My Beautiful Doll
Warning: Non-consensual touching, non-consensual marking, M/M assault, just all around rotten vibes.
A/N: Heyooo! I promised to give out chapter 8 early right? Well here it is. Another warning, this chapter is heavy on the non-con vibes. Obviously Don is not into the killer so it's very one-sided. I can never truly write anything explicit (without being terrified about getting crucified), this I guess about as bad as I can write it. It's still my first time publishing so I am very nervous. Anyways, hope you guys enjoy this chapter and have a nice day!
The first thing Don felt was a drilling sensation in his skull. Then, the nausea slowly creeped in, climbing up his throat. Opening his eyes, the room span, making the nausea even worse. Closing his eyes, he tried to swallow the bile down, not willing to deal with the aftermath of throwing up. He tried to roll over, but found that his hands were stuck above his head, a metal clang ringing out as he moved. Looking around, he realized he was laying on an unfamiliar bed with his hands handcuffed together, the chain looping around the center bedpost. Not only that, his legs were bound together with duct tape.
He felt a spike of panic shot through him. Knowing that his options are limited, he decided to push his body upwards so he could sit up in order to assess everything. As soon as he did, he looked down, horrified at what he saw. His shirt was completely unbuttoned with one side falling off his shoulder. What the hell happened? he thought. Then he remembered. Hotel, car, knockout gas, the memories flashed through his head. I've been kidnapped. Fortunately for him, his pants were still on, although his belt had also disappeared. At least the nausea was gone, but it had been replaced with dread.
Don shook his head, talk about bad luck. What are the chances that he runs into two kinds of dangerous criminals? Because there was no way this person had taken off his belt without seeing the FBI badge but still decided to kidnap him anyways. There were only a handful of criminals who would do something like that, and none of them brought him any good news.
He tried to tug at his bonds, hoping to break the frame but the metal was too thick. He looked around, cataloguing anything he could use to find a way out. But the bedroom was completely devoid of anything he could use. In fact, other than the bed, there was nothing in sight. Just a single lightbulb and a window that's covered over with curtains. He tried to look behind him so that he could gauge the situation with his hands, but an overly affectionate voice rang out.
"You're finally awake~".
Looking up, there was a figure in the doorway. He was wearing a cloth mask that covered his entire face. It looked thick enough to hide any possible distinguishing features but thin enough to the point where the man was able to see despite not having any eye holes cut out. He held a bag in his hand and wore all black, which definitely wasn't ominous at all.
"No thanks to you" Don hissed, never one to shy away even when in danger. The man let out a chilling laugh.
"So feisty…" the other man said, sounding amused. "Have your parents ever taught you how to be polite?". Don could hear the smile, even if he couldn't see it.
Don tugged at the handcuffs aggressively, "Let me go and I'll show you how polite I can be" he growled.
"Tempting offer, but no."
"Why? Too scared to take me on yourself?" Don challenged, hoping to gain some sort of reaction. But instead of getting angry, the man just laughed again.
"Trying to provoke me into making a mistake huh? Good strategy. But unfortunately for you, it won't work on me". Then he walked closer until he stopped right beside the bed, placing the bag on top. "You see, I'm well aware of the fact that you can take me out if given the chance."
Don narrowed his eyes. A criminal who knows their capabilities and limits is a dangerous one. Usually, criminals are overconfident or defensive in their abilities. They think they're better than law enforcement. But, because of that, they unintentionally give him holes that he can exploit. But, a person who understands what they can and can't do is an entirely different thing. The fact that this man admits that Don is a better fighter than him means that this guy is aware of Don's abilities and would spare him no leeway in anything. Escape definitely won't come easy, he thought to himself.
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" the man teased.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man cocked his head to the side. "Have you forgotten about me? I'm a bit hurt really". Then he leaned forward, forcing Don to lean back and away from the man. "After all, you've been chasing after me ever since you found my latest project".
Don could feel his heart hammer in his chest as soon as he heard that. The earlier conversation he had with Ian rang in his head.
"Ian, there are hundreds of people in LA. The chances of me running across a serial killer while I'm off duty is highly unlikely. You can even ask Charlie for the numbers."
"Unlikely doesn't mean it's not going to happen. Charlie will also vouch for that. People still get murdered after all". Ian let out a small huff of laughter "Knowing your luck, you could accidentally stumble across a major drug smuggling operation when you take out the trash."
Shit…he was right. Don didn't run into two different criminals, just one extremely dangerous one. "You're the Artist" he said, realization and horror dawning on him.
"There you go! There's that intelligent brain at work" the man sounded satisfied.
"So what? Am I your latest project?". That's it Eppes, keep him talking. Don knew he'd be reported missing as soon as he failed to update Gary today. All he had to do was stall for time. Easier said than done…
"You? Oh no, definitely not" the man shook his head. "You, my dear, are so much more than that."
"What do you mean by that?" This doesn't sound good.
The man tutted. "You don't know? Well, that does explain everything" he muttered, sounding somewhat disappointed.
"Explain what? What the hell are you talking about?" Don demanded, feeling more worried by the second.
"Explains why you went out and fell in love with another man."
Don froze, his mind now running on overdrive. Don't tell me...
The man then went onto the bed and sat on top of his legs, facing him. Don tried to desperately buck the man off, but his position held him at a disadvantage. He was stuck.
The man then reached out and grabbed his throat, forcibly shoving Don's head against the wall. "Now behave…" the man growled out, squeezing his throat in warning. Don grit his teeth and tried to shake himself out of the grasp, not willing to give up just yet. But then the man tightened his grip even more, causing Don to let out a strangled gasp as he tried to breathe in. "Good," he said, sounding extremely satisfied when Don stilled, reluctantly accepting the fact that sitting still would be the better option. He could see the outline of a smile on the man's face. A chill ran down his spine as he fought down the urge to flinch under the gaze.
With one hand still on Don's neck, he reached out and gently caressed Don's cheek with the other. "I've finally found you, my beautiful doll."
Don breath hitched in his throat as he could feel his heart rate pick up. Memories of all those obsessive letters that the Artist has left behind ran through his head. Everything that the Artist has said about this mysterious person, about how they were meant to be or how much he loved them. It was all extremely disturbing, even for an experienced agent like him. Everytime he read them, there was an overpowering need to take a shower from how sickeningly obsessive it was. But to know that they were all about him?
It was horrifying.
The man forcefully tilted Don's head to the side, placing a light kiss on his exposed shoulder. Then he buried his face in Don's neck, inhaling deeply. Don could only clench his fists, frustration and disgust mounting due to his powerless position.
"My sweet, beautiful angel…" the man murmured. He had let go of Don's throat and instead placed his hand on Don's waist, running his hands up and down gently. "I was waiting for this, you know? Waiting for the day I could finally claim you as mine" The man said, his tone sickly sweet. "But then you went out and slept with another man" he growled, tightening the grip on Don's waist "you betrayed me".
"You're delusional. I don't belong to you" Don bit out before he could stop himself.
The man laughed, but Don could detect anger simmering underneath. "Wrong answer doll" he said, his hand going lower. Don prayed to every deity in the universe that this isn't going where he thinks this is going. God, please not this he begged desperately, anything but this.
The man laid his hand on Don's thigh. "I hoped you would understand, but it seems like you're still refusing to see" he let out a low chuckle, "I should've known, you are stubborn after all. Looks like I'll just have to spell it out for you". The hand then gripped his thigh to the point where Don was sure it would bruise. "You. Have. No. Choice", his fingers digging deeper with each word, causing Don to wince in pain.
Don inhaled sharply, his heart thundering even more in his chest. Panic threatened to override his carefully crafted FBI training. This is bad, really bad. He could deal with being beaten, shot, stabbed, and burned. Coming so close to death is a part of the job sometimes. But this? This was a whole new thing, one that no amount of training in the world could prepare him for. The sudden changes in his mood, the way the man's touch went from gentle and loving to painful and obsessive. It all shot a spike of fear into his heart and made his skin crawl. It was only through sheer willpower that Don still managed to keep his composure.
"Good, looks like it's finally sunk in," the man said. "But it seems like I still need to do something about this, something that will stick".
Oh god, what's he planning now? Don held his breath, not willing to give the sick man satisfaction of seeing him scared. Don forced the disgust that was slowly overcoming his sense down, he needed to focus.
The man then pulled his mask up, stopping just on the bridge of his nose. Then he pressed his lips on the juncture of Don's neck and shoulder. The kiss was light and even gentle, but no less revolting. Then without warning, he bit down, hard. Don let out a surprised cry before clamping his mouth shut, gritting his teeth to keep himself from making a sound. The handcuffs rattled as Don violently jerked his hands upwards out of instinct. He tried to focus his mind on something else, but by god it hurts so bad. He couldn't even move away, trapped under the weight of the bigger man.
After what felt like an eternity, finally he let go. Don thought it was over, but then the man went and kissed another part of his shoulder. Oh god not again. Don tensed, bracing himself for the pain. "Why so tense? After all, you did this to yourself."
"Bullshit" he growled. "The only one at fault here is y-ARGH!" He shouted as the man bit down again, this time harder than before. Don could feel the man's teeth break his skin, digging into him. He clenched his fists, roughly tugging at the cuffs but still keeping his body still so as to not make everything even worse. Don then felt the man gently suck on the mark, lapping up the blood that seeped from the wound.
"Who knew a tough guy like you would taste so sweet?" he whispered, thumbing the mark that he made. Then he ran his teeth over Don's collarbone, clearly taking perverse delight in the way Don's breath hitches whenever his teeth sunk in. Don could only grit his teeth in pain whenever the man bit down, disgust building up everytime he felt the man lick over or suck on his wound. His entire being is focused on not giving the man the satisfaction of his reactions.
God make it stop. "Why the hell are you doing this?" Don hissed.
The man pulled his mask back down and looked up. Even with the cloth covering his eyes, Don could feel the weight of his gaze staring into his soul. His anger was palpable and suffocating. The man went and gripped his throat again, tight enough to hold Don in place but not so tight that he'd have trouble breathing. Judging from the smile on the man's face, Don could tell that he was enjoying it. "So everyone knows you're taken". His grip tightened again, "Remember Don Eppes, you're mine. Not your family's, not the FBI's, not Ian Edgerton's. Mine".
"I'd rather shoot myself in the skull," Don snarled before he could stop himself.
The bastard sighed, "You still haven't learned", his tone far too happy. He's enjoying this too much. "Looks like I'll have to up the ante". The man then reached over to the bag that Don had forgotten about and took something. Holding it out, Don could see clearly what it was.
It was a bullet.
The man grabbed his chin. "Open up" he ordered. Don clamped his mouth shut, he's not going to give in so easily. The man snarled, and suddenly Don could feel his airway being completely blocked. The man shoved his head against the wall, hand clasped over his neck tightly. Don grit his teeth, desperate to gasp for air but unwilling to give the man what he wants. As much as he tried to fight it, his survival instincts won out in the end. He gasped for air and the man swiftly shoved the bullet into his mouth, hand clasped over it. The hand that was strangling him had let go and grabbed a familiar looking tie, his tie Don thought belatedly. The man wrapped the tie around his mouth and tied it tightly on the back of his head, sealing the bullet inside. Don could feel the fabric press up against his tongue, the bullet lodged securely between his teeth to prevent himself from accidentally swallowing it.
Don let out a muffled sound of protest. "My pretty little doll" the man whispered lovingly, brushing a thumb over Don's lower lip. He glared, channeling all of his hatred into a single look. The man only laughed at him and then pulled out something else. Something that made Don's heart almost stop.
It was a knife, the metal glinting menacingly under the lightbulb.
"Now this is the main event," the man smiled. He first ran the knife down the side of Don's face then throat, stopping right on his chest. "I'll make sure you'll never forget" he said before pressing down. Don bit down on the bullet, the tape dampening his cries of pain as he felt the knife slowly cut him. The cold metal biting into his skin as the man ran his knife over his chest. Don kept his body still, but his hands were desperately tugging on the handcuffs, his blood running down his hands as the restraints cut into his wrists.
It hurt like hell, pure and simple. The slow sensation of the cold metal slicing his skin open, leaving an agonizing stinging sensation in its wake. The entire thing felt like it went on forever. But then it stopped, the metal no longer digging into his skin. He looked down, horrified at what he saw. He could feel the nausea come back, this time for a different reason.
The letter "A" was carved onto him, right over his heart.
The man placed a gentle kiss on the cut. "This will serve as a reminder that your heart is mine" he growled, then he moved to grab another thing.
Before Don could try and process what it was, the man brought up a gun, his gun, to Don's face and slammed it over his head. Don let out a muffled cry of pain. Fighting against the darkness that threatened to swallow him, he could barely make out the man's last words
"Now it's time for the others to see it too".
The gun slammed down again and Don was pulled under.
A/N: Oh no, Don's really screwed. And we're still on the first body (that you know of) ;). There are still whumps a plenty, "uncomfy" vibes all around, and questionable decisions galore. Next chapter will have a different POV. Also, I might be a bit late to publish it since I have a lot of homework (damn uni), so I apologize for that.