Redemption (Midas x Reader)

• XX •

🚨 Trigger Warning: Kink, Trauma Bonding

🚨 Smut Warning (This one gets pretty damn rough towards the end, here's your heads up if you don't like that kinda stuff)

I stood with my bare feet on the cold tile of the kitchen, staring blankly into the small refrigerator.

Whoever had been in charge of moving Rox's stuff out had been in a hurry, and hadn't cleaned out the fridge. It was like looking at a snapshot of her day to day life, a life which was essentially over.

It was unsettling.

Fresh vegetables, fancy cheeses, a half eaten container of raspberries. Steaks still wrapped in butcher paper. There were two of them, and I wondered for a second if she'd intended to cook these for her and Midas after I was dead.

The only thing that even looked remotely like junk food was a bar of dark chocolate, but even that appeared to be artisan. She definitely took care of herself.

Hopefully now the bitch has to puree everything she eats.

I rifled through the contents, debating whether or not to just toss all of it in the trash. Anything that reminded me of her made me nauseous.

As I slid aside a few condiments on the top shelf, I found a small bottle of vodka tucked against the back wall of the fridge. Without hesitation I grabbed it and unscrewed the lid, swigging it.

Even though it was chilled it burned my throat, making me cough. I swigged again, the second going down much easier, my throat beginning to go numb. I sighed as I felt the warmth creep through my body.

I slammed the refrigerator door, and headed to the living area, bottle in hand.

The day had been physically and emotionally exhausting, to say the least.

I'd spent the majority of it in Midas' room, not being able to go anywhere wearing what he'd given me. The boxers were too big to stay up, and you could see my nipples straight through the thin white material of the shirt.

I wasn't even about to do the walk of shame through the Agency in these clothes, even though my new destination was only one floor down. I hadn't known when my new room would be ready, and didn't want to run into a bunch of people going in and out.

I hadn't intended to snoop through his things in the meantime, but I had been bored out of my mind, and was trying to locate a TV, or even just a deck of cards, when I'd found it.

There was a large set of cabinet doors in the sitting area, that I'd hoped had been harboring a flat screen, but when I'd opened it I'd been shocked at what I saw.

In front of me was a display case mounted inside, filled with what appeared to be helmets, all turned to solid gold.

I stood staring, mouth agape. Why would he keep something like this? Were they trophies? Had he killed the owners?

My blood had run cold.

I knew he'd killed people, I'd seen him kill people, but it was out of necessity. The idea that he enjoyed it, that he was proud of it, was something else altogether.

What if he were some kind of psychopath? He'd shown extreme kindness to me, and seemed to care about me, but weren't psychopaths manipulative by definition?

I had thought back to this morning. "Next time I won't be so polite," he'd said. I definitely knew he had a proclivity towards getting rough in the bedroom, but he'd always gotten consent. What if after he gained my trust he grew abusive?