapped and hidden.
“I cannot give you anything but myself, I want a place to belong, please, please do not think me foolish. Please take me away, please, I beg of you- I have nowhere to go- no one-”
“Correct- you are a fool. I save you, and you cannot give anything, but yourself. I will kill you now, strike you down, and what purpose will you have?” He tampers with you, watches the rise and fall of your chest, the quiver in your failing body. He has not tucked his sword away safely, for it stays sheathed, and pointed at you. He ushers it forward, letting the weapons tip just barely graze your breast, right above where your heart lay beating wildly in your chest.
“You misunderstand”, he moves a little closer, his coat ruffling along with the passing wind, “I do not save souls, I take them. What has your human life have, that will be of any importance to me?”.
‘That is why he must look so young’, your thoughts are so disorganized, ‘he is a demon himself. Come here, to fight amongst the other demons for his prize as the winner. The king’.
He watches you so closely that all you wish for is to cower away, but how can you? You have no choice but to swallow and look up at him. The same desire in your eyes burning. The same glint in his eyes unreadable. You have yet to know his name as you speak so confidently:
“Then take mine! Take my soul! You have saved me. I will be yours, I swear it. Just take me-won't you? Please, it hurts so much”.
He does not smile, doesn’t even scowl. He only stares, and stares, and stares, his nostrils flaring once more, and his adam’s apple shifting with his intake of a gulp.
You feel a sudden burning sensation rise amongst your arm, and you close your eyes amidst a wince, but when you open them again, he is gone. He hadn’t agreed to your deal. He hadn't even expressed his distaste about it. The strange, and hauntingly gorgeous man became one with the night again, dissipating into the darkness.
There is a sound of sirens arriving in the distance. It is barely distinctive from the blaring pops and explosions that erupt in the sky, the colorful fireworks looming over the city, signaling the new year has arrived.
‘What has your human life have, that will have any importance to me?’, his voice still echoes in your head.
You hadn't even learned his name.
You haven't even learned how important promises may be.
11:35 PM ; DECEMBER 31ST ─ DREAM OF A DEAL
To be a troubled man is one thing.
A man who has had too many tragic events to corrupt him. Make his sanity crumble into dust, to be nothing more than an unrecognizable memory. A man who witnesses everything he loves disintegrate into nothingness, fall past the webs of his fingers, even though he made sure to clench his gnarled hands into fists, to desperately keep close what little he had. He would take in everything as a young boy, see faults to be his own, taking in the blame and guilt, swallowing in the darkness.
To be a demon is another.
A demon who does not care for the strangled screams of the innocent, but rather, takes pleasure from their blood-curdling pleads of mercy. A demon who tastes the life it ends, tearing apart flesh by flesh, skin by skin, bone by bone. Consumes the soul, relishes in their utter terror, growls in pleasure.
Vergil awakes suddenly, sitting himself up on his bed, feeling the blankets crease and bundle into piles beside him as he pushes them off. He sighs and then grumbles, a wave of disappointment reaching him.
To be a demon, Vergil slaughters. To be a human, Vergil dreams. And on this particular night, Vergil has dreamt, and dreamt wonderfully.
The dream felt so real, so lucid, it swept over him like a sacred prophecy, like a vision that would soon come to him if he manifested it enough.
In it, he sat at a table brandished with a red satin cloth placed neatly on the surface, lavish items decorated in the center. The room he’s sitting in is too dim, too blurry and discreet from the low candlelight, but he knows, he knows there is someone sitting with him at the very end of the table.
He’s drinking rich wine, and strangely, he is human in the moment. Smiling from the foggy words that the stranger speaks from the end of the table, his dimples deepening with every bashful grin. The only thing recognizable is how sweet their voice is. How pure. How loving.
“I shall........
I am........
Devoted.....
I am yours.....
take me......
my soul......
is yours”.
They keep chanting and chanting, certain words only memorable. He is so content with this dream, feeling so bound to the pleasant ownership of the mystery person he sits with, but suddenly the candles sway in their low light, and are wiped out within seconds, the sound of the strangers' screams echoing around him. The dream had advanced into a nightmare.
This, is when he wakes. Sweat is sticky against his temples, his heart is thumping hard against his ribcage. He usually does not let his composure slip over something so trivial, but dreams are different. Dreams can control you, paralyze you, show you your deepest fears. And Vergil's fear is to grow sensitive, grow close to something again, all to watch it die. And fall away from his hands over and over again.
The troubled half-demon slips away into the night, far from devil may cry. He roams the streets, gawks in misery at bustling restaurants filled with jubilant voices. He curses whatever presence to make him feel so weak, to make him feel so unnerved that he must find a way to escape his emotions.
He is miserable as much as he is restless, clutching his precious Yamato in his firm palm, turning corner by corner, slaying creature by creature to occupy his time, and smelling scent by scent. The scent of sweat from the cooped-up bars, smelling the soil after it ripened from the fresh rain, smelling chemicals after another civilian sets off fireworks in honor of the upcoming new year. Oh, how he despised such human holidays.
He turns yet another corner, and something piques his interest. Yet another smell to devour, and not from the aroma of fresh bread, or a floral plant, but the richness of blood. It is so powerful that he cannot contain himself, the demon within him begging him to get just a taste. It is nothing he’s ever come across. He gets closer and closer, and then he hears it.
“Oh! Oh!”
It is a mere mistake for his arrival in this area. He only intended to brush some weights off his shoulders, help his thumping heart soften until he felt numb and devoid of human sensation.
Although, the voice he hears, the voice that is crying. It is pure. It is sweet. It is so familiar. It is the voice from his dream. It is you.
It is a mere mistake for him to be here, and yet, when he sees you wince and squirm, to see you crawl and bleed along the street, so frail and abused, he feels infuriated.
He draws out his Yamato, lurches it forward until it has made good use, its blade piercing the “Fury” in front of him. The demon that dares to touch the stranger of his dream cries and crashes. He is finally able to see you properly.
Your weak eyes tremble so softly, glistening and wet with human tears. His heart thumps faster.
“What have you to give?” . He only meant to tease you. He doesn’t understand why he hasn’t left yet.
Your blood smells divine. Your tears, he yearns to lick away with his warm tongue. He drinks it in, trying to deny urges.
“Then take me! Take my soul!”. He only meant to tease you. He doesn’t understand why he didn’t take you away that night, claim you, make his dream become reality.
Your voice. Your blood. Your soul.
He hadn't even learned your name.
He hadn't even learned that an interest can blossom into obsession.
9:30 PM ; MARCH 31ST ─ A REUNION
Months are brushed by with time, events going faster than it usually does. That incident, that specific night, it stayed with you, lingering in your memories. It was just until recently that you finally healed, your thick lacerations that once bled and bled, and lifted your skin with an unpleasant swell, have finally softened. The skin has finally connected, now a lighter shade and smoother compared to the rest of your body. Inches of imperfection that mock you.
Sometimes it all came back to you, the bar, the people, the alley, the shadows, the street, the monster, the man. When you thought back to it, it was practically unbelievable, you had almost considered it a part of your drunken imagination, until your eyes connected with your abused skin. It was real, that was true. Everything you said─that was true as well.
Everything….you wished it had not been true. Maybe it would have been better if the man had ended you. Point his sword a little further into your chest, impale you so gracefully like he had the other creature.
The blue, crystalline eyes that glimmered like water, but held such a roguish stare. He had been a demon himself, you knew that much. A demon disguised as a beautiful god.
You would go out on certain days, the once chilly air molding into a choking humidity, one that is heavy and warm in the spring. The crowds would soon get thicker than before in the streets, people hand in hand, side by side. You would ignore them, walk to destinations with a purposeful stride, all until you caught a glimmer hidden amongst the sweaty crowds.
That blue shade. That white hair. That blackened vest. That unblemished skin. That stare. It was only until you blinked your eyes in confusion, just to notice it was gone. He was gone.
‘Do not worry so much’ you would speak to yourself, into the depths of your head, ‘you are only anxious. He is gone now. He is gone forever’. You were still innocent till this point, still youthful and naïve. You would soon learn that your consciousness is a powerful thing, but only through a life of corruption. Through lessons of toil.
Your shoes drag up the weathered steps, its beaten surface feeling so dull under your body. You remember walking up these apartment stairs that night, seeing how something can be so challenged over time. To become so walked over, and used, all until it is nothing but dirt and dust.
You cried as you sat on them, as you finally came to recognize where you belong. What your “home” seemed to be. A place that is sorrowful, empty, and cruel, cast away into the pitiful parts of the city.
Your feet push up the final step, your fingers fumbling over uncertain objects in your bag, your eyebrows creasing and wrinkles molding onto your face as a frustrated expression is shown.
You mumble words of impatience, “fuck”, and “where is it” tumbling past your lips with a huff, all until you finally catch hold of the thing you’ve been desperately searching for, lifting the jingling keys to connect into the slot on your apartment door.
When it is opened, you shuffle yourself inside, feeling worn and tattered from hours of work, tossing your bag aside until it collides with the wooden floorboards.
A glow is spread across the room, presumably from your oil lamp, which you took much caution in making sure was never lit when you were out. You creep on your feet, staying nimble on your toes as you turn a corner, your vision taking hold of what waits in the living room.
The oil lamp is heated, its light flickering playfully, dancing inside the glass. You feel yourself melting, as it feels so warm in here, you swear the room will just enclose any second, swallow your existence. You are right about one thing, but oblivious to the other. Oblivious to the lounge chair that sits adjacent to the golden light, a figure sitting coolly upon it. Leather-clad legs, that are long and graceful, sit neatly crossed. Like a king sitting on his rightful throne. His weapon placed along the expanse of his lean thighs, his gloved hands gripping over it so hard you saw his knuckles turn white.
“Took you quite a while, don’t you think?”, his tone is soft, smooth and devoid of emotion, as if him being here was perfectly normal. “Why don’t you sit?”, the way he says it does not sound like a suggestion, but rather, a demand.
The man does not turn an inch to face you, no movement in his posture, or disfigurement in his poise. He is regal, he is dominant, and he is waiting. Waiting for you to seat yourself beside him, in which, you do not spare a second to do so. His grip on his sword becomes tighter, and his lips purse as you pass him.
You do not ask him why he is here, and why would you need to? He is much more powerful than anyone else is. You watch him carefully as you lower yourself down amongst the other chair, your hands clasping into an anxious fist, your palms suddenly growing clammy. You would have never expected to meet him again.
“The deal” he starts off, his eyes now meeting yours, pupils blown enough to show you your own tormented reflection, “I have agreed to it. Your soul-”
“I did not mean it”, you are quick to interrupt him, trying to make your tone assertive and brave. You are only the opposite, as your voice sounds meek and hoarse the moment it slips off your quivering tongue. That is your first mistake. To try him. To deny a half-demon.
“What I said was a mistake....” you are lying through your teeth, “I am sorry for troubling you, but I’ve decided that my life is much better-”
You yelp suddenly as his hand shifts off his weapon and to the arm of your chair, dragging it forward so that you're closer, his lengthy fingers gripping so roughly on the material you think it will break the seams.
“Your life was never yours the moment you promised yourself to me” he speaks with a snarl, words coming out in an aggravated hiss, almost seeming offended. “You dare deny me, after I saved your life?’. He leans in, his lips folding into his teeth so he can growl at you, to come off as threatening, to tell you there is no other choice.
“You had told me that my life was not important to you” you whispered in a feeble voice, glancing at him through the webs of your eyelashes, fingers still molded into one another and shaking with such a capacity you thought you would shatter. “I do not even know your name”.
He gazes at you for a few mere seconds, seconds that feel impossibly long under the authority of his still eyes. He sits up, adjusting himself away from you, the palm that was clutched on your chair now nimbly easing itself off and back to his body. He now settles his interest on the wall of the room, you take it that he doesn’t wish to see your pathetic face trembling under him.
“It is Vergil. My name”, he states, matter-of-factly, his form still glistening under the light as it waxes and wanes, casting indistinguishable shadows along the walls. He holds his composure well, head held high with determination, and lack of regret.
‘Vergil’. You repeat his name, over and over in your head, as if it’s a mantra. “Vergil...”, you say it aloud this time, curiosity tinted in your sweet voice. You watch him, waiting for a sudden sneer, but he only shudders from your silken tone, as if he hungered to hear you say it. “My name is-”
“I know who you are, more than I care to admit”, he quite enjoyed interrupting your sentences, you dared not to bark back. You feared he would kill you if you did so.
“I have known you for a very long time” he huffs, voice thick now and heated “you have nowhere to run. You foolish thing. It is better just to listen”.
And what did you have that could possibly make you say no? A future, filled with endless experiences? A career, one that pays well and never puts a single callous along your frail hands? A family, something you can hold on to, rely on when you need it? Happiness, tranquility, security in yourself? These things did not exist. You had nothing, truly, and that is why you had offered yourself to him that night.
If not anything, your soul had no purpose. If not anything, it wouldn’t hurt to try with him.
“O-okay” you are suddenly stuttering on your own words; mouth unsteady with every syllable spoken, throat dry. You had not realized you were crying. Vergil finally turned to watch you; his emotions unreadable.
“The deal, let’s do it”.
You have learned his name.
You have learned how powerful promises can be.
The deal had been made, stamped by your own, sobbing words.
MONTH OF JANUARY ─ A STALKING PRESENCE
Vergil takes your words harder than the blow of any weapon. Your scent, your quivers, your voice, your promise. It visits him in his dreams, so much that he refuses even a second to close his eyes. It is all familiar, every night, any occurrence. The moment he drifts away, he is met with the red satin laid on the wooden table, the candelabra in the center, a dim light glowing on the apples of your cheeks. The pure smile that creases up on your lips. Then, your words of devotion.
You? Of all people? How dare you. You have ruined him.
He spends weeks in a fit of utter rage, in denial of the lust he feels for you. The want, no, the need to have you by his side.
Then, he gives in, deciding it will all just stop if he listens, and do what needs to be done to restore his sanity. Now he must have you. Make his dream come true.
You are naïve, and innocent. So stupid to not even catch him standing beside your bed, in your own home. His large, calloused hands would reach to rub gentle caresses into your resting face at night, watching your lips part to let out breathless sighs as you swayed toward him. Drool would draw slick against the corners of your mouth, bubbling on your pruned bottom lip, and Vergil would conceitedly swipe over it with his thumb, popping it in his mouth delicately to taste you. His tongue was greedy as it lapped over his thumb, he had to chain himself down, force himself not to kiss you.
“Hush, little one”, he would coo softly in your ear whenever you would whine from a nightmare, “it won't be long before I take you”.
He did this for months, watched you carefully, crept beside you like he was your own shadow. Made sure to fade into the crowds when you grew too close. He did well to figure you out, to deny his obvious feelings until he could not contain himself anymore.
Your neighborhood had been notorious for demon cases, a dangerous residence. He could not let this be. To imagine your life taken by some measly creature? To bury their teeth in your flesh? His flesh. Your body? His body. Your soul? His soul.
He had obliterated every object of evil that could possibly even lay a finger on you, even went out of his way to grab stalking humans that eyed you for too long, dragging them into alleys, his hands locking onto their neck and twisting just enough to hear a snap.
He has lived this cruel, tormenting life for too long. If this is the way he must have something, he will not spare any moment to have it. How sweetly you gave yourself up to him. Now, he will visit you. Take you. Own you, and never let you go. You would comply, wouldn’t you? You had told him yourself, you had nothing.
Your weakness made him tremble, made him thirst just as he did when he was young, 19 all over again.
He is selfish, he knows this. He does not care. Power is the only thing he knows, and power will get you to succumb to his touch, let him take you over and over, just as he did in all his wicked dreams.
You need him.
You need him.
You need him
You...need him?
5:00 PM ; APRIL 10TH ─ THE CLAIMING
He has taken you far away from the public, through wooded forests, and up into the billowing mountains, a manor he has promised you. A life that will no longer battle with you, only a future that is peaceful, as long as you promise to be his.
You have figured out that he only is kind when you obey his orders, and speak to him in a submissive, soft manner. It would be best not to challenge him, for your own good.
He does not speak to you when you travel to the manor, and you make no attempt to ask him anything, being that your jaw is locked, and your head is sweltering with panicked assumptions whenever you are near him.
He is tall, and looms over you like a giant when he stands. His legs are long, and he takes elegant, yet long strides. Tells you “make haste!” whenever you fall behind as he guides you through your new home, in which you rush up beside him shyly, gazing up at his face for guidance. He takes great notice of this, and grips his Yamato a little tighter, just as he always does whenever you grow too close. Maybe he found you annoying? Wanted to rip you to shreds with his beloved sword?
You did not know he was only simply holding himself back.
“Come” he beckons you over to him with his hand spread open, waiting patiently for you to take it. “I feel rather hungry, let us eat”, he suggests, and you oblige like the obedient soul that you must be for him. You place your smaller hand in his, watching as his fingers wrap over your knuckles greedily, his hand interlocking yours into his. Like a butterfly that has been trapped in the silken web of a black spider.
He only smiles as you shake in his possessive grip. “Feeling shy?”, he teases, but you shake your head in denial, which makes him only grin further, the dimples on his cheeks becoming pronounced. “Good, you mustn't be. Not with me”.
He takes you through the doors of the one room you have not seen yet, which is the dining room, and is wide and spacious just as much as the other parts of the house are. This is much more lavish than your apartment back in the desolate city.
The floors are wooden, and the walls are colored with a beautiful crimson red, which is a wonderful comparison to the red silk that is spread along the oaken table that sits strangely in the center, small candles sitting along the edge of the top, leaving the center depressingly empty. There are no chairs in sight, and you turn to question Vergil, only to catch him boldly staring back, his pupils enlarged and full just the same as the night he came to confess to you.
“Won’t you...” he licks his lips as he keeps his eyes trained on you, hand still squeezing onto yours firmly, “take a seat?”.
“But there is nowhere to sit”, you interject, batting your eyelashes in worry, gulping down a lump of uneasiness. He chuckles lowly in response, his reaction being so irregular that it terrified you.
“Well then, shall I help you?” he spoke to you, leaning down to murmur in your ear, biting gently down on the flesh of your earlobe. “Yes”, you squeak, and he guides you toward the table, pushing you down until you lay sprawled on top of the red satin, his gripping palm letting go of yours finally so he could peel off his long black coat. His arms now remain bare, muscles protruding as he grips your ankles and yanks you closer to him, casting your leg over his shoulder, your toes crazing over his leather vest.
“You understand, don’t you?” he has ripped your clothes off, one by one, impatient and selfish, a salacious side you have never seen from him before. “I like to claim what is mine”.
And claim he does, as he kisses marks into your precious skin, his teeth grazing over your body until his softness blends into primal, and the kisses transform into passionate bites. There are bruises along your neck, thick along your collarbone, sucked into your breasts, placed sloppily along the stretch of your stomach, and swollen along the flesh of your thighs. His saliva so slick against you, seeping into your pores, becoming one with your body.
“Please” you cry out a plead, fingers shaking and reaching out to grab him, you do not know what you are begging for. He just licks away your tears, tastes the saltiness of your sweat, swallows your lips into his, his nose brushing along your cheek as he finally gets to feel you against him, to taste your consent.
“Vergil” you whine breathlessly when he parts, his spit slobbered all over your bottom lip and down to your chin, his consuming kiss making your lips bright and puffy, all from his desire. He is gawking at you, eyes drinking you in, making sure he will ingrain this image of you in his head. It is that expression that you could never understand. Now you know, it is the expression of lust, of yearning desire.
“Tell me” his voice is akin to a growl, like a wolf that is ready to swallow its prey, “tell me that you are mine. That you belong to me. That your soul is mine to keep forever”.
The wax of the white candles dribble from the wick, become dry and hard along the oak of the table, they dance and shake in a ritualistic essence, wickedly excited when Vergil takes you, fills you up, chuckles when you grip shyly on his forearms with your shaking hands.
“Tell me” he coaxes out a throaty groan, rocking his hips into you, hip bones colliding with the flesh of your thighs. A sickening heat rushes to your face, makes you dizzy and apprehensive. You shelter your flustering face, whimpering from sudden pleasure.
“Do not hide your face from me”, he leans down, connecting his chest with yours, perfectly bottoming out within you, like two puzzle pieces that needed each other. He grabs the hand that you hide your face with between his pearly white teeth, canines biting down hard enough to draw blood in the center of your soft palm, your red liquid pooling on his lips, he only fucks you harder.
“I shall only be yours!” you cry out, palm feeling heavy under his tongue, the warm muscle lapping away at you as if your taste is divine.
“I am devoted to you!” he grunts at your words like a madman.
“I am yours, you can take me” he takes your fingers into his mouth, thrusts perfectly articulated, breath heavy. Candles still dancing with pride.
“My soul, is yours”.
He finishes, staking his claim.
MONTHS LATER ─ FINAL CONFESSION
Forks and knives collide and clash against porcelain plates, the light is dim, the dining room a sacred place for you and your husband. It is the evening that you two sit for dinner, Vergil keeping himself trained on you with a possessive glare.
You are tipsy from the wine he has served you, hiccupping from the heat that bubbles up inside your esophagus. A tingling aftertaste sweet on your tongue, you swallow, it only enhances. Your hands find themselves under the table, an index finger tracing the scar he impeded on your palm. A scar formulated from a rough love-making months ago, it is stunning compared to the ones on your arm and leg.
“Do you remember…” you start, soft-spoken, vision hazy and the surroundings seeming opaque, “do you remember when you saved me that night?”.
He smirks, seeing your question more as a challenge. His nails trace over the condensation on his glass, feeling the water topple along his skin and down to the leather of his glove.
“In our garden? Stopping you from falling in the rose bushes?”
You shake your head. He slicks back his white hair with an intrigued look on his face.
“The library, when I cast you aside before those books fell on you?”
You try to interject, he doesn’t let you. Rather, he smiles nonchalantly, a hint of jubilance in his tone.
“On our walk in the forest, when I slayed those wild animals who attempted to bite you?”
“That night Vergil, when we first met”.
He has stopped his glass mid air, lets it fall back on the table slowly, his attention still steady on you. You stop just the same, refusing to set a finger on your cutlery as you desperately await his answer.
“How could I forget?” he seems confused, and almost irritated. He stands from his chair, stalks over to you, his elegance dignified beside the luminescence of the candlelight.
“I had promised you my soul. My everything. You have given me much more than I had ever expected”
“Only what you deserve” he whispers, fingers tracing over your shoulders. Tracing “mine” over and over again.
“But why?” you choke, biting away at your swollen lips as you fluster at his lips pressing chaste pecks along your nape.
“Why?” he repeats your question, breath ghosting against your skin, yet another kiss is placed, and you gasp as he bites down.
“Because for you, I shall destroy myself”.
frank “mattress boyfriend” castle
♡ note: mayhaps i will write a drabble about matt “weighted blanket bf” murdock
♡ pairing: frank castle x gn reader
♡ word count: .6k
♡ tags: fluff, frank calls reader “sweetheart”
“You’re s’comfy,” you slur, words steeped in sleepiness as you rub your cheek against Frank’s bare chest, not dissimilar to a cat. “Warm too.”
A gravelly sound forms in Frank’s throat, gently rumbling through you. The corner of his lips quirks up into a small smile, terribly soft around the edges, when you lift your head and glare at him. It’s hard to find you intimidating or to take you very seriously when your glare melts into a more pouty expression.
“Are you laughing at me?”
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