I have a lot of free time to write. My schedule is weird, might disappear for weeks or love bomb you with too many things at once. Think of it as a toxic writing situationship ♡
It was kind of stupid— no, really stupid. Stupid and pathetic to have a crush on your Lieutenant. You’re not entirely sure how you came to the realization that you had feelings for him. All you knew, was that one day, he gave you the nastiest ten second stare of his life before he sharply turned around and walked away.
Nasty as in: pure judgement.
Because unbeknownst to you, Simon had witnessed you (just before you saw him) smashing four slices of pizza together into your mouth after Johnny had dared you to for a full bottle of Cognac. Hey— you’ll take whatever it was as long as it could make you feel like heaven for five hours and sour when you wake up.
Since then, you’ve acknowledged your little feelings towards the cold, quiet and ruthless man (who were you kidding? You’re amazing at acknowledging your feelings). Johnny had picked up on it too. It was pretty obvious when you looked up at Simon like he was a sweet treat… Which, he is. But you won’t tell anyone how you feel.
The amount of times Johnny had witnessed you stumbling and hit the floor after seeing Simon for just a second, to the times he saw you choke on your own spit after Simon called for you; he’d consider you utterly desperate for the old hag (yes, Johnny considers Simon an old hag, even if it was directed towards older ladies. He practically acts like one so why not make a new nickname for him?)
Johnny doesn’t say a word though. He doesn’t tease, like he usually would’ve. He kept his mouth shut but his eyes wide every time he sees you interact with Simon. Honestly, he just wanted to see how long it’ll take for you to break. And… It was free entertainment.
You’ve done several things to try and get Simon’s attention. To dropping off paperwork that he could’ve gotten himself, making him tea even though he already had one in his office, even buying a fruit tart from the nearest bakery and claimed that “they gave me an extra one”.
And every time you walked away after giving Simon a delightful treat with the same lie, Simon always says the same thing.
“Pretty privilege,” he grumbles under his breath and slides over the brown box with the plastic opening at the top. He examines it like he always does; as though he was wary of poison being in there. But the truth was, he was just jealous that you happen to get a “free” dessert every time you go to his favorite bakery. He’s pretty sure the university student over the counter was terrified of him too. Yet, here you were, giving him your leftovers! Maybe you were doing this because you knew about his biggest secret… his favorite bakery shop. And you waltz in his office, dropping off an extra dessert because you wanted to bully antagonize him!
Simon was oblivious.
Very oblivious.
So oblivious that Kyle watched you “fix” Simon’s vest up before training. He stood there with Johnny with the flattest expression, watching you pat him down like you were some airport security guard. All while, Simon’s eyes were blank, staring ahead of him like a child waiting while their mother fixes up their hair before school. “Reckon he’ll fold?” he murmurs to Johnny.
Johnny gives Kyle a glance and the evil-ist smirk he’s ever seen, “is the water green?”
Kyle scrunches his nose, his brows furrowing in confusion. “Wot?” he drags out the confusion.
“Like, is the sky blue but instead, is the water green— answer’s no. That’s your answer,” Johnny explains, watching Kyle as his face contorts into more confusion, a slight scowl on his lips.
“Why didn’t you just say no?”
When Johnny finally gets sick of rewatching season one, episode three-hundred-and-sixty-five of “When Will You Like Me”, directed by you, played by you and Simon, he finally bombards Simon with questions involving you. It’s not his fault his two favorite characters from his free entertainment won’t progress!
“Got yah ‘nother dessert, eh?” Johnny asks, leaning against the uncomfortable chair.
Simon strictly had one chair and one chair only in his office for a reason. How in the world did Johnny manage to find a chair and bring it into his office? He looks up from his paperwork, the office chair underneath him squeaking just a bit. “I’m working.”
Johnny smiles, the same cocky smiles he usually gives people when he knows that his presence is bothering them. “I see that,” he begins, watching Simon go back to filing paperwork like his job depends on it. It does, but right now, it shouldn’t. “I think yer bloody special. Never gives me desserts,” he says, talking about you.
Simon finally sets the pen down besides the paper and sighs through his nose. It was clear that his friend-slash-teammate wasn’t leaving anytime soon. “You want it?” he asks, sliding the box over. This time, filled with macaroons. “Dunno why they keep giving me treats. ‘s like they enjoy seeing me in agony.”
Yeah, Simon was very oblivious.
And so was Johnny.
“Tummy ache?” he questions.
Simon’s brows knitted together behind his balaclava and shook his head, “bloody hell- no—“ he began, shaking his head again as if the thought of getting an upset stomach over dessert was unheard of, “jus’ seems like they’re rubbin’ in my face ‘bout how they get free desserts,” he grumbles, taking the box back.
Funny thing about Simon; he offered Johnny the macaroons and immediately takes them back. Happens way too often.
“Ahh…” Johnny whispers out, mouth ajar as he watches Simon set the box in his secret drawer (definitely does not keep protein bars and snacks in there).
Simon sit there momentarily, side eyeing Johnny as he examines his office. He never stays too long in his room; says it’s too stuffy and gray. So why was he choosing to sit in here? It was pissing him off. But while he’s on the topic of you, he might as well vent a little. “Yah see that face of ‘em and jus’ can’t help but puke. Bloody lashes makes ‘em look innocent,” Simon says with a scoff.
Johnny blinks.
“Acts all proper ‘n all when I know they once hopped a fence and tore their uniform up. Arse was scraped up and who had to deal with the paperwork? Had the audacity to offer me dinner for the nuisance,” Simon shakes his head, “Don’ even get me started on that voice of theirs. Too bitterly sweet. No one in our field’ll take ‘em seriously.”
Johnny blinks again.
Then, he came to the realization.
In Simon’s weird way, he feels the same way you do. In a… ‘gosh, this person makes me so mad. I want to kiss them’ kind of way?
Maybe he’ll get a season two of this free show after all.
“Had to kiss ‘em once to shut that mouth of theirs.”
Johnny didn’t blink this time. His jaw though? Dropped. “WHAT?!” Somehow, he lost his Scottish accent.
Simon snapped his head over to look at his friend, realizing what he had said. “Drunk-“ he admitted. But the damage was already done. “Fucks sake! It happened once! Happened last week when you forced us all to go out to the pub! Little shit didn’t even remember a thing so don’t tell a soul before I request you to be sent off on a solo op!”
Oh, Johnny skipped a few episodes. Perhaps even a whole season!
simon riley is a very dangerous man shaped by scars and hardened by a life of violence. but when he finds you—an innocent kitten hybrid caged in a lab—something in him shifts. he owns you and he takes very good care of what's his.
this series is a collection of drabbles that follows owner!simon and the delicate kitten hybrid he takes in. it explores their slow-building bond and the blurred line between protection and desire.
scenes from the keeper and the kitten
taken in
when simon adopts you.
uncovered
when you see his face for the first time.
getting you clean
when simon gives your first bath, just like a good owner should… but it’s not that simple.
scar by scar
you groom simon slowly, licking over every scar like you’re trying to make him whole.
just a glimpse
when you walk in on simon while he’s taking a shower.
bad dreams
when you have a nightmare and simon comforts you.
first kiss
when you first kiss simon.
eager mouth
when you give simon a blowjob for the first time.
burning up
when you get your first heat.
name
you say simon’s name for the first time.
shopping
simon takes you shopping at the mall but your choice of clothing leaves him very tempted
cw: multi-part series of drabbles with a whole lotta focus on the clit, fem afab reader x Simon Riley, smut, oral (fem-receiving),
It's with trepidation that you pulled away from Simon, breaking off a series of knee-weakening kisses building up an undeniable want. Ever astute, eyes never missing even the smallest of shifts in your demeanor, Simon bid you to explain what was wrong with a warm hand cupping your cheek.
"What's wrong? Need you to tell me."
Your relationship had heated up so fast, the ache you felt to touch and be touched by him so pronounced it was all you could do not to just jump him at times. But, you'd felt want like that before only to have it lead to disappointment.
"I really, really want you, Simon. It's kinda stupid how bad I do, honestly. I just think you oughta know before I start tearing your clothes off.."
His eyes stared and held you captive, the intense and unblinking state of his gaze settled in expectation on your face.
"..I don't really like penetrative sex that much."
All he gave you in response was a curious arch of a brow, waiting for further elaboration without a single sign of judgement or upset.
Thank fuck for that.
"It's fine, I guess, as long as I'm touching my clit, but on it's own it kinda sucks. At best if just feels full, maybe a little uncomfortable, but not specifically good."
"You ever cum from getting fucked?"
"No, actually. I've gotten close."
All the tension which had knotted up in your shoulders seemed to fall away, the relaxed responses Simon had shown giving you a clear indication that he found no reason to be bothered by your admittance. Prior partners had taken some issue with the specific ways you needed attention during sex and more so with the lack of orgasms you'd gotten from a solid fuck. It wasn't as if you altogether hated sex, your libido healthy and your enjoyment plenty possible with the right stimulation where you needed it. The act had just become something of a point of contention in old relationships due to your personal struggles. Some men apparently just couldn't handle it when their dick alone wasn't enough to get a gal off.
"I can with foreplay, though. Almost every time."
You caught the beginnings of a grin playing at the corners of Simon's scarred lips, rucked up balaclava nearly hiding the crinkling at the corners of his eyes. It was a shame. That had become one of your favorite sights over the past several months.
"No problems then as long as you've got a tongue or fingers playing pretty with that little clit of yours, yeah?"
"Yeah," you said, the single word coming out more breathy than you'd intended, the heat of your interrupted arousal fanning to life anew.
"Good to know."
Simon crowded you back against your bedroom door, hands wide and urging on your hips, and he dropped to his knees without so much as a flinch for how hard they hit the floor. Thumbs worked up the length of your skirt, higher and higher 'til the hem laid across your waist, drenched panties and shaking thighs on display.
"Hold it," he bid you, voice a lower rumble, almost like a purr you could've felt vibrating against your core with how close his face was. "Spread your thighs, love. Need room if I'm gonna get proper acquainted with her."
Your fingers held tight to the soft material, watching Simon's half-exposed face as he pressed his thumb against the sodden furrow cloaked in damp, clinging cotton. It was a light touch, panties tugged up against your pussy so he could better see the shape of you, and he traced his way from entrance to clit, pressing harder when the pad of his digit found the bud. He husked out a smug chuckle, eyes whiskey-deep in hue with the warmth in them, alight at how quick you were to make whimper with just one little touch.
"Sensitive? Gonna cum all sweet and easy once I get my mouth on your slippery little cunny, aren't you? Make a nice mess of my face when I'm tonguing your clit just how you need it?"
He didn't wait for answers or even another sound at all, ripping your panties down to the floor, a neglected memento of the moment once he slipped his tongue between your folds for his first taste. He slaked his thirst for the flavor of your arousal with long, wet drives to mimic his thumb, dipping to the opening of your cunt to drag spit and your own wetness to the swelling knot of pleasure that always broken you. Simon hefted your legs one by one over his shoulders, pinning you in place and holding you up with a strength that must have been terrifying on the field, but only turned you on further, if such was truly possible.
A quick study and a man who knew how to aim true, Simon figured you out in a matter of minutes. He learned the right way to lash your clit with his tongue, the motion and direction that most made your hips cant towards his face. The heightened sensitivity you felt nearer to the left side was discovered and exploited with a ruthless precision, breaking from there before it became too much too soon. Simon determined how you liked to be sucked, never with too much pressure, and always with a steady series of laves swirling around and across your clit, building you higher with every pass.
"Gonna make it so fucking good when I get inside you," he murmured, taking moments to whisper rasping promises just to keep you on the edge and so eager. "You're gonna forget every muppet who got lucky enough to fuck you before me. I'll give you everything you've been needing."
He sealed the promise with an audible, sloppy kiss to your clit and the pleasure of your orgasm made you wail, louder than you had in a long time. If the neighbors heard and complained, you'd give Simon free rein to brag about the disturbance he'd helped cause. It was hard to care about anything other than the astounding force of your climax, thighs near to suffocating him and heels digging hard into his back as you rode the waves against his talented mouth.
Simon didn't let you down even once the pleasure softened, delicate trembles that nudged softly through your body and left you shivering for what felt like endless minutes. You looked down to see him rubbing his cheek against your thigh, a combination of your slick and his pale stubble an oddly comforting friction. He looked up at you, smiling with a glistening jaw and lips glossed by your dwindling finish. He pressed soft kisses to your pubic mound and inner thighs, hands kneading your hips and breasts, tugging the top of your blouse down to lightly thumb at your nipples.
"You're in for it now, love."
It was the most welcome threat you'd ever heard in your life.
Thinkn’ bout Ghost who everyone thought would have a sweet, shy, and overly kind affectionate partner .
Oh they were shocked when you walked in with a takeout bag and drink in hand , exact opposite of what they thought, you look like you want to rip out everyone’s throat out, the meanest Rbf they’ve ever seen (their still not completely sure your not pissed ) you walk to Ghost dropping the bag in his lap and drink it almost spilling.
Ghost doesn’t say a word “don’t forget you lunch next time” your voice sounds more like a threat than a reminder but Ghost nods “didn’t ‘ave to” but still taking the food thanking her with a nod
“I know” you sound like a bitch “I won’t next time” leaving the rest of the team shocked thinking you’re disrespecting Ghost and he’s just taking it??
But after you leave Ghost sighs “ain’t they perfect” more of a statement then a question.
After a few times of seeing you around the team starts to put two and two together, that you just just have a major resting bitch face and natural attitude.
“y’know what? They are perfect for him” Soap muttered to Gaz while the two watched you an Ghost stare at each other like they hate each other “copy n pasted mate” Gaz replied
simon riley is a very dangerous man shaped by scars and hardened by a life of violence. but when he finds you—an innocent kitten hybrid caged in a lab—something in him shifts. he owns you and he takes very good care of what's his.
this series is a collection of drabbles that follows owner!simon and the delicate kitten hybrid he takes in. it explores their slow-building bond and the blurred line between protection and desire.
scenes from the keeper and the kitten
taken in
when simon adopts you.
uncovered
when you see his face for the first time.
getting you clean
when simon gives your first bath, just like a good owner should… but it’s not that simple.
scar by scar
you groom simon slowly, licking over every scar like you’re trying to make him whole.
just a glimpse
when you walk in on simon while he’s taking a shower.
outlaw!ghost x afab!reader | series masterlist | wild west
summary: in a desperate, last ditch-attempt to escape your abusive husband's wrath, you encounter the man you've only heard legends of - a man named ghost.
cw: use of guns/weapons. depictions of violence, gore, death, domestic abuse. mentions of sexual assault, abuse. descriptions of sexual intercourse, smut. mdni, 18+
When he removed the mask, you were terrified. Not because of the gnarly scars across what had once been a face, now a mess of uneven and discolored skin. Not even because of the glimpse of teeth visible through the torn flesh of his cheek. No, what truly terrified you was a realization that made your blood run colder. If this man could endure all of that pain and still survive, then your chances of escaping him had just been crushed to near zero.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
He was strangely peaceful in his sleep. For someone in his line of work and with his kind of past, at least. There were no tortured screams or hard thrashing. No desperate panting or restless, sweat-soaked nightmares. Nothing. His breathing was steady, and a soft rhythmic snore filled the room. At that moment, he looked almost human.
But he wasn’t. He was a monster.
And you couldn’t allow yourself to forget that, no matter how hard your traitorous heart tried to convince you otherwise. This wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.
It was survival. Just a twisted coping mechanism born from months of isolation, fear, and captivity. You had to get out. You had to leave before your body betrayed you again. Before you felt the warmth of his breath against your skin one more time. Before his touch made you falter.
Before you forgot who he truly was.
His calloused hand slid around your waist, pulling you back against him with a firm grip even in his sleep, like he feared you might simply vanish into thin air. The weight of his arm around you was grounding, almost comforting, and it terrified you more than anything. You weren’t supposed to crave his touch, his presence. He was your captor, for God’s sake. A merciless killer, for all you knew.
This is not normal.
Your pulse quickened as you gently removed his hand away. The last thing you needed was for him to wake up now. Once free, you slid out of bed and tiptoed out of the room. Reaching the bathroom, you closed the door and sighed, pressing your back against it for a while. His ghostly touch lingered on your skin like a bad omen.
With shaky hands, you splashed water through your face, wishing there was a mirror so you could look your own reflection straight in the eyes and tell yourself to pull your shit together. But there wasn’t one. Of course, there wasn’t, and the reason was pretty fucking obvious.
A shrieking scratch at the door startled you.
Opening the door, you spotted the quirky cat staring at your feet. “You little piece of shit,” you laughed silently.
Since you didn’t want to risk going back to bed, you strolled to the kitchen and started to prepare something for yourself to eat. Humming quietly, your hands moved on their own as your mind retraced the events from the last night. You could feel warmth soaking your panties almost instantly.
Shit.
You weren’t a virgin, but you didn’t exactly have a long list of bodies either. The few experiences you’d had were fine. Some better than others, sure. But none of them had left a mark on you. None of them had made you feel like this. Not a single one of them was anywhere close to Nikto. He made you feel alive, desired. Like the first gulp of air after spending too much time underwater. Refreshing, necessary.
Touching yourself used to do it for you. But now? You were ruined. Last night had most definitely ruined you. You had never come so hard in your life. Not with anyone else, not even with yourself.
The way he looked at you after fucking you senseless was branded in your brain like an infectious disease. He stared at you like you were holy, and he couldn’t believe he was allowed to have you in the first place. Love, obsession, whatever. It was fucked up, and you liked it. Worse, you craved it.
“Making us breakfast?” You yelped as his hands embraced you from behind, interrupting your thoughts.
His broad chest was pressed against your back, sending a shiver down your spine as his lips brushed the shell of your ear.
“We didn’t mean to scare you, my wife,” he murmured teasingly, hands splayed over your stomach to pull you closer.
Your heart raced as memories of how your bodies had moved in a perfect, sinful rhythm flashed through your mind.
He gently slapped your ass before taking his seat at the table. Nervously swallowing, you served two plates and marched in his direction. Nikto didn't hesitate, eating it promptly. You could have poisoned the food, but it is like the idea never crossed his mind. After all, you were his wife. His obedient, sweet wife. Who just took and took without protest. It was like the sex was the last task on his list. Check. After that, you were his and he was yours until death tore you apart.
“I need a morning-after pill.” Your words cut the silence with anxiety.
“No, you don't.”
His voice was low and firm, immediately piercing your chest. A cold shock washed over you, terror flashing through your eyes. Panic twisted at your stomach and everything you had eaten threatened to come back. You couldn't believe it.
“I-I...” You gagged, suddenly lost for words.
“Calm down, little fox,” he said so softly as if reading your thoughts. “We...” He paused, his gaze distant for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “I am not fertile.”
“Oh.” A faint exhale of relief escaped your mouth.
You didn't know what else to say.
His head remained low, focused on the meal, the clinking of his fork filling the room. He didn’t look at you, his posture stiff, purposely distancing himself from the situation. His mask was slightly lifted as he ate, showing traces of his marred and scarred face, as well as the sharp contours of his jaw. You couldn’t look away.
He was shirtless, and you studied the raw strength of his body. It wasn’t the polished, sculpted type of muscles you saw in the gym or fitness influencers. No, he was solid, bulky. His build was practical and useful. Muscles that were forged through work and survival. Broad shoulders, a defined chest, and a delicate layer of fat covering his pecs, softening the hard edges, making him look more real.
But his strong physique wasn't even the most striking thing about him. His skin was covered in ink that extended through his body like a chaotic painting. Some tattoos were elaborated, untouched. Others were severely jagged, like the flesh had been forcibly reassembled together after things went south. Raised and rough, there were countless scars across his chest and arms. Old wounds that were stitched up haphazardly, and no matter how hard his body had tried to heal them, it wasn't entirely successful.
It was a canvas of agony. Again, you couldn't fathom that he had endured so much and still survived. A strange pull hit your chest. He seemed untouchable, yet so deeply human at the same time.
“Enjoying the view?” He chuckled, getting up and heading to the sink.
You choked on your food.
“I-I...” What the hell were you supposed to say?
Yes, I am, actually. I think you’re fucking hot. Never really dreamed about having a grumpy, cold-blooded Russian assassin as a husband, but now that I'm here, I can't say it is totally unpleasant. Oh, and that orgasm from last night? It was literally the best I have ever had. Can't stop thinking about it. Even though I’m still running away, because this is some toxic bullshit, bear in mind that I will never be able to forget you. And that I’ll probably end up alone, like some crazy cat lady, because no man will ever be able to make me come like that again.
“Did you hear us?” His tone was gruff.
“What? I’m sorry.” Your cheeks flushed bright red, heat creeping all the way to your ears.
“You can die from embarrassment later,” he said with a dry and amused laugh. “Get your fine ass to the bedroom and put some warm clothes on.”
You stared at him, brows knitting together in confusion. “Why?”
“We are going out,” he explained with a clipped tone.
“We as in you and me?” You asked in English to be sure you were not crazy, at least not entirely.
“Yes.”
“Why?” Your voice was coated with hesitation.
“Do you prefer to stay?” It wasn't a genuine question. His tone was acidic, laced with annoyance.
Without another word, you got up, heading upstairs to put on the ridiculous outdoor clothing he had picked out for you. The outfit was absurd, but you didn’t dare to complain. When you came back downstairs, Nikto was already waiting by the front door with a rigid posture.
He didn’t say anything as he opened the door and stepped outside, and you quickly trailed behind him with a pounding heart. The harsh winter was dying, and spring was slowly creeping in. The snow had started to melt, but the world still felt lifeless, except for the weak sunlight filtering through the tall trees.
After walking in silence for a while, when you reached a clearing in the woods, he stopped abruptly. Turning to face you, his expression was unreadable, although his eyes glinted with something dark.
“Run,” he pronounced the single word like a command.
“What?” You laughed perplexed.
“We are giving you a chance of escaping,” he said solemnly, with no hint of humor.
You snorted, folding your arms over your chest. “No, you’re not.”
“I am giving you a chance,” he rasped.
As it had already happened before, his features softened. A flick of clarity crossed his face. It was like a sane, rational part of him had taken control, trying to save you from the others who inhabited his troubled mind.
Your stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I don’t want to,” you said, forcing a smile and trying to play the devoted wife, in case this was all a test.
But deep down, there was a small part of you that didn’t want to leave him. A tiny, stupid, irrational part that actually made your chest ache, although you refused to acknowledge it.
He stepped closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face with surprising gentleness. “Take it,” he almost pleaded.
Your heart hammered against your ribs, breath catching in your throat. “What happens if you catch me?” You asked as your gaze searched his face.
The corner of his eyes crinkled darkly, sending a shiver down your spine. “Run,” he repeated.
And just like that, the sanity was gone, once again locked away in the depths of his split head. Now, he gazed at you with hunger in his eyes, a spark of challenge dancing across them. Like a dangerous, glorious predator waiting for you to move.
It sent a shot of adrenaline through your veins.
You ran.
The forest was blurred as you bolted, your breath coming in sharp bursts. You didn’t look back but could feel him behind your heels. Your chest tightened with dread as the sound of his boots crunching against the ground grew closer. A scream halted at the back of your throat.
Branches scraped your arms, and the cold air burned your lungs, but you didn’t stop. You weren’t even sure if you were actually running to escape him. Or if you wanted to be caught. You just didn't want to lose yourself in his madness.
But it was too late. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you backward, and knocked the air from your lungs. You gasped as both of you hit the ground.
“Not fast enough,” he growled dangerously.
Before you could even think of running away again, he rolled over you, the damp earth pressing against your back as his thighs straddled your hips to hold you firmly in place. You thrashed beneath his weight, but it was useless. With one of his hands, he captured your wrists and pinned them above your head. His grip was firm but not painful, silently reassuring that he wasn’t going to hurt you.
“Get off me,” you spat, breath hitching.
Your pulse raced as he bent down closer and his scent washed over you.
"Admit it,” he purred with hunger in his voice. “You wanted us to catch you.”
For a moment, you didn’t move, chest rising and falling heavily. A hot wave of pleasure pooled all the way down your core, and you pressed your thighs together, only adding more fuel to the fire in his eyes.
Even you couldn’t believe the words that came out of your mouth next.
“Kiss me.”
His eyes darkened, the steel blue of his irises giving place to black, widened pupils.
You watched breathlessly as he hesitated. Then, his free hand reached up, fingers curling around the edge of his mask. He cautiously lifted the mask, jaw tightening, and revealed the lower part of his mutilated face. His gaze was harsh, as though he was bracing for rejection.
But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you closed the distance as much as you could and brushed your lips against his. A low growl rumbled in his chest, and, like a rubber band that snaps under tension, his lips ravenously embraced yours before you could even draw another breath.
The kiss wasn't gentle or soft. It was desperate, inexperienced even. As if he had never allowed himself to be this vulnerable. This close to anyone. Not in a long time, at least.
He loosened the grip on your wrists. Cupping your jaw with rough hands, he tilted your face to deepen the kiss. You parted to welcome him further, your chest closely pressing against his. His lips were warm, and heat radiated from his entire body. As you kissed him, you tasted the salty, minty essence that was so intoxicatingly him. It was a collision, and you’d happily let it consume you whole. Your hands moved, fingers threading through the short hair at the nape of his neck, the touch grounding you to the moment.
There was no fear, no anxiety, not a single trace of worry. Everything felt correct, natural. Just two lost souls faltering on the edge of something fragile and dangerous.
When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, his forehead rested against yours. With a dark storm hovering over them, his eyes searched for your gaze.
“I...” you started, but the words died in your throat.
“Don’t,” he murmured, cutting you off before you could overthink.
And you didn’t.
As dangerous as it was, you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away from him. Not yet.
・・・・・
You refused to call it love.
Trauma. Psychosis. Mania. Obsession.
Anything, but most definitely not love.
How would you allow yourself to love the man who had stolen your freedom? You wouldn’t. Obviously.
Maybe a therapist could help you. Once you were free again, therapy could help you get through these feelings. Rationalize, analyze them. Search for everything so thoroughly that not a single drop of these strange, passionate-obsessive emotions would dare run through your blood anymore. Yes, that was a good plan.
You couldn’t act on impulse, though, not with someone like Nikto.
But you would find a way out. Before it was too late, and you lost yourself completely.
・・・・・
He had come home late that night. His body was undeniably heavy with exhaustion as he collapsed on the couch. Out of habit, you were happy to see him home, but he didn't seem well at all. Both physically and mentally.
Kneeling down, you helped him to remove his boots.
“Are you okay?” You asked, worried.
He stroked your hair with affection. “Such a good girl,” he murmured, not answering the question.
“You are exhausted,” you pointed. “How about I make us dinner?” Your smile was as docile as it could get.
“Trained you just right, huh.” He chuckled, slapping your butt as you headed to the kitchen.
Asshole.
You watched him going upstairs, listening for the faint echo of running water.
The plan had been taking root in your mind for days now. As you started to prepare supper, you decided it was time. This is it.
Anxiously glancing at the stairs, even though the shower was still running, you clasped the pills he kept on the top shelf, inside the empty coffee can. You weren’t entirely sure what they were, since there was no label, but you’d seen him pop them under his tongue sometimes. You could only hope they were some kind of heavy anti-something: psychosis, depression, anxiety, whatever.
Crushing several of them as fast as you could, you filled his bowl with soup and carefully mixed the white, thin powder in it.
By the time he was back, clean and fresh, you were already waiting for him at the table.
He kissed the top of your head before sitting down.
“Thank you, my love,” he voiced drowsily.
You offered him a weak smile, guilt already making its home in the pit of your stomach. You sat across from him, hands trembling as you gripped your spoon to eat.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“Just tired,” you lied, stirring your untouched soup.
Nikto nodded. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper tonight, the weight of what haunted him more visible. It made you hesitate, but it was too late now.
A few minutes passed, the tension choking you bit by bit as you kept watching for any signs that the pills were effective.
Suddenly, he paused and rubbed his temples with sluggish movements. Blinking a few times, he shook his head, surely trying to clear it. Struggling to stay conscious, his gaze narrowed, locking on you with confusion.
“I’m sorry,” your voice was barely a whisper.
Betrayal and panic waved in his eyes as he tried to get up, only to slump over the table. He tried to reach out a hand to steady himself, but his body betrayed him, and he collapsed on the floor with a heavy thud.
“What...” His words trailed off, heavy in his tongue, before he finally went limp.
You stared down at him with your mind racing. This was it. You had done it. Jesus Christ.
Getting out of the trance, you crouched and searched his pockets, fingers trembling as you hooked the keys. With your heart slamming against your chest, you looked at him one last time before grabbing the duffel bag you had prepared and rushing to the front door.
Your hands shook wildly as you fumbled with the keychain. After a couple of tries, a rush of relief flooded your body when the lock finally clicked open. But you didn’t move. For a moment, your resolve wavered. Hesitation coated your body.
That's what I want... Right?
Forcefully taking one step after another, you distanced yourself from the dacha. Every breath was agonizing. It was like your heart was being ripped off your chest. Looking back, you painfully glanced at the open door hoping to see Nikto standing there, ready to chase you through the woods. To play a twisted game that could only end with you under him, begging for his touch.
But the only thing you spotted was the nasty cat seated at the door frame expectantly.
Just leave it. It’s a cat. It’ll survive. Or not. Maybe Nikto will kill him once he realizes we are gone. We? Jesus, you are going crazy. Fuck it. That ugly piece of cat is not your problem anymore.
Yet, you couldn't force yourself to keep moving. The little thing kept staring at you, tilting his head as if it was trying to understand what was going on.
Yeah, mommy and daddy are getting divorced, sweetie. You just stay there, okay? FUCK.
Turning around in your heels, you ran toward the open door, silently praying for Nikto to be still knocked out. Opening your jacket, you tucked the familiar creature inside and it didn’t protest.
Walking as fast as you could, the cat was motionless under your jacket, except for the faint purring.
“Don’t get any ideas,” you muttered under your breath. “If I need to run, I’m throwing you to the wolves.”
The farther you went, the harder it became to breathe.
You didn’t even notice when the first tears started to stream down your face.
With each mile, the heaviness of what you had done began to settle in your chest.
Nikto would never forgive you.
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