#{Woman Behind the Gun - OOC} | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tremendum · 1 year

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pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.5k summary: but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine. his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with. warnings: SMUT. dubcon (sex pollen), age gap (not specified), use of the word ‘girl’, friends(ish) to lovers, canon-typical mentions of violence, needles/getting pricked by a plant, descriptions of canon-typical injuries, unprotected PiV sex, kinda rough, creampie, light cumplay, oral (f and m recieving), a fair amount of begging, dacryphilia, size kink, overstimulation, voyeur Joel if you squint just for a sec, facefucking, mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, some spanking, choking, reader gets slapped on the cheek like once, dom!joel miller, spit kink, fingering, dirty talk/slight degradation if you squint, light praise, this is just basically porn with no plot, they’ve got feelings for each other but they’re in denial, ellie is in this in the beginning but doesn’t hear them thank GOD, notes: this is my first work for Joel and though I never finished the first game, the release of the TV series inspired me bc i am a SLU T for pedro lmao. this is terribly unedited because I just forgot i took edibles after i smoked and cranked this out in an hour and a half so sorry if it’s choppy or a bit ooc for joel. ALSO IF IM MISSING WARNINGS PLS MESSAGE ME

★

"whose brilliant idea was this?"

you say it from behind Joel, the echo of your boots splashing through the tunnel as you look around you, your eyes sneaking to observe the width of his shoulders, the stretch of his shirt over the muscles.

Joel can't stop the twist of his lips as he grumbles back at you, "yours." he mutters, rolling his eyes.

his flashlight cuts through the darkness in front of you two, scaling over the walls that grow slimy with repeated dew and rainwater, algae sprawling over the pipes and reaching its fingers down towards your shoes. he doesn't like being down here, it's too quiet, damp, dark. perfect for cordyceps to grow.

you let out a soft, amused hum at his words that coaxes a bubble of irritation through Joel - you'd always been stubborn, from the day he'd first laid eyes on you; a young thing at the time, baring teeth you thought were sharp but really just looked like a little doe snapping its jaw at him.

it's been long enough with you around now that Joel knows you better than he's willing to admit, and maybe also knows himself than he would ever say out loud - because you're still that stubborn fireball of a woman and he's still the tired old man who you find amusing to tease. and he likes it, deep deep down.

"yeah, maybe just letting it go was the better option." you muse from behind him, voice still somehow dripping like honey though the sloshing of the sewer provided nothing but unpleasantries for the group of you. he turns to spare a glare at you; you were already smirking at him. setting him up, then lying in wait.

a damn minx.

he sighs, looking away: sure, he wants you, of course he does - you were spry, beautiful, intelligent, and resourceful. but you were stubborn, and butted heads with him more than rams did in mating season. still, there'd been too many lingering glances, suggestive phrases, and gentle caresses for it to be a coincidence. he could tell that when you watched him split wood or help teach you to shoot a gun that you were probably soaked through your panties, and that made him hard as a rock when he allowed himself to think about it once in a blue moon.

but that doesn't matter, because in a world that wasn't like this one - without the danger, pain, the necessities to survive - a girl like you would never bat a fucking eye at a man like him.

and he's got more important things to think about than how tight you'd feel around his cock, how well you'd take his orders with his hand around your throat.

but your words not only fall to his ears - from where Ellie hangs upside down from the storm drain, she snorts, "you spent that whole time back there arguing with him just to decide he was right?" she boasts. at this, you grab her arm, pretending to pull her down from above your head and into the storm drain with you and Joel. a splashing noise and a squeal echoes through the tunnel as your boots slosh; Joel turns back with irritation, about to snap at the two to keep quiet.

but you're grinning, eyes reaching his from where you stand, covered in storm drain water. Ellie's flipped upside-down, hanging from the ceiling with a grin of amusement, her arm slack in your grip.

your shirt is wet, slick against your plush skin around your stomach and breasts, your hair stuck to your cheeks and forehead and neck. slowly, you bend down to pick the axe out of the murky water, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you shake the water from its hilt. he has to tear his eyes away from the flash of the lacy underwear that peeks from the waistline of your jeans.

Joel's breathing is almost stutters - you’re a goddamn sight right now, and if the tightening in Joel's jeans meant anything, it's that he needed to look away.

"it doesn't matter. you got your axe, now we need to get out of here." he mutters, tired of letting you convince him to do asinine decisions like try and crawl into a storm drain to fetch the axe you'd accidentally dropped. your lips pull into a tight line and he ignores the twist of fire in his stomach at your gaze, the smirk as you try to conceal your laughter. it just irritates him even more.

he watches with sharp eyes as Ellie starts to pull you up and out of the drain; he's trained with a flashlight and his rifle pointed towards the depths beyond you, into the unknown area of the drain. your head is almost out of his sight when it happens: you twitch suddenly and let out a yelp, "fuck!" you hiss. Joel's rushing towards you, calling your name.

you groan, pulling yourself up with the aid of Ellie as you mutter, "'m fine Joel, something stung me."

stung you? he looks around, flashlight searching the area for any animal or insect or other threat - nothing. but when you're clear of the drain, obscured by the dilapidated road above his head, Joel hears Ellie let out an interested but disgusted noise. his gun goes first, then the flashlight. he pulls himself up and as he nearly breaches the light of the Earth, a sharp sting attaches to his thigh, coaxing a grunt of shock from his lips as he pulls himself fully out.

you're laying, soaked on the hot pavement, Ellie staring at you with wide eyes as you inspect your calf. there's a barb on it with spikes that look almost like a cactus of sorts, bright purple and speckled with yellow. Joel doesn't have to look down to see his own thigh impaled with the spokes of the same plant. he tilts his head back, hand scrubbing his face with a deep sigh. damn it.

"what is that?" Ellie asks, eyes wide as Joel quickly pulls out the plant from his flesh with the flannel he'd tied around his pack. "don't!" he chastises as your bare hands move towards the spoked on your calf, and your eyes soon shoot up to him. "did y'touch a plant down there? or anything?" he asks, trying to ensure this wasn't anything toxic or lethal, or god forbid, a mutation of the cordyceps.

but if it had been, there'd have been signs of it. pulsing, infecteds even - but this was a plant Joel has never seen before.

"obviously" you grunt, shooting him a glare, "I wouldn't fucking touch something growing if I didn't know it was safe." you snark. he knows you hate it when he treats you like a child - you've said as much to him before, and loudly - but he can't help the protectiveness he feels for you. your skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, "but it shot out barbs towards me. I wasn't even close to it, you saw me." you defend.

Joel's throat clenches, his chest swimming with a warm feeling as the tingling sensation on his thigh lingers far after he'd pulled the barb from his jeans. he needed to get that thing out of you, too. you watch him as he pulls it out of your leg swiftly, Ellie sitting back on her haunches as she watches.

"we should clean these out." Joel decides, standing up and grabbing his gun and discarded flashlight, sending a glare down to the axe that sits glinting in the sun. just what he needs, another thorn in his side. literally.

the walk back to the house was much less exciting for you as it had been before the little romp with Joel in the sewer. the sun is hot beating down on your backs, and your dampness just exacerbates the mustiness of the storm drain's water soaking into your skin.

your calf is starting to vibrate, almost - although your heart twists with worry, you eye Joel's back and he seems fairly normal. so, you keep going, ignoring the heat that starts to consume you. your head aches by the time you round your last corner to get back.

Ellie's in her own world, kicking a rock as the house nears your sights: you'd landed here early this morning, some people who knew Joel before had lived here: they were gone now.

but it had beds, water that could be heated, and a collection of weapons and supplies stocked higher than your head.

so as you settle your things into the living room, you smile, digging into your pack to fish out the scraps of soap you'd saved, enough for several washes each of you were liberal with it. "so, who gets it first?" you say with a grin, unable to contain the excitement in your voice at the prospect of getting clean. Ellie jumps up, grinning with glee.

"dibs on going last!" she whistles, pulling a dry stare from both Joel and you. she shrugs, "what, don't want to be yelled at for takin' my time." she grumbles, flopping down on the couch, sofa releasing a plume of dust.

you lift a brow, "there's a second tub down here, isn't there?" you ask. Joel nods, eyes flickering to Ellie, "then you can take the tub down here. but only use a bit of hot water." he chides.

she rolls her eyes as he points a stern finger her way, swiping a piece of the soap you'd held out to her as she hauls her bag behind her, "relax, old man." she mutters, shaking her head as she disappears, "I'll let it run cold before I get out."

your eyes fall on to Joel, who sighs, nodding to the upstairs bathroom. "you go." he says dismissively. you chew on your lip, trying to figure a way out of taking the first bath: you needed to inspect this sting first. "no, i can wait. 's fine." you shrug, the feverish heat on your body not helping yourself to focus.

his hands run to the back of his neck, massaging a spot; your eyes are glued to the muscles that ripple from the movement, the long fingers thick and rough from a lifetime of hard work. you shudder, arousal pooling at the apex of your thighs easily. you swallow, embarrassed - why were you having such an odd reaction to this plant? it was making you feel fuzzy, feverish; the only thing you can focus on is Joel.

he shakes his head, "nonsense. ladies first." he insists, not meeting your eyes. you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, his abnormal attempt at chivalry - you laugh a bit. he glares at you, but there's no heat.

"since when have you been one for chivalry, Joel?" you ask, shaking your head with a smirk. it's sweet, because despite the horror of reality, there were still times when that charming Southern Man that Joel probably once was peeks through the cold, hard exterior.

rare but not unheard of were the times he'd hold a door open, or say ma'am - but it seems that all that remains of his past is that damn smooth accent and the broken watch he keeps on his wrist at all times.

he rolls his eyes but says nothing. his face looks red, and you almost bring up the pulsing at the site of that plant's needle; instead, you bite your tongue. you need a moment to analyze it, alone - and to get your thoughts straight, to - to not think about him.

"you can take first, Joel. I prefer my baths lukewarm, anyways." you joke, a fleeting touch on his arm.

your hand burns when you pull away and his eyes catch yours as if he felt it too. he must decide to not protest anymore as he nearly stumbles his way upstairs, disappearing into the master bathroom, his hands shaky as they take your soap from your grasp on the way.

Joel knew something was wrong immediately. the more he'd stood there, debating with you about who gets to fucking clean themselves first, the more he saw you, in a tub, fingers caressing yourself; the more real it felt, to see you touch your hardened buds, play with your tits, to hear you moan his name gently.

but his body was hot. he felt a fever like nothing he'd ever felt before, his mind going fuzzy as he'd stumbled into the bathroom, scrubbing his whole body from head to toe vigorously, as though whatever was happening would fade away if he'd just get clean.

the bath couldn't have been longer than seven minutes.

by the end of it, he was grunting into his shoulder to muffle the noise, his fist squeeing his cock tight as he fucks himself into it, the hot spurs of wanton need curling around his body, choking him. that god damned soap. it smelled like you.

he'd thrown it across the room, its pieces splintered across the ground as Joel bites back a groan of your name, the images of you, soft hands pumping him, slick mouth opening to take him inside- he cums over his chest in hot spurts, the guilt red and hot across his cheeks as the feeling snaps from his chest.

but the fever is still there when he blinks away the pleasured cloud of his orgasm.

and it's still there, burning hot like a snake of revenge in his body when he slams the door open, body still damp and quick to react to the fresh air of the upstairs bedroom.

he doesn't go back downstairs, not like this. not when the girl is down there, probably still in her own bath; he's still not sure what he's come down with, or if it could spread.

now, it’s your turn in the bathroom in the master bedroom - he'd beelined it for the office upstairs before calling for you and telling you it was your turn; he knew that something in him would snap if he were to see you while he was in this state.

but he should've gone back downstairs, because the moment he hears it, it's too late for him.

you're moaning.

it's almost clear as day; muffled through doors as you'd shut yourself from the rest of the house in the master bedroom, and Joel can't fucking unhear it.

he became painfully hard again mere minutes after his first orgasm and has been restraining himself for what can only have been the ten minutes you'd been bathing, but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine.

his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with.

"fuck." he groans, surprised as it comes out much more breathy than intended, his whole body shuddering as his brain gets even more swarmed with thoughts - you, spread for him, or on your knees, or laying on the table, his cock shoved down your throat-

he hits the wall, hard. his fist stings but it's nothing in comparison to the burning need he feels swirling in his gut and his legs carry him until he's knocking on the door to the master bedroom frantically.

he calls your name, and a weak gasp is the only response. he tries again, and then your muffled voice calls, "fuck, Joel, that plant-" you cut yourself off with what Joel can only imagine is a moan of pain and pleasure. his cock twitches and he thinks he may pass out. staggering over to the bannister, Joel calls out for Ellie. she stomps over to peak her head up towards him expectantly.

he's shaking, sweat already sheening over his whole body. he's sure he looks like hell as he grips the landing under white knuckles, "Ellie, we're sick." he groans, "stay downstairs."

she calls back up, joking that she’s going to leave the house; but she doesn't sound sincere. he barely registers her laughter before she shuts the door, closing herself off to explore the downstairs house without Joel or you to protect her. he's momentarily glad she's not suspicious, instead is relieved to have her own time to herself.

but his cock is so hard he thinks he may pass out again, and he can hear you gasping out his name from behind the door to the bedroom and bathroom.

the door to the bedroom shuts and echoes through the empty upstairs as he tears through, chest heaving. you're still in the bathroom, gasping as your moans echo through the chamber.

he calls your name as he slumps against the door frame to the bathroom, the desire coursing through his body as he shakes with the feverous affects from the plant's venom.

he can't think straight, "I can't come in." he says, shaking his head as his forehead rests against the cool wood. you wail from inside, "Joel, please, I need- I need you, please I need help." you whimper. he can practically see you, the pleading look on your face pathetic as your brows tangle together, eyes shut in frustration. he knows you're touching yourself, and it makes his cock twitch.

"I can't." he says sternly, knowing that if he is to come through that door, there may be no stopping himself. he can't let that happen, not like this. "I'll- I'll be good, just- I can't, nothing's working." you whimper.

"not like this, darlin'." he's grunting through his teeth, but he feels so much desire that it's painful, like he'll die. anger courses through his chest as you let out a drawn out moan, low and full of need even through the wall that separates you.

"fuck you." you groan, "I hate you, Joel, never let me fuckin' have anything," your voice is strangled, a shuddering moan leaving your lips that sends jolts of electricity throughout his entire being. his hand finds his aching cock, slowly trying to relieve the painful desire that shoots through him with need.

he glares through the wall, "yeah, well, fuck you too." he spits back, anger coursing through him at your bratty exclaim of irritation for him - the one who kept you safe, who let you do what you wanted - who followed you into goddamn sewer drains to find the shit that you’d lost.

"walking around, flaunting that fuckin' ass at me." his words fall from his lips before he can stop himself, the desire and haze pulling it out of him as he twists his wrist around himself. "do you know what you do to me?" he nearly growls, "every time you open that mouth it's some shit. always gotta have somethin' to say to me, huh? make me wanna shut you up."

your moan is nearly a sob this time; it's raw, full of desire, and Joel could just about cum from that noise alone. his neck heats up with the knowledge that his words pushed you even further; he always knew you'd be a dirty little thing.

but he nearly falls over as the door to the bathroom rips open, catching himself with one arm on the doorframe, his cock still in his fist. his eyes find you on the ground, fully naked, on your goddamn hands and knees for him.

his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when you gasp, "Joel, we need to-" you swallow as though you were salivating at the sight of him above you, cock angry and flushed, "you have to fuck me, now."

he stares down at you, his whole entire body tremoring at the sight of you; your bare chest, nipples peaked at you suck in breaths, face flushed with desire and sweat, your own legs shaking terribly. your hands are glistening with your own juices. he lets out a moan.

"please," you try to get his attention again, squirming as though you're in just as much pain as he is, "please, just use me, I don't care, I want to taste you."

he shakes his head, "we-we aren't thinking straight... can't do this." he gasps, even his own words starting to sound absurd to himself. you shake your head actual tears welling up in your eyes, "I think about this all the time, Joel-" you moan, your hand slipping between your legs, the wet sounds sending streaks of desire through his body. “it’s not just the fucking plant, Joel, I need you.” you hum. his wrist hasn't stopped moving, he realizes, chasing that sweet fucking high as you stare at his cock with a wide, hungry glance, begging him to fuck you. he wonders if he’s just dreaming again.

"you know that I want this." you gasp out, tears nearly slipping from your lashline, "don't you?"

does he? how could you dare to ask that?

he groans, nodding, "shit, baby, shut the fuck up."

"you're a fucking asshole, Joel." you whine, "it hurts." you mutter, biting your lip with a ghost of a smile. that makes him snap. it hurts, and you're fucking enjoying it?

he grabs you roughly. the minute his skin touches yours it burns deliciously; he can't believe he had the control to not touch you this whole time. his moan is tandem with yours as his fingers thread through your hair, intending on lifting you to take you to the bed; your hands grip his thighs, though, and soon your hot, wet mouth finds the angry head of his cock.

you take him about halfway before you gag slightly and he slams his hand hard on the wall just above you; your eyes are fluttered shut, a tear squeezing out as your throat opens for him. he groans at the pleasure that courses through him, reaches his fingers, the nape of his neck. you're pulling on him desperately, and it makes him smirk down at you.

"what, you wan' me to fuck that pretty little mouth?" he mutters, heart thundering in his chest as his fingers shake with desire. you pull off him, gasping slightly for breath, your finger still touching yourself as you nod, a string of spit still connecting him to your lips, "yes." you say with a nod, falling back against the wall as he crowds over you.

he's not patient, not right now. he knows he could fuck your mouth until he was shooting his seed down your throat and you'd sit through it all with that pretty hair and grin and hell, you’d probably even thank him afterwards; but he doesn't have the time for that. he needs to be deep inside you, needs to be drowning in your cunt, needs to fuck you down into the mattress so hard you scream.

and you're desperate, clearly: you're two fingers deep, fucking yourself on your fingers as another tear trails down your cheek, breathless as you shift in near pain from need. he resists the urge to coo down at you, his thumb still swiping the tear from your cheek before he grabs you again, this time pulling you up and tugging you onto the bed.

you let out a moan of his name, your face flush with arousal as you spread your thighs open for him, watching with a pained expression as he pulls off his shirt and jeans, discarding his boxers as he goes. your eyes rake over him and you whimper, still not touching him until he gives you permission.

it makes him smirk, "for such a brat it's a wonder you're so obedient like this." he mutters, pulling your legs further open as he quickly stands with his legs against the edge of the bed, running his cock against your soaked, velvety cunt.

you whimper, jolting in pleasure as his head catches your sensitive, neglected nub and he smears his precum there, enthralled in the shapes your nails carve into his biceps as you gasp.

he can't pull his eyes away from your glistening center - how many times had you cum before he'd heard you? he swallows, the flames licking his belly as he pushes his head against your tight hole.

he grunts, you were so goddamn tight; your eyes widen as you try to move your hips, try to slide yourself onto his cock, but he stops you with a rough hand around your shoulder, pinning you down. "stop." he orders, leaning so he can spit down, the slick trailing down to settle right onto where his cock nestles against your entrance. you let out a strangled gasp at his actions, throat dry from your noises.

he doesn't give you time to beg, though, as he's slowly easing himself into you; you let out a yelp at the feeling, loud enough that Joel's hand clamps over your lips roughly, his breath hitting your face, "shut your damn mouth, girl."

you feel like you're splitting open as he inches in and it's barely just his head but you have never felt such excruciating bliss as now, your breath falling from your nostrils harshly as he eases himself into you.

you wonder how much he is restraining against just fucking hard into you - but you're tight after the orgasms you'd given yourself in the bath trying to satiate the feelings you'd figured out were from that fucking plant venom.

you don't even know if he'll fit all the way into you as he inches slowly in, taking a few grunting breaths before fully sheathing himself inside your hot pussy. you clamp around him, feeling full as he bites his lip, chest heaving, slick with sweat. his hand, still clamped over your mouth, tightens against you as he slowly starts to thrust; he reaches a part so deep in you that you nearly scream.

he's hitting your spot nearly immediately as he starts to quicken his pace, hips hitting against yours deeply. you moan his name, "Joel, fuck, 's so fucking deep." you gasp it, unable to think of anything but chasing the high that's been building since the second the plant's venom entered your system.

he doesn't seem to like when you start to move your hips, chasing his when he pulls away; his hand comes to your cheek in a quick smack, grabbing your attention immediately. you can't prevent the moan at the sensation, nor the way you clench tight around his cock.

the moan he lets out is half-way between your name and fuck, as he slides into you deeper, hand wrapped around your cheeks, training your eyes on his. there's a glint of something animal in his eyes: you're sure he sees the same thing in you, the venom of that plant coursing through the two of you, nearly palpable in the air of skin slapping skin.

your cunt flutters at the eye contact, the desire bringing you closer to the edge; his hands shoot to your shins, pulling them up to his chest and then he leans forward with a deep thrust, coaxing tears of pleasure from your eyes. "that's it, take it." he grunts into your hear, hips punctuating each thrust as his tip nudges that spongy spot inside you that curls your toes.

then one hand catches yours as you fist the sheets; he pulls your arm roughly down towards where he enters you as he bites the lobe of your ear. "you're going to cum." he tells you breathlessly, directing your hand towards your clit, pressing the pads of your fingers against it. you yelp in pleasure, more tears squeezing from ecstasy as you nod against his forehead, "yes, fuck, I'm gonna-gonna cum."

"that's right." he's deeper, "cum for me." he nearly whispers it, almost desperate. it's just what you need to push you over the edge: his hips angling in a way that has hot, searing pleasure coursing through you. you nearly go blind when you cum with a gasp of his name. his hips don't even stutter as he fucks you through your orgasm, the relief washing over you in waves of pleasure. you can't open your eyes, your chest heaving, arms locked on his biceps, hips quivering with the intensity of the feeling.

he keeps the roll of his hips as he slides easily through your ruined pussy, his brows pinched in pleasure.

"y'feel so good," you nearly go limp, your fourth orgasm drawn out by the touch of the man you couldn't ever stop thinking about. he's so deep inside you, you're surprised you can't feel him in your throat as he thrusts. "pretty girl," he mutters, pinching one of your nipples and sending shockwaves through you; the relief you'd felt from your orgasm, just like the previous ones, is soon washed away by the newly replaced desire, back again and somehow even more hungry.

you nearly cry at the thought, but something in you still yearns for it and you allow your ankles to cross around his hips. "never wanna leave this cunt." he mutters against your collarbone. you flutter again at his words, arousal slicking you, him, the sheets below you; the squelch of your juices fill the room as he chases his own high.

a particularly loud cry of pleasure lands you with his hand yet again over your mouth, but this time, you waste no time in pulling his fingers to your lips, sucking two of them in eagerly as your hand tries to wrap around his thick wrist.

his eyes meet yours and his jaw clenches as his hips stutter, nearing his own high. his fingers work quick; thrusting into your mouth, slick with your spit, gagging you as he bottoms out particularly roughly. your nails scrape down his back and you'd be more shocked if there weren't marks later.

a few more thrusts and you can tell he's close, so you pull his fingers out of your mouth to gasp, "please, cum in me, Joel," you whimper into his neck, biting down hard as he groans your name. his hand suddenly clasps around your throat, pushing you down against the mattress as he fucks into you deep, his eyes screwed shut, "don' say shit like that to me, darlin'."

but his thrusts are getting sloppier as you squeeze around him, luring him in, the intoxicating scent of soap and him and his musk surrounding your head. "please, I'll do anything." you whine, hand crawling up his neck to cradle his jaw. his dark eyes meet yours and he moans at how earnest you look, his hand tightening his grip around your throat and squeezing slightly, your airway constricted for a slight moment, causing you to gasp for air when he leans back.

your desire has you cloudily begging, pulling at his hair, his arms, his back, keeping him in, and finally he growls, "shut up." he snaps, "'m gonna cum in you, and you better be fuckin' good." he barely looks at you as he lightly slaps one of your tits, grabbing the other and pinching your hardened nipple as he watches your whole body bounce from the force of his thrusts. "god, you feel so good." he mutters to himself. you preen at the praise, your own high creeping near.

your lips are clamped shut, his hand holding your head down from your throat as you nearly scream, his thrusts slowing and sloppy. he lets out a delicious moan as he hits his high. "that's right, take me." he mutters, his chest shaking as he cums; he's moaning loud as he thrusts one last time, his seed coating your walls.

"fuck." he eases, his thumb falling to soothe over your hairline gently as he releases into you. "so good for me, aren't you?"

you swallow, the burning fire of desire still smoldering in your core, your tear trails long since dried, your body exhausted but full of energy. you nod, unable to trust your words.

he pumps into you slowly once more before pulling all the way out, the noise of your slick and his cum slippery as you feel empty without him filling you.

but he's already distracted, his eyes hazy as he watches a bit of his cum spill from your weeping hole, his thumb dropping to slide it back up and into you, pressing against your entrance, your breath catching.

"is it- is it gone for you?" he asks, his voice strained. you don't need to look down to see that the venom hasn't yet run its course through his system yet; his eyes are still alight with the same animalistic desire that you feel pounding in your heart. your feverish sweating, the headache - most of it's gone, replaced with an intense, destructive desire that has you keening into his hand as it cups your used pussy, his eyes teasing.

"no," you moan, "you?"

he's already dropping to his knees as he breathes out, "no."

your eyes widen. in your haze, you're searching for any relief for this growing arousal, the feelings you have for Joel driving you to beg endlessly for him, yet you hadn't expected him to do this. immediately, his hands wrap around your shaking thighs, his breath hitting your bare, throbbing pussy. you can't even think as you card your fingers back through his hair, hips jerking up away from his face as he licks a small stripe over her swollen clit.

you're so worked up that you can't help the tightening coil as he soon dives his tongue into you, cleaning up the mess you'd made between your thighs, swirling around your clit.

you tug hard at his hair's roots, hard enough he's sending a groan into you that reverberates through you, vibrating your chest as you clamp one hand over your lips.

fiery pleasure snakes through your body, your ankles falling over his shoulder onto his back as he eats you out like a staved man. you see his arm moving through your clouded vision and you let out a pathetic whimper as you realize the wet noises aren't just from his mouth on you: he's fucking his fist. his movements make your legs shake hard, eyes rolling back as he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue.

“Joel,” you mutter, his name the only thing that can come out of your mouth as you can’t help but grind down slightly. Joel's hands are hard on your hips; you know tomorrow as you pull on your jeans, you'll have ten fingerprints marked into you.

it sends a delicious swirl of pride through you as he moans into you, "you taste so good, darlin'.” he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to your heat. your eyes roll back again as one of his hands reaches up to grasp your tit, thumb and finger pinching and rolling as he fucks his tongue into you. one of his hands snakes up to your ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making you buck your hips against him.

“Joel, i-” you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp, the overstimulating pressure making it increasingly harder to speak. your toes curl and head tilts back as his teeth graze over your clit, your thighs clenching shut as your orgasm nears violently quick.

"you gonna cum again?" he mutters, barely breaking away from you, his own hand moving fast as he fucks his fist; you yearn to feel him in your mouth, to taste him. “please, please.” you mutter, your hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at your clit and making you cry out. “please, make me cum, Joel.” you plead, tugging his head closer, his hand slapping your ass again.

and then you're clenching your thighs on either side of him and grinding down as you hit your peak, shaking in pleasure. you grind yourself onto his tongue as he drinks you in, cleaning you of every last drop, his thumb soothing over your hip. he rides you through your high, lapping at you and only pulling away when you go lax on the mattress, legs twitching, gasps ragged and scarce.

you'd have probably passed out right then and there if it hadn't been for his own strangled grunt, your eyes snapping back to him, to where his hand wraps around his own dick, slick with your cum and his own spit.

"Joel," you mumble, cheeks feeling hot as your mind starts to lift, desire yet again pooling between your thighs as you slide down, off the bed until your back hits it, hands caressing over his thighs, "let me taste you." you ask, cheek hot as it lays on his thigh, your eyes begging up at him.

he moans deeply as one had slides behind your neck, steadying you as his other grips himself, "stick out your tongue." his pupils are blown so wide you can only see black. you follow his order, sticking out your tongue as you eagerly lean towards his cock, his brows furrowing as he slaps your tongue with himself.

his hands tug you towards him, your lips tugging over him as you take him into your mouth, trying your best to look up at him. you gag around him as he thrusts his hips forward, your hands flying up to grip his thighs. "fuck, look at you," he moans, his grip tight against your head, slowly starting to fuck your throat, your eyes tearing up. "so eager for me, bet you'd let me fuck you anywhere, hm?"

your face heats up as you hum, unable to say anything as he slides into you, tip pushing against your throat, your eyes rolling back. "yeah, you would. i know you think about it, darlin'. think about it all the time."

you should be embarrassed to learn that Joel had, under more sober circumstances, noticed how you acted around him. but instead you let the trail of spit slide down your chin and onto your bare breasts, your fingers pushing it over your hardened nipples as he pulls off your mouth.

you gasp for air, looking up at him with wet eyes. "get on the bed." he orders and you scramble with weak legs onto the mattress, staring at him, the familiarly torturous desire in you throbbing. his hands push you around until you're on your elbows and knees, his hand swatting your ass. "gonna cum on that pretty ass." he mutters, hand grabbing a handful of the plush skin as he spreads you open, "okay?"

"yes, yes, please." you mutter, face sweaty and stuck with your wet hair as he leans down, spitting onto your glistening, puffy cunt. you're nearly sobbing into the sheets as he slides into your wet, warm hole, his groans just as wrecked as you.

"jesus christ, girl." he mutters to himself as he starts to thrust into you, the new angle setting your whole body alight with the coiled pleasure. it builds fast until you feel like you're on fire, his hands rough against your hips, swatting your ass every time your hips pulled away from the overstimulation.

"you need to come." his breath is hot as it hits your cheek, his chest pressing to your back. he's deep into you, tip hitting your sweet spot with every rolling thrust of his hips. then slipping one hand onto the back of your neck, the other snaking to toy with your sensitive clit.

your legs nearly give out as your back arches, the orgasm crashing over you before you can even register it.

you can't see, blind with the bliss of pleasure; your thighs shake as he mutters dirty words into your ear, Joel's hips stuttering as you clamp and flutter around him, slickening yourself and his pubic hair, skin wet with your arousal. you're so sensitive you can't do anything but take his cock as he fucks you, deeper and slower as though he's coming down with the mind fog just as you.

when he hits his own mind-numbing orgasm, he's pulling out of you fast and finishing in hot spurts onto your ass, streaking up your lower back and sliding down into your quivering core.

your name is the only thing on his lips as he slowly slumps down onto the mattress next to you.

you both wait; it's silent besides your sniffling from the overstimulation and the soreness of your throat and Joel's labored breaths. you both wait to see if that torturous feeling comes back to your groins, suffocating and clouding your judgement.

but instead, the fog clears, and within five minutes of silence and stoicism, you're sure that whatever the venom was, it'd passed through your system. "Joel?" you whisper it, cracking slightly. you hear his head shift; he'd not looked at you at all. you're not sure you blame him, embarrassment creeping through your face. but not regret. definitely not regret.

he whispers your name back, and there's a vulnerability in it that has your eyes snapping to his, searching for the dilation of his pupils, any sign to show the venom was still in his system. you can't find any. "do you- is it gone? for you?"

he blinks at you once before nodding his head, "yes. n'you?" you nod at him, muttering a small, "yeah."

he knows he should go get a cloth to clean you up. he'd possibly have to help you up, help you dress... his throat dries as his now less foggy brain recovers the memories of moments ago; the size of your pupils blown out with lust. he looks over you; he'd ruined you.

another wave of self-doubt runs through him; you were not like him, you weren't bad like him. you deserve better.

but the way you stare at him now, as though you want nothing more than to do what you'd both just done every day with him...

he opens an arm, accepting you as you slide your limp, exhausted body against his own naked form, his arm squeezing you to his chest as he sighs deeply. you nuzzle your face into his neck, your own heart racing just as fast as his.

he feels like a damn fool - it'd been far too long for him, he's not sure how to approach these feelings he harbors for you, so he'd hidden them down with anger and irritation and eye rolls; but now he's gone and fucked you like you were just some other whore.

his lips press to your forehead. he doesn't think he can say anything, not right now. he still feels like he's got a fever, and by the looks of you, you feel it too.

so he hopes the kiss he tenderly lays on your hairline says what he can't: he's sorry he was rough with you. he hopes you're okay. he hopes you don't regret it. he hopes you know... he hopes you know it wasn't just about that damn plant’s venom.

he pulls away from you after just a moment, rising to tug on his boxers. but as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom to gather a washcloth for you, your soft voice stops him.

"Joel." you mutter, eyes nervous, exhausted. he stops, looking at you.

you're just as nervous as he looks; you're unsure how to interact with him now, the man you trust with your life, the one who acts like he hates you, the one you know probably loves you; and then you'd fucked him like he was just a dick, though you wish you could tell him: he's so much to you.

"that wasn't-" you're unsure how to convey it, "it wasn't just about the-whatever that plant was. I don't regret it. and I hope you don't either." you're glad it sounds as genuine as you feel when you say it. you want him to know he didn't hurt you. and you hope you didn't hurt him.

his face flashes with relief, with adoration. "I don't." he says, turning from you quickly.

and if his lips ghost over your knees and leave goosebumps on their wake, if his hands soothe gently over every budding bruise of his handprint on your hip; you don't mention it now.

if he gently and devotedly wipes you both clean, if your hands fold together as he settles back down against you, if your hearts beat together as you settle into the fever nap that claims you both; you just smile gently at his bashful grin.

and if your lips brush against each other just before the sleep takes you both; well, then you'll talk about it all later.

taglist: (message to be on joel miller taglist/regular tag list.)

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #joel miller x you #joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

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aethelwyneleigh27 · 11 months

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Ghostface! Ellie Williams and Ghostface! Abby Anderson with a chubby fem s/o

+ featuring some slight yandere and explicit themes (these are dating headcanons to specify)

A/n: Hi again lovelies! I didn't expect the last one to blow up so quickly so I'm back to writing, honestly every note, like and reblog encourages me to do more and do better so thank you for that. I honestly didn't expect to write something a bit gory after writing mostly fluff so this'll be interesting. Reminder English is not my first language and I'm trying my best, I hope you enjoy:)

I'll possibly add more in the future if I have ideas :3

Meet my cousin y'all: @rabblebite

Disclaimers/Warnings: Slight yandere like behavior???, violence, gore, knife kink, gun kink, stalking, suggestive themes and language. Characters may be a bit OOC (but you already know this, it's ghostface)(the chubby part is just a little add on so there's actually not that many headcanons regarding that)

If you wish to be tagged, please comment that you want to be or follow so that you'll be updated also: Rules for requests

If you don't want to send requests through Tumblr, my Instagram is always an option.

Ellie Williams dating inspired playlist made by me

Ellie Williams

The first time you met Ellie was a bit of a blur. Let me elaborate...

You were new at the school, first day and all that cliche shit. Bell rings, you run to class. You found yourself in a seat next to a girl, auburn hair and freckles. A few times throughout the class you made eye contact and smiled a few times.

What you didn't know was that Ellie was already freaking out, can you really blame her? A pretty girl sits next to her and smiles at her, not only that but you even offered her a mechanical pencil because hers was flimsy and the led kept breaking on her. She thought you completely forgot about the pencil but did you really?

This was the start of her obsession over you.

After that day she stalked you non-stop, she knew everything. She even kept a small journal, writing down what you did and how she felt about it after.

Her sketchbooks were filled with you, aside from a few other things it was mostly you. There's at least 2-3 doodles on each page of either you or your name on her sketchbook.

May or may not have carved your initials on her guitar before you even started dating.

That mechanical pencil you gave her, she kept it, barely even used it after that so she can keep something of yours.

When she managed to get enough courage to talk to you again, she tried giving you the pencil back in guilt but you refused. You told her to keep it and did that woman worship that pencil.

You got invited to her friend group, which are Dina and Jesse and out of all of them, she hang out with you the most.

After a while, Ellie felt confident enough to ask you out and a sigh of relief for her when you said yes.

She has polaroid of you lying around everywhere in her room, you even stuck some on the edge of your mirror and locker so she'd see it.

Your pet names including: princess, bunny, sweet thing and pretty girl.

The night you found out Ellie was Ghostface was the time you were walking at the street just minding your business when you were pulled in an alleyway but some creepy 50 something year old hobo.

You kicked him off of you and tried to run and the man tried to chase after you. Only to have his mouth covered by a white cloth and stabbed in the back. Hastily running, you got pulled back by the black cloaked stranger and before you could scream, she took off her mask.

"Ellie?" You whisper in fear, you saw her drop her knife and hug you.

You were still in shock, after all you just found out your girlfriend killed someone, rather a lot of people.

"[Name]? Are you alright? He didn't touch you anywhere did he?" She asked, seemingly forgetting she was still wearing her ghostface get up. Lucky for you that you kicked him off before anything else happened.

You two talked it out and you understand her motive behind all of the killings however that doesn't take away from the fact that you're terrified of what consequences await her if she was ever to get caught.

Ellie is aware of what might happen when she gets caught so she does everything she can to make sure you are not in any way, shape or form involved if she was caught.

Even if it means for her to forever rot in prison, she'd rather keep you away than endanger you for being a witness or even a suspect.

She heard about you being flirted with and inappropriately touched by some Chad. After a few days he was spotted, gutted open at the school tree hanging by his clothes.

She'd definitely think it's adorable to see you with the ghostface get up, it's specifically tailored to her size so seeing it on you with the trim dragging on the ground makes her thing of like the ghost costumes with just a white blanket and she just thinks you're such an angel, too pure even.

I just can't stop imagining her with a knife kink, though she doesn't actually cut you with it. She loves the way you whimper and squirm when she presses the cold blade on your plush skin.

She gets off on blood, that being said once she's with you and you already know about the killings, she can't just let it slide.

Someone else's blood on your skin makes her feel all sorts of things. (You may or may have engaged in sexual things after her gutting people up)

Clean up after that is a bit of work so there's that.

Seeing you in lingerie and blood would make her lose all self control.

If you were to accidentally kill someone, she would not only help you clean up but she'll also take responsibility for the kill. She made it look like ghostface did it.

If you were to decide to join in the killings, she'd let you but with moderation.

For example she'll let you make the decision on who to kill or strategize the killings. Before you could even suggest someone who wronged you, they're already 6ft under believe me. Ellie easily picks up on how you feel about someone and it's not like you don't tell her.

She'd also let you watch the killings, either hidden or disguised but that's just how far she'll go. She doesn't want you to actually be the one to do the killing cause she's too paranoid you'll do something that'll cause you to get caught.

Abby Anderson

You met at the basketball court while you were sitting at the bleachers because let's be real here, Abby is a total jock and athlete, she seems like she'd be a gym rat too. (Without the red flags of one though)

You were sitting with your friends Dina and Jesse while you guys just catched up since the past week has been hectic, you even went so far as to gossip and think of conspiracies on who has been responsible for the reported killings by the killer they named ghostface. You looked at your phone, looking at the messages when you flinched, almost getting hit by a ball.

You open your eyes shortly to see Abby Anderson, the school's lesbian jock, who by the way is holding the ball that almost hit you. Anderson muttered an apology on behalf of her teammate who mistakenly threw the ball at your direction.

You told her it was fine and that it was and honest mistake when you know damn well you would've been far more upset if that ball actually hit you.

Abby just couldn't stop staring at you, I mean could you blame her? She felt like a knight and shinning armour when she just saved a pretty girl from a potential head injury.

She snapped back to reality when she heard her teammate say "Hey Anderson! Stop flirting with pretty girls and pass that ball back will you" Abby was a bit flustered by that comment because all and all she agreed to it.

On Abby's desk is carved your name and initials, she has gotten detention over it though I don't think the school is aware of how many desks have your name carved on them.

It took a while but Abby finally did ask you out, she approached you while you were taking a few things out of your locker. "So uhh, do you want to go out with me? On a date I mean..." She asked with her hand rubbing her neck, Abby was bracing herself for rejection.

You had to do a bit of a double take because the Abby Anderson is asking you out? You said yes obviously.

May or may not have stalked you before asking you out to find out everything you like to set up the perfect date.

Abby definitely has a polaroid of you both is her locker and gym locker. (There's one in her wallet too 🥺)

Your nicknames are: my cheerleader (because she knows damn well you've been to all her games and was there to cheer her on), baby, babe and pretty girl

You only found out that she's ghostface because she couldn't take it anymore and told you after seeing that you're scared of ghostface potentially threatening your life.

Poor baby was so worried you'd think insane if her after, let's just say she ended up loving you more for accepting the fact and understanding the reason behind the killings. (let's be real here any normal person would but not you)

When you first asked to play a part in the killings, Abby disagreed, no way in hell was she letting her girl be in danger both of the police and whatever else is out there.

She hates the idea of you going to jail more than she hates the idea of getting caught and facing the consequences.

But if you really want to then like Ellie she'd let you but with limitations. You're only ever allowed to watch when you are disguised and she'll let you stab a few every now and then.

Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink, Abby with a gun kink. Watch her get turn on when you flinch from the clicks whenever she pulls the trigger.

Despite Abby hating horror movies, she sure made a hell of a good killer.

#ellie williams x reader #abby anderson x reader #fluff #x reader #x you #ellie williams headcanons #abby anderson headcanons #tlou abby #tlou ellie #tlou #the last of us fanfiction #ellie williams x chubby reader #abby anderson x plus size reader #lesbian #wlw #ellie williams x plus size reader #ghostface #ghostface au #Aethelwyne Lia writes

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runningfrom2am · 4 days

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michigan cherry // part one

summary: walking into a saloon in a nowhere town, billy meets a singer who he just can't get off his mind after she slips through his fingers; onto another town, another show- following nothing but the stars in her path. until he sees her again. another nowhere town and equally dusty saloon, but this time, the band of kids who made up her family is nowhere to be found. he's running away from something, and she is storming full speed toward something else, and tangling into each other's lives may just get both of them exactly where they want to be.

pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader

wc: 3.2k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: singer!reader (she’s giving very much lucy gray), probably a little bit ooc billy but hey i tried- anyway he’s a sweetheart, use of guns and violence, murder and violence but i try to keep it non-descript, oh also she’s an orphan sorry (once again, lucy gray vibes), strangers to friends to lovers trope eee

the song in this chapter is "Second Child, Restless Child" by The Oh Hellos !!

a/n: heyyyy part one here we are!! i was going to post requiem first BUT the second part of btk s2 came out today so i couldn't resist posting this first :) playlist will be up very soon too!! hope you guys enjoy!!

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist

It was muggy outside when Billy tied up his horse, and even hotter inside the saloon when he entered through its creaky swinging doors.

It was his current life as a bit of a lone wolf that brought him to this town he stumbled across by mistake, in search of a place to camp the night or ideally- a warm bed, but unsure if that was in the cards for him tonight, he decided to grab a drink instead.

He could hear the music before he saw the band, considering the whole town had apparently turned up to hear them play. Or, it was a Saturday night and no one had much of a better idea of what to do. He wasn't sure, until over the loud chatter and obnoxious shouts of men at the bar he could make out the sweet, damn close to angelic tones of the lead singer.

She was beyond anything he had ever seen, when he finally got a look at the owner of that beautiful voice, his blue eyes lit up in the dim light of the saloon. He flicked up the brim of his hat to get a better view as he leans back against the wall, absolutely mesmerized by the rapid pace at which the young woman's fingers strum over the strings of her guitar with expert precision.

"They saw trouble in my eyes, they were quick to recognize the devil in me."

With every word she sang, the smile he had to resist threatened to make itself seen. He could see the trouble in her eyes, even as they scanned the room- crinkled from the grin on her cheeks. It took Billy a few moments to even register that she wasn't the only one up on that old wooden stage- she wasn't the only one playing.

It surprised him even more when he tore his eyes off her to actually take notice of her band, that it was comprised almost entirely of children. Other than her and one boy behind her with light hair and hauntingly dark eyes who was dedicated well enough to his bass, none of the others seemed to be over fifteen.

A boy and a girl, who seemed to be just about the same age side by side playing little hip drums, and a blonde girl on a fiddle who appeared to be just a few years younger than the beautiful young woman taking up front and centre.

The smell of cigar smoke hits Billy's nose and brings him back to focus on where he was. He's not the only one watching this performance, as much as he felt the tunnel vision pulling him in on the girl with the skirt that spun almost as prettily as she did while she danced to her own music.

Completely lost in the song and the noises of the bar, she does a spin holding firm onto the guitar slung over her shoulder. Her hair flares out around her the same way her skirt does, and she has to steady herself as she stops, facing the old and abused microphone again to continue with the next verse.

"Can you hear it hanging on the wind? Can you feel it underneath your skin?"

Her eyes lock with Billy's as she looks around, the wide smile on her face hardly faltering even as his heart quits for a moment. She gives the man with striking blue eyes a small nod, not missing a beat of the song she was singing.

She was absolutely breathtaking to him. His eyes were stuck on every movement she made, every note she sang, and every word she uttered. He had seen pretty women before, but there was something about this girl that was different.

He couldn't help but notice how well she carried herself; with such confidence, and there was also a certain charm to her little nod as her eyes met his. The song and dance of the band were captivating, but his eyes were glued to her.

He raised up one eyebrow and gave her a little smile as he tilted his head curiously. Her voice somehow gave him a sense of home he hadn't felt since his ma passed. A sweet comfort he hadn't had in years.

He was being crazy, he knew as much- so he shakes his head of the feeling and peels himself off the wall to head over to the bar.

When the song was done, your chest was rising and falling heavily as you smile out at the crowd, waving to a few people before moving to set your well-loved guitar down.

"That's all we've got for y'all tonight. Thank you for listenin' to us take up your space tonight, but I sure hope at least a couple of y'all enjoyed it." You say into the mic with a smile, letting out a slight laugh as the crowd does with you.

"My name is Y/N and this is the Covey, and on behalf of all of us, have a good night! But not so good you don't make it home safe." You wink, signalling the end of our set and giving a quick bow to the crowd before stepping back to pack up.

Despite the shouts from saloon-goers and the usual sounds of the space echoing through, it seems quieter now to Billy without her beautiful voice, and he watches until her guitar case is closed and she passes it off the stage to her older bandmate who was helping collect the instruments.

As a matter of fact, he was staring into his whiskey and debating on whether or not he should even bother trying to talk to her when he's blessed by hearing her pretty voice again.

"Excuse me, miss!"

She's calling out to the busy bartender, leaning over the wood surface and resting her arm across it in front of her.

Now or never, Billy supposed.

"You've got quite the voice," He comments, voice rich and dripping with his unique mish-mash of accents- never having quite committed to one from moving around so much in his youth. "I'd wager you could melt even the coldest of hearts."

She turns her head to look at him, giving up attracting the attention of the barkeep. Up close, her eyes pull him in deeper.

"I'm Billy." He continues, extending a hand to her. It was out of character for him immediately- to offer up his name to someone he'd just met without them asking, but something about her made him unafraid to do so. Or... it was the unfamiliar jitters of nerves lowering his inhibitions.

A smile tugs at your lips as you quickly look him over, recognizing him as the man who had been leaning against the back wall while you were performing. You give his hand a quick and polite shake before responding.

"Y/N." You introduce yourself with a smile, despite having just done so on stage. "Was your heart cold 'til tonight then, Billy? Is that what I'm hearin'?"

"It was pretty cold." He admits, laughing. "But it seems like I've stumbled across just the fire to warm it up."

He looks you over again subtly, taking in how you still seem almost a little breathless from the performance you had just finished. It's interrupted by you laughing, shoulders shrugging as you adjust your top a bit, rolling up your sleeves.

"That's a good one, I must say." You giggle, shaking your head.

"Thanks, came up with it myself." Billy chuckles, mindlessly tapping at his almost empty glass. He figured he should at least come by it honestly if you were going to pick up on him so quick. "Tell me something, though. You're not from here, are ya? What brought you in? This isn't exactly the centre of the entertainment industry."

You look around at his final statement, nodding a bit in agreement. "Well, we're musicians by trade- travel about as we see fit. We're not really... city folks." You answer, looking back over your shoulder toward your band as they pack up and the kids play around on the stage.

"I hear that." Billy agrees, following your gaze. "Cities are too cramped for me."

"A bit of fresh air is good for the soul." You hum as you watch little Harvey and Josie chase each other around and behind the wooden stage and Max tries to wrangle them up. Business as usual.

Billy smiles as his eyes drift from the kids back over to you, letting your statement settle in before he spoke again. "Could I buy you a drink?"

You turn back to him again and nod, your smile returning in full. "I was waitin' for you to ask." You grin, waving again for the bartender who this time sees you and begins to make her way over.

He's a little shocked by your confidence in eagerly accepting a drink, but it just makes him more intrigued as he tilts his head at you. "Alright, then, darlin', what's your poison?" He asks, sliding over his glass and nodding to the woman running the bar for a refill of his whiskey.

"Water with a shot of warm honey aside, if ya got it." You smile to the bartender instead of answering Billy directly. "Please and thank you."

You had always had men offering to buy you drinks after your little shows, this wasn't anything new, but you always found a little bit of fun in seeing their subtle reactions to you ordering your water. Sometimes disappointment, occasionally even anger- but this Billy was the first one to ever smile.

"Well ain't you a fancy one." He chuckles, a small smirk on his face as his glass slides back to him over the countertop and he takes it with a nod of thank you to the woman behind the bar. "You one of those religious temperance girls?" He asks, purely out of curiosity.

Your nose scrunches up in response to the thought alone and you shake your head. "Nah." You take the cup of water and the shot glass full of warm honey from the bartender and thank her again quietly. "Just a girl who's overindulged herself one too many times."

Billy takes a sip of his whiskey and nods, watching curiously as you take the honey shot and lick the sweet liquid off your lips delicately.

In theory, that sounded so messy- but you handled it with such grace it honestly could have blown his mind. You must do that often.

"A bit of restraint never hurt anyone." He agrees, watching you dip your finger into what honey clung to the inside of the tiny cup and lick it off your finger before taking your first sip of water to rinse it down. "Hell, sometimes I could use more myself."

You shrug and let out a small laugh at his little joke, looking over at him again and smile as the sounds of the bar are swallowed by the invisible bell jar that seems to have engulfed you both.

"You, uh..." Billy speaks again after a moment, shaking his head a bit to clear his mind. "That song, you write it?"

"That I did." You smile proudly, nodding.

"Ah," He nods, spinning the glass on the counter in front of him. "So, I should ask, do you really have the devil in you?"

The reference to your lyrics makes you smile more and you shrug, taking another sip of your water. "I'd sure hope so." You tease. "I sold my soul to him in an even exchange for our music."

"So your voice is the devil's work, hey?" He laughed, sipping at his glass of whiskey once again.

He took a moment to study you, the way you wiped the inside of the shot glass clean with one delicate finger and licked it free of the stickiness. It drove him crazy just to look at you.

He leaned in a little closer as he continued. "Or are you saying that the whole you is the devil's work? Because I'd agree that you're certainly a little bit of trouble. As the song said, of course."

"That's certainly what I've heard." You giggle, shrugging softly as you put the empty shot glass down. "But I promise you I get into no trouble. We keep to ourselves, The Covey and me."

He smiled at you, the hint of mischief that danced in your eyes, that smile on your face sending chills up his spine.

"Well," He says, leaning in close to you, "You know what they say. The best things in life are dangerous. At least, I'm sure I've heard that somewhere." He chuckles a bit and it comes across with a hint of nervousness as he leans back away from you, not wanting to come across as too forward.

"Says the man with a gun on his hip and two in his coat." You say with a small smirk, nodding toward the inside of his jacket where he had hidden weapons.

He chuckled, admiring your perceptiveness.

There was an understanding about you, one that he was coming to enjoy. It was a quality that was hard to put his finger on.

All he knew was what he had at first glance; a gut instinct about you that screamed, "this will be worth it."

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes glued to your own. "You notice everything."

"Trick of the trade." You shrug, bringing your glass up to your lips again and not looking away from him either.

"What trade?" He asks with a slightly confused laugh. "Does singin' come along with a lot of gunfights or..?"

For the first time while interacting with men at these saloons all across the country, you laughed at one of their jokes. For the first time, it was genuine.

It even catches the ears of your band, who give each other confused but knowing looks as Billy's eyes light up with your laughter, knowing he prompted it to fall from your beautiful lips.

"I didn't take you for a funny one, Billy." You admit after a moment, still giggling as your hand comes up to cover your mouth.

"You've got a cute laugh," He said honestly, almost without realizing he'd said it out loud.

He sees your band mates in the corner of his eyes, watching the interaction unfolding before them, and smiled just a little more. He wanted the whole damn saloon to see that he was winning you over right in front of their eyes.

"I could have the worst laugh in the world and you'd still compliment it. You can't trust a man who's tryin' to charm your skirts off." You say, laugh devolving into giggles as you tip your glass toward him.

"Oh, and here I thought my intentions were genuine, and not just to get in your skirts," He said, laughing again. "Is that what you think I am, some kind of creepy bastard with ill intentions?"

You raise an eyebrow at him, surprised that when it's falling from his lips- you actually believe the denial.

"Men often lose themselves in pursuit of provisional pleasures." You comment, tilting your head at him. "It makes it hard to tell when once in a blue moon there's one who means what they say."

He was intrigued. Not necessarily by the comment itself, but more by the intelligence behind those pretty eyes of yours.

He was usually able to play these kinds of games easily, but you seemed to see right through them at every turn.

"Fair play." He says, giving you a nod of acknowledgement, "How do I know I'm the first man you've told that exact little poem to?"

"You just have to trust me." You say with a small smile. "If it helps, I wrote every word in those songs you heard earlier. I only speak when I have somethin' to say, and singin' is much of the same. You don't gotta believe me, but I'll tell you now it's not your wisest move to imply you don't think I'm smart enough to own the words I speak."

He couldn't deny that he had a weak spot for pretty, assertive women. But you were sweet, too, covered in it like the honey you just shot back a few minutes ago.

Those words, that tone, spoke volumes to him.

His lips curled up in a grin, and the tone of his voice took on a slightly more flirtatious edge. "I guess I should just count my lucky stars then. You don't happen to write songs about sweet talking men you meet in nowhere towns, do you?"

"Only about how they're venomous without the correct antidote on hand." You say, leaning against the counter and shifting your weight onto one hip.

He chuckles, his eyes glued on yours, not looking away.

God, he was in trouble.

The alcohol was making him cocky, but he couldn't help the way you made him feel. "And what if I came to you, hat in hand, asking for a cure? Begging you for a cure, because I'd been bitten by this sweet speaking cowgirl who's left me weak at the knees?"

"I'd tell you the nearest damn thing to anti-venom is just to run." You advise him, taking another drink before putting the glass down and sliding it across the bar. "And you'll find the real thing in the next dead end town you call a home, and then the cycle begins again."

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Damn it, she had him. He couldn't even argue with that one.

He wanted to kiss her so bad right now, respectfully, of course, but he knew he should wait for some kind of signal from her. So instead he played it cool, grinning back at her.

"Okay, okay. What if," He said, watching with a smile as you raised an eyebrow at him over the edge of your glass, waiting for him to continue while you polished off your water. "And I'm just saying hypothetical here, theoretically, if he promised to stay in that next dinky ass town for a month just to see the woman he fell for again?"

"Then that would make you a fool." You answer. "Theoretically, of course." You add with a wink, standing up straight again.

You wanted to stay, to talk until last call and learn all his secrets- but you knew better than to fall for it all.

"Well, it sure was nice to meet you, Billy."

His heart drops at the words and he sighs, his expression softening as he saw you standing up from the bar.

He should keep it casual, he reminded himself. Be nice. Don't mess this up.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, darlin'." He stood up again slowly, his eyes lingering on yours for a few seconds, before he spoke again. "I hope we run into each other again, if only for a moment. Take care of yourself, Miss..."

"I don't doubt we will." You smile, giving him a small punctuating bow as your bandmates wave you back over.

You glance back at him over your shoulder as you walk away, giving him one of your winning smiles before picking up your guitar case and following your friends out the back door.

Billy stood there in the saloon for a few moments, watching you go with a wistful, almost regretful look on his face.

There was something about you that made him want to do stupid things.

"Run after her," his other half shouted. "I don't care if you look like a damn fool."

But he just stood there, like a damn fool, until he finally shook his head and muttered to himself. "Damn it."

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!

#billy the kid #billy the kid 2022 #billy the kid x you #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid season 2 #william h bonney x reader #william h bonney x you #william h bonney #william bonney #tom blyth #tom blyth fic

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if-lost-please-return-to-maliksi · 6 months

Note

Hi pooo, NSFW/SMUT Maliksi x Reader inspired by the song I See Red TwT

((Anon, same ba tayo ng pinapakinggan na I See Red? xDD di ba parang murder song yun? char. Direct to the point ang request natin haaa, I like it! xD))

Disclaimer: I do not own Maliksi. Full Credit goes to HC - @ask-emilz-de-philz. Please check out their blog for amazing art and the wonderful world of Planet Puto. All involved characters are adults.

Genre: Smut

TW: NSFW, Explicit, mentions of a gun, sprinkle of violence, blood, dirty talk, masturbation, oral, konting ka toxican, p*rn without plot, sobrang konti if meron man, bad writing sorry 2017 pa last time na gumawa ako ng smut. Umm.. Read at your own risk, I guess? I don't want to traumatize peeps hehe~ Minors, please don't interact. 18+++ ONLY

NON- #PhilMytCrea related AU. Reader (Y/n) has a marriage of convenience with Maliksi. OOC coz he's not a tamawo in this fic guys, just a normal guy with no sad backstory. Don't come for me, this is how 'I See Red' plays along my mind.

NSFW UNDER THE CUT

You tossed your bag into the floor the moment you saw a pair of red stilettos which are not yours, laying on the frontdoor.

You knew Maliksi was seeing other people behind your back and it's fine, totally. You two were not wed out of love. Hell, you two only met each other a week before that damned wedding. It was a wedding made for the official partnership of your parents' companies, that's all.

What irks you the most is that Maliksi had the nerve to bring another woman under the roof of your house, knowing that you'll be home today after a week of insufferable business trips- you were exhausted and your 'husband' was banging some other chick on your bed.

You have always been labeled as 'intimidating' and 'bossy' by people around your- too many names and terms however it just leads to one point: you don't tolerate any disrespect and any bullshit from anyone.

"Get out or get shot." You coldly said as you entered your shared bedroom with Maliksi. The man is currently laying on his back on just his boxers while the girl he's with is on top of him, fully naked and giving him a good show. You went straight to your dresser and started rummaging for the hand gun your father gifted you before.

Upon realizing that you are not bluffing, the girl quickly got off on top of Maliksi, grabbing her clothes and making a run for it.

"Goddamn it! You are no fun!" Maliksi muttered underneath his breath but before he knows it, you were the one straddling him, landing a hard slap on his pretty face using the back of your hand that's now holding your glock.

You watched as single trail of blood slowly trickle down his nose.

"Fuckin' bastard! I only made you promise one thing after that hell of a wedding. You are not making a mess on my house, and especially not on my bed! Is that too much to ask for, you man-whore?!"

Maliksi's eyes widen at your sudden outburst. Who would've known that his wife is hiding some feisty personality underneath that stern and work addicted facade Your dad wasn't lying when he told him that you are a handful and that attitude will be a pain in the ass.

He lets out a deep chuckle as he wipes the blood off of his nose. "Look at you. All this time I thought I was married to a cold, emotionless robot. You should talk to me like this more often. God, it makes me hard." His voice resonated throughout the room as he took the gun out of your hands and placed it at the bedside table.

Sure enough, you can feel his growing bulge under those boxers. You two never had that kind of relationship despite being legally married. It's always just you sharing a bed at night like a pair of college roommates- maybe even less than that coz college roommates can sometimes cuddle. But you two- sleep like a pair of logs, away from each other in that king size bed as if you'll burn if your toes even touch accidentally.

You were about to get off of him but Maliksi wraps his arms around your hips, holding you in place. "You're not going anywhere." He smirks, licking the blood that got on his lips.

In a single breath, Maliksi was able to flip you over- switching your positions so that you're the one under him. "In case you can't read the room, I'm currently feeling hot n' bothered because of you. Kinda glad you arrived since the other girl can't get me hard."

"Then go jerk off somewhere, you idiot!" You tried pushing him off but he caught your hands and pinned it at the top of your head.

"Damn. Y'look so hot swearin' at me like that." He softly chuckled before undoing the necktie you are currently wearing and using it to restrain both of your hands. "Maliksi! W- what are you doing?!"

"We've been married for like two months now, Y/n. Can't a man see his own wife?" He said as he started undoing the buttons of your top, whistling at the sight of the red fabric of your lingerie peeking through.

"Didn't know you wear such things coming home to me, wifey." His voice sounded so seductively sweet that you have to do a double take if this is really the annoying guy you were unfortunately married to. Your face was red hot in embarrassment that you just wanted the ground to swallow you.

He smirks as he pulls out his hard cock, tip glistening with precum. He can't help but grin as he watch your eyes widen at the sight of him, not able to say a word.

"Didn't know my wife is this adorable. I like seeing you angry and shy. Tell me, will you let me see other expressions tonight, pretty?" He said not louder than a whisper as he slowly wraps his fingers around the base of his cock, giving it a light squeeze to feel just how hard he is from watching his wife stare from under him.

"Like what you're seeing, Y/N?" He teasingly asked as he started to stroking himself while you watch.

You felt your own breath get stuck on your throat as he asks you because you are indeed enjoying the little show he's putting up. For the first time, Maliksi is not a random guy you are married to. As much as you won't admit it, he's always been attractive, and hot. The air feels electric as room filled with the sounds of his panting and ragged breaths. You wouldn't tell him, but hearing him call you 'wifey' does things to you.

He reached up his free hand, tracing his thumb along your lower lips. "Open up for me, pretty girl." And for the first time in your life, you were obedient, opening up those pretty lips of yours and letting him use your mouth. You looked up at him, locking those pretty eyes into his as you take him deeply, feeling his tip brush into the back of your throat.

"I've got such a good wife here all this time. Y' should've let me know sooner." He said, grabbing handfuls of your hair to push himself deeper, making your eyes water.

"..fuck. you're such a dirty slut sucking me so good like that." he cursed, throwing his head back. You let out a moan, sending tremors and vibrations around his cock which made him buck his hips.

It didn't took long before he's got you completely naked on top of the sheets, his head buried between your thighs while his tongue works wonders on your sensitive clit. You were a moaning and trembling mess under his mercy which made him softly giggle on how his supposedly 'stuck up' wife turned out to be like this from his touch.

"Maliksi...please~ 'm so close."

He quickly pulled away, making you whimper in frustration from being denied of that sweet release.

"The only thing you're cumming on tonight is my cock, wifey."

He lined his twitching length along your dripping cunt, pushing in slowly, letting you adjust and get used to him before bottoming up and just stuffing you full of him.

He's been dreaming of this day when you two got married. Who would even be opposed of marrying you with that pretty face and killer body. He doesn't care if you two didn't marry for love. That body kept him awake at night, and he's definitely going all out now that he's got the chance to fuck you.

His pace is erratic, pulling out completely before slamming himself back completely, making your toes curl and your vision fill with stars as he fucks you senseless that all you can manage are moans and incoherent babbles.

He groans when he felt your cunt tightening around his cock, making him fuck you a tad bit harder. "You're so close now huh? My wifey seems to be enjoying my cock way too much." He chuckles before reaching into your clit, slowly circling his finger making you tremble in pleasure. "Maliksi....pleasee.."

"I know, pretty. I know."

You can feel your eyes rolling back and your body arching as you reach that sweet sweet release, with just a few more thrusts Maliksi follows, shooting ropes of thick hot cum inside you, telling you how pretty you are like that.

You two may not have started on good terms, but you both know this night is definitely a start of something.

#philmytcrea #planet puto #planetputo #rp tamawo #maliksithetamawo #rp maliksi #writers on tumblr #UMM MAGSOSORRY NA BA AKOO? Q^Q

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anundyingfidelity · 3 months

Text

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy (Part II)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.5k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: Ben being a misogynist, talks about masturbation and porn, killing threats, Ben's POV in general is a red flag, death.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

tags: @k-slla

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part II: Silence is Peace

The next day arrived fast, and again, you found yourself walking ready to have a conversation with the supe locked in the facility. A part of you was surprised he didn't try to escape yet, but Ben, on the other hand, was just letting things flow at the moment.

The heavy, metal door opened to let you in. The supe caught by surprise seeing you coming inside full of confidence at this time in the morning. A couple of armed men in black uniforms followed behind as they settled down some furniture in the empty area of the room: two small sofas and a coffee table.

His arrogant self knew those guns wouldn't tear a single hair off of him, but hey, he understood you needed to feel safe. So meanwhile, he decided to play along. He remained still by the bathroom door as you came closer.

"I didn't request that," he said once you stood face to face.

"Oh, I know. I did, it's for your therapy," you smiled, tugging the bag on your shoulder. The armed men finished decorating the cell, and they left with a loud thud of the door being closed behind their backs. "There's been a small change of plans. I will come by every day for one hour. Anything you want you will ask me first and if I approve, then I will bring it to you."

He smirked. Like if he needed to be bossed around by a fucking woman, he thought. "You sure have the balls to stand up on me like that."

"Like I said, I want to help you," you replied, making your way and sitting down on a sofa. "Please," you requested him with a hand to do the same and he followed with curiosity. You put the bag on the coffee table, taking out a notebook, pens, a folder, and a small zip bag containing the only thing he asked from you the day before. You left his reefer on the coffee table, putting the folder in your lap as you waited for him with a smile on your face he found unsettling.

Ben still didn't buy you or your intentions, but he sat down on the opposite sofa nonetheless. You had brought him something he asked from you, something he wanted and would calm him down for a little. Hopefully it wasn't going to be that bad. He only had to put up with the game of doctor-patient. In the back of his mind, he was also grateful you dropped the stupid white coat at the same time he found your attempt to fix him ridiculous. He didn't need to get fixed.

"Your guards ain't hurting me with those guns, you know that," Ben started.

"We have to try," you shrugged. "And you're still here, that has to mean something."

He rolled his eyes. Of fucking course he had to stay. There were a lot of questions in his head. He had to settle down for a moment. Things were different in the world, he needed to learn about today's tech and get a fucking good plan to get away with his shit. Who would he get to kill first? Still thinking about it. How would he escape? Probably could use some help to keep a low profile. Could you be that help, being the only human contact he figured would have from now on? Maybe.

"So how are you feeling? Did you have some sleep?" you asked.

"I slept enough, spent the whole fucking night jerking off," he spat. "That TV of yours now does have good porn some hours in the day."

With wide eyes, you wrote down after his answer.

"Alright. But tell me, how are you feeling?" you pushed, your smile long gone and replaced with a serious face locking your gaze to his own.

"Great, never been fucking better" he smirked and you shifted on your seat.

His green eyes started checking you all over for a second. The pencil skirt hugged your legs perfectly and the blouse was tight enough to show off the size of your breasts. The clothes yelling that you were expensive and valuable for the CIA, and most important, to Mallory. Soon he sensed the discomfort emanating from you as his gaze returned to your face. God, he loved doing that, but you sure were daring to get locked inside a room with him alone.

"You can tell me the truth, you know," you said.

"I can easily break your neck and explode this shithole if I want to," he spat back.

"You won't do that. You had the chance yesterday, today even, and yet here you are."

He thought you sounded so sure about that. Ben held your gaze. Neither of you dare to break eye contact. It was like you were challenging him to something he wasn't aware of just yet. He didn't like that, but he remained there, breathing deeply with a strong look on his face. You were right though, and he realised could find you a good usage besides the obvious fucking use for pretty girls like you. He might have missed a good fuck for 40 years but the little common sense on the back of his mind told him the porn channel was enough for now.

"Listen, I know you're not a bad guy," the words fell softly from your lips. "I know you didn't mean to harm those people in Midtown... And in order to help you I could use some information on how you feel every time the blast comes-"

He stood up abruptly, strong enough to move the sofa he was sitting some feet away behind his back and yelled aggressively.

"Fuck off, bitch. What the fuck do you know about me? I don't trust your kind and you're making my threat sound like a great plan now.

You held his gaze as he made his way towards you. You were a prey in his cage, but even if you were scared, he didn't sense any sign of it. Ben's big frame towered you, standing just inches away from the couch you sat on. The space was enough for him to kill you with only one hand but you never moved or flinched a second.

"If you touch me, just a single hair on my scalp, you're fucked."

"C'mon sweetheart, you're no match for me," he mocked with a smirk on his face.

"Novichok definitely is."

He tightened his fists with his lips on a straight line, and his heartbeat increased at the mention of that fucking poison. Meanwhile, you just sat down looking at him with a blank face and innocent eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to just kill you but he forced himself to calm the fuck down. He didn't want to black out again, he certainly did not want to become a fugitive. If he was going to do something, it had to be done well.

"Soldier Boy, it's okay," you got on your feet. His eyes followed your moves. "It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. I can't force you to."

He saw a strange sparkle in your eyes. Were you pitying him? He didn't need that. And when he said nothing, then you continued.

"You accepted the deal, and that includes therapy to help you get out of your trauma. And sooner or later, you have to talk to me," you explained, he felt like a fucking child being scolded.

"You want to fucking help me and spray me with Novichok at the same time," he groaned.

"We have to take our precautions. But trust me. I’d rather not use that on you, I prefer other ways."

"This is fucking crap," he mumbled through his teeth.

He watched you making your way towards the book shelf, leaning down to grab a couple of books. He took in the curve of your ass as you knelt, and he wondered if you were doing all that little show on purpose to test him. His jaw clenched once again at the thought of being played with false promises and a cure to his memories.

"I can leave, but I will come tomorrow," you tossed two books on the coffee table: one about PTSD, the other one about new technology for him to start educating himself on that. "Start reading those and write down in the notebook anything you have to say. It can be about the books, your thoughts, your feelings... Anything you want. I don't have to know unless you want me to."

If looks could kill, you were already dead. He still didn't trust you. He didn't understand completely why a stupid psychiatrist of the CIA wanted him to go through rehab. You were a woman, for fucks sake. Psychiatrists were old, wise, rich men back in his days, not expensive sluts.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm trying hard not to crush your bones right now, pretty thing."

"At least you're trying, that's improvement," you smiled cockily, pointing at his chest with a finger and you took your bag and belongings together, as if he didn't threaten to kill you like three times in the same conversation. "I will leave you now. Have a good lunch, Soldier Boy."

"Time of death 9:41 a.m."

The sound of the monitor disturbed your senses as the voice announced all over the place the death of yet another supe. You watched through the windows as two lab assistants ran inside the chamber to take out the lifeless body of the woman who had given her life to volunteer and assist the program. Anything for the cure, you remember her voice saying, even after she was warned about the possible effects. The worst of them being death. The contract stipulated it clearly and you told her to think twice before agreeing to take the third version of the Anti-V, although she hesitated a lot before joining.

You breathed out. The formula needed improvement, quickly. How many corpses had they taken out of there? You lost count already. You ordered Bianca, your young assistant, to note down all the details one day after the second death of a supe you witnessed, and for her to count them as necessary and at all cost. Arms folded on your chest, your jaw clenched, losing hope and feeling despair running through your spine. The discomfort of what had to be done to find a cure sometimes was too much of a burden. But sacrifices had to be done.

And speaking about sacrifices, you knew you had to get into Soldier Boy's head as soon as possible. The few other sessions you tried to talk to him were useless. The sixth one being today before lunch. A part of you was growing tired of faking it and pretending to be a psychiatrist, it really wasn't your field but you knew how to be one after many sessions, research, and medication on your own. Grace had taken care of your training years ago and this was just another mission with a huge impact and objective in mind: destroy Vought and Homelander, and then provide the cure to supes who didn't want their powers and give them the chance to live a normal life. People like you needed the cure, but first things first.

"Doc, the analysis of Blaze is updated," Bianca said, giving you the tablet to check the information on the supe that was collected.

"Thanks."

Blaze, or Electra Richards was her real name, was a low-profile supe for some time, and you had a secret track of those like her with some help. These kinds of supes didn't really represent a threat to Vought, so it was kind of easy to contact them and give them a possible solution with a warning written all over the place. When Electra was contacted, she had to think about it but eventually said yes. She was young and brave, but she never wanted powers. She had superhuman strength and healed in minutes, seconds even, her bones were indestructible, and when your people ran the proper tests on her she was healthy as hell. Pity that her body wasn't enough to take in the injection of the new Anti-V prototype.

You read the last notes your assistant typed on the supe's profile.

Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest caused by ventricular fibrillation; failure in electrical signaling within the heart.

You couldn't continue like this, not anymore. Nine months and nothing seemed to work out. Some supes died, some of them quit the program, and you didn't really blame them for it. The failures were growing bigger than the small steps close to creating the final antidote. The process was becoming an endless trial and error. With a tired face and a sigh, you left the tablet on a desk and walked out making your way to your office.

You took out your cell phone and dialed Grace, walking around the room worriedly. You needed to vent or talk. Anything. And gladly, she picked up by the third ring.

"Is everything okay?" she asked on the other line. She knew you too well.

"I- No, it isn't. But you already know that," you breathed. "Another supe died on trial today. I don't know how many we have-" your voice cut off abruptly and you sighed, composing yourself after a moment. "We keep losing a lot of people..."

Grace exhaled. "It's part of the job. It's your project, you know it was coming when I approved to do this."

"That makes it even worse, you're not helping me," you replied with a playful tone. "I've been thinking- I would like to try the cure."

"No. We need you to focus on this."

"And when I get him, when I get Soldier Boy's blood? He already takes powers of supes with the blast. Should be easier."

"He's your safest option for now. You'll find a way to get it, I trust you. But don't make stupid and hurried decisions, just wait for the right moment," the lady scolded. You smiled a little, like if she was watching you. "About that, how's he doing? Is he cooperating?"

"Not at all, that's my other problem," you fell back on your chair ungracefully, your back hurting at the thought of seeing him again that day. "I am trying to get him to talk, even using my cards of dressing up like I'm a fucking slut with tight skirts and all, but he's really backing up. Besides he's a fucking dick," your words made Grace chuckle for a bit.

"All supes we have dealt with are dicks, especially Vought. But Y/N, you got this," her words attempted to make you feel better. "This is one of our best options to take them down for once. I know you've been working on this way long before you talked to me, and that's the reason I know it's gonna work, doing whatever it takes."

"Thank you, Grace," you mumbled from your heart. Disappointing her was not on your list, and you hoped it won't happen anytime soon. So you switched the topic of the conversation. "And how have you been?"

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagine #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys tv #the boys fanfiction #soldier boy #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles

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by-the-bloodfountain · 7 months

Text

THE SERIES

: THOUSAND YEARS

Gun Park x Fem!Reader

ㅤㅤㅤㅤPart 1

ㅤ " Remember me "

A/N : I didn't know that the Progolue would get this much likes, thank you sm! I'm actually surprised 😭 but as promised here the part 1 that you guys are waiting for!

And yes english is not my first language. I'll be telling you guys the same thing til chapter 4 or 5 HAHA

Gun is a bit ooc sry.

—

Is was a bit weird for a foreigner from Japan to move in to South Korea, but you did it anyway.

Thankful for your childhood friend, who has taught you some Korea when you told him that you wanted to go there someday.

But sadly all the memories of him fades away when you were recovering in the hospital for 3 months.

You did tries to ask your parents about the young boy, but they know nothing about him. The only thing they told you was that he was dangerous, and you should stay away from him.

That, make you want to meet the boy more.

It's been 5 years now, since you now to South Korea all by yourself, but of course your parents often sent you some money for you. They were worried, but they wouldn't stop you from your dreams.

Surprisingly you got in one of the fashion school that you wanted. You also got a part time job easily, a cashier in the small convenient store not too far from your school.

The boss there was a bit creepy but you didn't think it's was a problem at first.

Now, let's focus on the present shall we?

You were walking back to your apartment while talking to the young man Daniel. He dumped into you one day in the library and when he was about to apologize, you speaks up the apologies first and quickly got on your knees and help him with his books.

From that day on you became his personal tutor, you didn't mind being the tutor. You always have a kind heart and soul after all.

But today was different, since the moment you met that tall man who looks.. Familiar in some way. Naturally you would talk about your day and what you're going to make for dinner.

You ended up being quiet til' you stepped in your apartment. Daniel was worried but he knew he couldn't push you too much, so he just texted you to make sure you're ok.

And when you answer that everything was alright, he sighs in relief.

You don't really know why you chose to be a cashier at night shift but.. You did, so here you are, in your cashier outfit working at night.

It's was bored for most of the time

Until the door opened up and your eyes lit up in excitement. Finally a customer!

" Welco– " Oh.

It's him

Your words caught in your throat when the tall man look over to you. Even with his shade on you knew he was looking right into your eyes.

You quickly look away from embarrassment when he finally walk toward you.

" May I uh.. Help you? " You tried again, this time you force yourself to look up at him. But when he only respond with a low chuckle that slips from his mouth. You were about to speak again but then he open his mouth once more.

" You're as beautiful as the day I lost you " The man said.

And you freeze. Not before you felt your face heat up, not only from those sweet words but also how sexy it sound coming from him.

You quickly clear your throat and finally speak up.

" I'm sorry but.. You might get the wrong person " You let out a small laugh before you glance back to meet his eyes.

He's just.. Stared, and that stared make you nervous, maybe it could even make any woman knees weak.

But when he suddenly came up to you and grabbed your wrist without any warning, your body react on it own by slapping his face with your full force.

And then the silence filled the air.

Your eyes widened in shock from what you did. And his glasses were now on the ground. You were about to shout out an apologize before another chuckle left his mouth and his now revealed eyes meet with yours.

He finally got to see you clearly, not just from behind that stupid glasses he likes to wear so much.

And you. You knew you should be scared, you should runaway, but instead. You felt like those eyes we're drawing you in.

" S– Sorr–.. "

" It's okay " He said.

Gently letting go of your wrist before he crouches down grabbing his glasses, as his dark gaze glance up to you.

" I should have ask you properly " He said before walking towards you even more.

You stood there. Still trying to contain all your thoughts what just happened but then he handed you a black card.

Giving him a questioning like last time before he raised his eyebrow. You slowly grabbed the black card before you start to read it.

Gun Park

Yamazaki Yuzuru

XX-XXXX-XXXX

You're eyes widened before you shot your head up to ask him a question, but.

He was gone.

You sighs in disbelief, you didn't get to say sorry properly.

Well, now that you got his contacts you may as well try to say it to him properly through your phone? Yeah, maybe you could do that.

You simply kept the card in your pocket before she continues to do your night shift like usual.

But there's one problem.

You couldn't stop thinking about him.

You know it's weird, you just met him! How could you felt something like that for someone at first sight.

Yeah yeah, a lot of people might believe in love at first sight but you don't. You know there's something wrong. Something.. familiar.

After your night shift. You went back to your apartment and took a nice shower and making yourself a warm meal from your mother recipes.

Card in your hand, and your phone in the other. You have been staring at your phone for the last 30 minutes now. You don't know why you were scared but you are.

And finally! You called him.

...

" Hello ? "

" H–Hi! It's uh.. " You said your name.

Your heart were beating so fast you thought you were going to fast out.

When you didn't heard any answer, you try calling his name.

" Sorry, I didn't think you would call " and gosh.. The way you say his name. He could felt his heart skipped a beat.

" Oh– sorry, am I interrupting anything? " You asked, worried that you might call in the wrong timing.

But when he said that it's was okay, you simply sighs in relief.

The night went on by you and him. Gun. Talk all about the things that you wanted to know.

Even though he wanted to tell you everything he remember. All those memories that you guys made together in your childhood days. He couldn't. Maybe letting you find out by yourself might be the right way.

So, he lied. He lied about how you look like his childhood friend that he lost. He lied about everything he could, not wanting to make you feel any guilt for what happened 6 years ago.

And you believe him, even if you didn't want to. But you did.

Eventually it got late and you forgot about your school for tomorrow, you quickly glance at your alarm clock on your desk.

" AH! I have school tomorrow! Uh- I uh.. See you later? " You said, feeling a bit bad for leaving him in the middle of the conversation.

But when you hear him chuckle and slightly giving you a confirmation that it's was ok and you should get rest.

You chuckle softly before thanking him.

As you were about to press the disconnect button. His voice murmurs out.

" Would you like to have dinner together? Tomorrow? "

Your eyes widened as your face heat up from just thinking. This gorgeous man is asking you out?!

" S–Sure " You said. " What time? "

" I'll pick you up after school "

Oh yeah. He knew what school you were in, you forgot about that.

You gave him your last confirm that you accept his date. And finally hitting that disconnect button. Laying your head and your body down on the soft mattress, gently closing your eyes. And doze off immediately.

You couldn't wait for your date night tomorrow.

( AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH MY BATTERY IN AT 5% WHILE WRITING THE LAST PART NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO )

#gun park x reader #park jonggun x reader #lookism #lookism x reader #gun park #park jonggun #the series : thousand years @4crew

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cipheress-to-k-pop · 11 months

Text

Yin and Yang Pt. 3

Pairing: Ben Tennyson x Reader

Warnings: Torture

Word Count: 3.0k words

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

A/N: If I'm being completely honest, I'm not feeling that satisfied with this oneshot but it's completely fine. Part 1 of Y&Y was a oneshot that I really put a lot of effort into writing but part 2 and 3 were kind of just self-indulgent strike of the moment passion fics which I shouldn't be finding guilty about. But anyway I still hope you guys enjoy it. Hopefully I will be writing a part 4 because I just love their dynamic so much in this series even though Ben is very OOC lmao.

You crouched down behind a stack of crates, plasma gun clutched tightly in your hand and ducked your head forward, only to be met with a wall directly in your line of vision.

Turning your neck, you made eye contact with the plumber across from you, hidden behind a pillar and held out your hand, asking him in sign if he was able to count the number of victims and criminals.

This mission was one that your squad had been working on for 4 months. A huge trafficking ring that you had managed to track onto their Megacruiser Spaceship.

Most of your squad had been caught up in the hull, fighting off soldiers and freeing the victims while you and another proctor made your way to the front of the ship.

You had already disabled the escape pods on the ship so if they wanted to escape they'd be heading for the docking bay to find a small ship to board.

Proctor Drax held 5 fingers up and then 8 and you sighed; 5 hostages and 8 captors. There was no way the two of you would be able to take all of them down while protecting the hostages.

You pressed down on your plumbers badge, signaling the rest of your squad that you'd require some backup.

You lost hope however, when they began to approach the ship. If you didn't do something to take them down now, there's no telling what they would do to the hostages.

Drax nodded at you and you ran out from behind the crates. Aiming the gun for the ships propulsion jets, you tried to damage them as much as you could to prevent them from attempting to take off.

You were able to damage 3 out of 4 ships before your opponents began charging for you. Your partner and you fought hard, keeping the fight away from the victims.

"Keep back! There are other agents coming, they'll help you!" You shouted, ushering them toward the door but you froze when one of them pulled out a weapon.

They were hostages. Why weren't their hands bound?"

"It's an ambush!" You cried, just in time for them to swing and land a hit against your skull. You gasped, feeling excruciating pain explode through your head, the taste of blood invading your mouth when you bit down on your tongue.

The world began leaning and you hit the ground, vision going black.

***

You grunted in pain as he grabbed your hair, punching you so hard you felt blood crawl up your throat. You panted in exhaustion. Your body was so weak, you could feel it going limp but every time your neck went slack, the painful grip on your hair would give you just enough stimulation to keep from going unconscious.

"Aw, looks like she's going to faint again. Can't have that." The man smirked before dunking your head into a barrel of cold water.

You gasped at the temperature shock, water invading your nostrils and throat until you were yanked out. You spluttered and coughed violently until your stomach squeezed painfully and you threw up.

Proctor Drax had gone unconscious, taking his fair share of beatings like you had. They kept you awake, on the edge between consciousness and exhaustion, thinking a woman would bend to their whims faster.

"I'm getting tired of asking. Tell us the codes now." He punctuated the sentence with another punch to the stomach and you gasped for air, yelping in pain when he grabbed your hair again to keep you from going unconscious.

They wanted to codes to enter a highly classified part of the plumber's database, the codes of which were only shared with Proctor's or higher for security reasons.

It was highly protected, any hacking attempts were met with layers and layers of firewall while a program tracked their address and they were meant with squads of plumbers. If you gave them the codes, it wouldn't alert anyone, leaving them to get the information they required with no one the wiser.

You couldn't give them what they wanted. You wouldn't. Which meant when they got sick of asking, you'd be killed. Your hands were bound, you were beaten black and blue and there was no possible way for you to escape. At this point, death was a better option than the painful misery they were putting you through.

Your eyes fluttered shut, pain ripping through every muscle in your body. Your mind drifted to Ben and you felt your heart squeeze in your chest at the thought of him finding out he lost you.

Sure, your parents would miss you and mourn the loss of their only daughter but you knew the utter despair and grief that would go through Ben when he found out you were captured and killed.

You had only ever seen him get angry once, when his grandfather was threatened and it was like he was a completely different person. Was that version of Ben what awaited the world? Would he go mad trying to find who did it?

Your bottom lip quivered. You missed him.

You gritted your teeth, groaning as another punch was landed, "The codes, bitch!"

"Over my dead body." You growled.

He smirked, "I was hoping you'd say that."

***

"Is she still not answering?" Gwen asked, trying to focus on the mana surrounding your jacket. She had been trying for days now but couldn't track you down. You were way too far from her range.

"No! And I'm really starting to get worried. She said she'd be home 3 days ago." Ben panicked, ringing up your cell again while trying to track your Plumber's badge with his Omnitrix simultaneously. But he was disappointed twice when the Omnitrix gave no results and your phone went straight to voicemail.

This wasn't like you. You were ordered and punctual. If you said you were going to be there at a certain time you'd always be there 5 minutes early. And if on the off chance during a blue moon, you managed to be late, Ben always received a text explaining why.

But they had been unable to contact you for days and it was stressing him out.

"You don't even know what the mission was about?" Kevin asked and Ben sighed in frustration.

"No, she said it was confidential and that I wasn't allowed to know anything. All I know was she was supposed to be back 3 days ago!" He was pacing back and forth, biting on his thumb in nervousness.

He didn't know what to do, this was the first time someone was too far out of Gwen's range. He knew absolutely nothing about the mission and he didn't even know who to contact.

He heard the sound of rings in the background and thought Gwen was trying to call her again when he heard someone pick up.

"Hey grandpa have you heard anything from (Y/N)? She was supposed to be home 3 days ago and we're not able to reach her." Gwen asked and Ben felt his stomach sink in slight disappointment. He thought you had been the one to pick up.

"Uh, kids you might want to sit down. You're not going to like this."

The three of them shared a glance and Ben felt his stomach fall farther.

"The Plumbers have an extremely fortified database that contains a lot of sensitive information. Information that's so sensitive it would mean chaos if anyone ever got their hands on. It's so classified that no one other than Proctors or higher are able to access it."

His brows furrowed. What the hell was he talking about?

"Thing is, this database is so fortified and protected that, as a failsafe, the plumber's created a decoy and decoy codes have been given to every proctor in case of a hostage situation. And, the thing is, (Y/N)'s code was activated 4 days ago."

He stood up so quickly that his knees hit the table with a loud smack, "(Y/N)'s been taken hostage?! We have to find her!"

"Not just her, kid. Another proctor has also been abducted along with her."

"Then we have to go after them! Who was it?! Who took her?!"

There was a deep sigh on the other side, "Ben, I'm sorry but I don't know and if I did I'm not at liberty to tell you."

"What do you mean?"

"The protocol is: if the decoy codes are ever activated, the agent is abandoned. The plumbers are not allowed to go after them."

His heart felt like it had stopped in his chest and his throat closed so painfully that he felt tears bubble in the corner of his eyes. He stared at the phone sitting on the counter for a few moments, trying to understand just what his grandfather told him and wondering if he had heard him wrong.

This couldn't be happening. It was supposed to be an easy mission. You had assured him of that before you left, squashing his worries with a few reassuring words and kisses. How could this be happening?

You were taken hostage for god knows how many days and now his Grandfather was saying that he would never see you again? And that he wasn't even allowed to try looking?

It felt like the world around him was crumbling to pieces, the ground beneath him shaking as tremors went through his body.

Finally, he choked out, "W-What?"

A small nagging voice began poking the back of his head, eventually making it's way to the forefront. Gwen's magic; the magic that flowed through every living being in the universe, couldn't track you.

What if you weren't out range? But you were--?

It felt like he had gotten punched in the stomach.

"I'm sorry, kid. (Y/N) knew what she was getting into. She's on her own."

***

The floor was in absolute chaos. The members of your squad were running back and forth like headless chickens that were caught on fire. Ever since you and Proctor Drax had been captured, they had been trying to track you.

A couple of magisters had attempted to follow when you were taken but they shot them down and then lost them in an asteroid belt. Since returning back to plumber base, they were going crazy trying to track you, process the criminals that they did manage to catch and try to find the families of the victims they had rescued.

Not to mention that they were down a couple magisters since they got injured during the fight.

It was hard though, the ships that were used to abduct you and Proctor Drax were the most common in the universe, which made them impossible to track. It would be even more difficult to track you if your captors dumped the ship at any rest stop and stole another.

Which was most likely what happened.

They were stretched thin as it was but then something worse happened.

Your decoy code was activated and they were told to give up on the search for the both of you. A lot of them protested, they didn't want to give up on the search for their commanding officer but they were shut down.

They had to give up and abandon you and Proctor Drax.

Then, something even worse happened.

Legendary Ben Tennyson, the wielder of the most powerful weapon in the entire universe, came storming into their office and grabbed the closest Magister by the collar.

Ben gritted his teeth, "Where is she?! Where is (Y/N)?!"

"We're not at liberty to divulge that information, Mister Tennyson." The magister stuttered, trying to squirm out of his grip. They had all heard the stories of what he was capable of and they did not want to be on the receiving end of it.

"You're going to tell me, or I'm going to beat it out of you."

"Ben, stop!" He was pulled back by his cousin, pink threads wrapping around his body and yanking him away from the magister. He struggled in her grip, reaching for the his wrist when his hands were pinned down.

"Gwen, let go!"

"Calm down! You can't threaten them into telling you where she is!" She yelled, pulling him back into an empty room so they could talk. She still didn't let up with the restraints, keeping him firm in her constraint.

"So, what? You want me to just give up on her?! Like hell!"

"No one's saying you have to give up! But this isn't the right way!"

He snarled, gritting his teeth and thrashing in her grip, feeling part alien even though he hadn't transformed yet. This emotion was new, he had never felt anything like this before.

Pain that was so intense, so overwhelming, so painful, that he couldn't do anything other than scream and get angry. Because he knew that if he broke down, he'd never be able to put himself back together again.

"Let go, Gwen. I have to find her." He said, calming down.

"I know you do. But it's been over a week since she was taken. Her code was activated 4 days ago and we haven't heard anything from her yet. What do you think these crooks are going to do with their hostage, who is a highly deputized agent of the plumbers after they got what they wanted? Let her go?

His lip quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. Ben wanted to cover his ears, not wanting to listen to the cold slap of reality that Gwen was determined to give him.

"I don't want to believe it either, but we might have to come to terms that (Y/N) is de--"

"NO! SHE'S NOT DEAD!" He screamed, finally letting the tears he was holding at bay go. Once the dam had been broken, he couldn't keep it all in anymore, grief rushing out of him like tsunami waves.

The restraints holding him let go and he was reduced to a sobbing pile on the floor, holding onto his cousin in a death grip as he wept and wailed into her shoulder. She cried too, hugging him close and running her fingers through his hair to calm him down.

"I can't lose her." He whispered in between gasps but Gwen didn't reply and instead rubbed circles on his back, coaxing him to let it all out.

***

Two hours later, Gwen sat on the floor of the Plumber's satellite, Ben sleeping soundly in her lap after crying himself to a point of exhaustion. She watched him carefully, using her powers to manifest positive emotions for him, hoping he wouldn't have any nightmares.

She was just about to wake him up so they could go home when alarms starting blaring and red lights began flashing. Ben, now startled awake, and her immediately ran to the other room.

"What happened? What's going on?" Gwen asked the Magister that had previously been threatened by Ben.

"As if this day couldn't get any worse! We have an unauthorized ship flying toward us." He groaned, typing in something before he pressed and held down on the intermission button.

"Unauthorized vehicle, you are approaching Plumber's Base 2. You are not authorized to land here. Turn back now or be arrested upon landing for trespassing on restricted grounds." He spoke, voice so commanding that it was a stark contrast from the pitiful whimpers he had let out when Ben had his collar.

There was a beat of static before they received the vehicles transmission, "Don't engage. This is Proctor Drax. Have a couple officers ready to process the arrested criminals."

He didn't have to say anything else, they were all marching out of the room and toward the docking bay, with Ben following close behind them

Time seemed to slow down to a stop as he watched the ship land and his heart beating was the only sound he could hear. There was a cruel voice telling him not to get his hopes up. The fall from that much higher would only hurt more.

He swallowed painfully, watching the hatch of the door finally open and then came Proctor Drax, looking severely injured but Ben couldn't let his gaze linger on him, eyes darting instead to the figure behind him.

He waited for the figure to come out of the shadows and was once again disappointed when a handcuffed criminal made his way out of the ship. And another one in handcuffs followed him. And another.

13 criminals. All there are accounted for stalked out of the ship and towards the barrage of plumbers that were there to receive them.

And then nothing.

Ben clenched his jaw shut. Trying hard to keep himself from shedding anymore tears. He'd do that when he was in the comfort of his bedroom. He turned to leave when another figure finally limped out of the shuttle.

You looked like you had been put through hell and back, sporting a black eye and split lip, paired with a stream of blood that ran down the side of your face and then over the handprints on your neck.

You limped down the stairway, grimacing it every step you took when you froze, red-rimmed eyes meeting his own teary green.

"Ben." You breathed, your body so broken and bruised that you couldn't tell whether you were moving toward him or if he was moving closer to you.

But then it was all okay because you were caught in his arms and finally smelling the comforting scent of his deodorant. You were in so much pain, you had constantly been in so much pain for so many days that now that you were finally safe and in his grasp, you allowed yourself to shed a couple tears, burying your face into his shirt.

"Missed you. So much." You whispered shakily. He was holding you too tight, you could feel numbing pain go through your broken ribs but even then you stayed in his embrace as you heard him sob softly. He needed this just as much as you did.

"I missed you too."

You were together. Everything was in balance. Everything was okay.

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@haniscrying

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

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niki-phoria · 1 year

Note

Hey!, may i request Chishiya x Militant reader? Who finds some fun in the games, ands is pretty apathetic towards death but finds it somewhat exciting? Sorry if that doesn't make sense lol, it doesn't really matter to me if its an established relation ship or not, but gn!reader if you can! thank you so much, your posts are always amazing!

the return of the eyeliner cat looking chishiya gif sklens

pairing: chishiya x militant!gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 1.3k

warnings: slightly ooc chishiya, i tried to make this canon compliant but honestly this was so chaotic i don't really remember how this part went lmao, canon typical violence, blood, light descriptions of reader giving chishiya stitches, i feel like i write every confession the same lmao

a/n: thank you for requesting !! i'm kinda running out of games to write about lol i didn't set this at the beach so it's kind of implied that reader was a militant (mention of a subordinate, reader has a gun and knows how to shoot) i hope that's okay i tried to make reader apathetic about death and excited about the games but i'm not sure how well it comes across. it means so much that you enjoy my writing <33 i hope you like it :))

requests open !! read my rules first

the pavement is hot against your hand when you sit down next to kuina. a heavy silence still hangs in the air, the anticipation of what will happen next nearly suffocating. chishiya paces around, hands stuffed in his pockets. he stops in front of you, sighing. “maybe they forgot to press the start button.”

“i hope not,” you lean back on your hands, squinting up at the sky. “this is getting boring.”

“boring is better than death games,” kuina retorts.

“i’m just saying, this is a little anticlimactic.”

kuina’s response is cut off by the approaching sound of an engine. “might’ve spoken too soon,” chishiya murmurs as a group of cars arrives at the shibuya crossing.

a man steps out of the car. “y/n,” he calls. he’s followed by a woman leaving the passenger’s side. “what’s going on?”

chishiya raises an eyebrow, glancing down at you. “you know him?”

“he’s one of my subordinates.” you brush the dirt off of your hands as you stand up. “we’re not sure yet.”

slowly, the rest of the people leave their cars. they’re members of the beach, nervously glancing at your group and each other.

a woman begins walking closer to you when a loud crack rings through the empty city. you nearly flinch when her lifeless body falls to the ground in front of you. blood pools around her.

you aren’t given enough time to fully react when another noise echoes, this time a man collapsing. a low rumble emits from somewhere above you. you can barely hear usagi gasp, pointing up at the sky. “is that a fucking berg?”

kuina’s comment would’ve made you laugh in any other situation. a gray airship floats through the city. a giant king of spades flag waves underneath it. you can see a few others in the distance, each carrying their own flag with a different face card.

“run!” someone yells. people continue falling to the ground. cutoff screams and loud whips of gunshots spur you to move faster. you duck behind a wall in between kuina and chishiya, peeking over the edge. arisu and usagi lean over the side, watching as the panicked crowd continues running.

“is this exciting enough for you?” chishiya asks.

you roll your eyes. “let’s split up!” arisu yells over the gunfire.

after a few shared nods, arisu takes runs off to the left. usagi is the next to leave, followed closely by kuina and chishiya. you duck behind the abandoned cars, desperate for a place to hide. a bullet grazes your arm, through you pay it no mind, forcing yourself to keep moving.

you all but throw yourself against the side of a car, panting. kuina is quick to join you, ducking behind the metal. “are you okay?” she asks. you brush a hand against your still-bleeding arm, shaking your head.

“i’m fine. where are the others?”

“i saw arisu and usagi earlier but i’m not sure about chishiya.” you swallow your fear, peeking behind the car to see who’s shooting.

the king of spades is almost impossible to see. he’s a man dressed in thick black clothing - almost like a cloak. his hood is pulled far over his head to cover his face. he fires mercilessly at any movement.

kuina flinches when chishiya joins you behind the car, pressing his body against the side. he shifts so his back is against the metal, catching his breath. “ah, you scared me,” kuina huffs.

“he’s not gonna stop anytime soon,” chishiya says, reaching into his pocket to grab two soda cans. “here.” he hands one to kuina and passes one to you. it feels heavy in your hand.

“is this a bomb?” chishiya nods.

two people slam against the side of the car across from you. arisu and usagi. they lay a dying man down on the ground. chishiya raises a hand to wave at them. you shove the bomb into your pocket where your gun used to be.

a car skirts to a stop in front of you, the door swinging open. “get in!” tatta yells.

“go!” you urge. arisu and usagi clamber into the backseat, quickly followed by kuina. a spray of gunshots hit the back bumper of the car. you lean over the hood of the car you’re hiding behind, shooting at the king. he’s quick to return fire, breaking the window of the car.

the shooting stops for a second, allowing you to return fire. the king throws a grenade towards the car tatta’s driving. you steady yourself with a shaky breath, aiming for the king’s head.

your shot misses, hitting his shoulder instead. the man winces, giving you enough time to move to a different area for cover. tatta’s car screeches when he begins driving again, swerving through the streets. you watch as the king looks around before running towards another car, jumping onto the back of it.

you wait until you can’t hear gunshots anymore before running towards the pile of debris where you last saw chishiya. he grunts when you push a piece of concrete off of his body. blood has started seeping into his jacket, staining the fabric. you hold a hand out for him to grab, helping him up. “are you okay?”

chishiya coughs. “besides almost being blown up? i’m doing fine.”

you shove his arm over your shoulders, wrapping your own around his waist. “come on.”

chishiya limps along with you until you find a building to hide in - an old convenience store. you help him sit down in a corner before searching for a first aid kit. you frantically look through the cabinets, desperate for anything that will help. finally, in the back of a cupboard underneath the clerk’s desk, you find one. a small metal tin filled with bandages, alcohol pads, needles, and thread.

you rush back to chishiya’s side, kneeling down beside him. you push the fabric of his jacket out of the way, exposing the gash on his abdomen. “you know how to give stitches?” he raises an eyebrow at you.

“no, but anything is better than nothing, right?”

chishiya forces himself to sit up higher, grabbing your wrist. “i’ll teach you.”

you nervously look up at him. something about him soothes your worries, even with a single look. “okay.” you will your hands to stop shaking as you prepare the needle. you start slowly, gently tugging the thread through the skin.

after the first few stitches you get the hang of it, confidently sewing the wound closed. “i saw you shoot the king,” chishiya rasps, eyes still focused on your hands. “why did you save me?”

“because i love you.” the words leave your mouth before you realize what you’re saying. regret builds in your stomach, cutting off your air supply. it suffocates you, preventing you from speaking again. you don’t dare to look up at him. the tension feels heavy in the air as you focus on chishiya’s wound. you finish quicker than expected. your relief is tainted by the uncomfortable realization that you’ll have to talk about your confession. “do i just tie it off and cut the rest of the thread?”

“yeah.” you brace yourself for rejection, wrapping the wound with bandages. “y/n,” chishiya whispers as he reaches out to lift your chin. you remain silent, even as he moves his hand along your jawline to cup your cheek. even as he brushes his thumb against the skin. even as he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours. even when he whispers, “i love you too.” even when he hesitantly leans in to press his lips against yours in a sweet kiss, hand still resting on your face. even when you pull him back in, unable to hide your smile. especially when chishiya smiles back at you and coaxes you closer so you’re leaning against his chest, wrapping an arm around your waist.

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holylulusworld · 1 year

Text

Barnes vs Barnes (7) - Zero

Summary: The unavoidable happened. What will Bucky do now?

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x Wife/Ex-Wife Reader

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, Steve Rogers, Nick Fowler, Matt Murdoch

Warnings: angst, mentions of infertility, strong reader, mentions of past cheating, Lloyd being Lloyd

A/N: Please be aware this is an AU. Bucky is an ass and OOC in this story.

Barnes vs Barnes masterlist

<< Part 6

“Doll, I was worried about you. Where have you been?” Bucky jumps up from his seat. He’s about to hug you when Lloyd and Steve step in front of you. “Baby doll.”

“Sir. Mr. Barnes,” Matt clears his throat to draw Bucky’s attention toward him, “we came here to discuss your separation. No hugging my client. No touching my client. Not talking directly to my client.”

“She’s my wife,” your husband growls at Matt. It’s worse enough that his best friend seems to be on your side, and that he knew exactly where you are hiding from your husband. Suddenly, he is being told how to behave around his wife by some strangers. “If I want to talk to her, I’ll talk. If I wish to touch her, I will touch her.”

“No. You won’t,” Steve pats the gun hidden under his jacket. “Buck, don’t make this harder for Y/N. She has been through enough because of you, don’t you think?”

Bucky glances at you as he says, "We are still...I love her. Y/N let’s talk in private. I know I fucked up again, but I love you. Please.”

“There’s nothing left to say, James,” you use his first name on purpose. Another jab at his aching heart. “You knew this would break me beyond repair. Still, you went home with that woman and fucked her. You even wanted to raise her child with her. How could you? How?”

You blink a few times to push the tears away. “It was a moment of weakness, doll. Natasha means nothing to me. You know that. I hate myself for hurting you.”

“And weeks of lying to me,” you huff. “We could have it all, Bucky.” You step next to Steve to look your husband straight in the eyes. “It was you who decided that what we had didn’t matter. That I didn’t matter. The moment Natasha stepped back into your life you fell for her. Again. Just like you did back then.”

“Baby…I…” Bucky shakes his head. He can’t accept that he won’t have you in his life anymore.

“Save it, James,” you say, standing your ground against your husband. “I will not forgive you this time. After everything I gave up for you. I could’ve been happy with someone else. But you made me come back only to break me again.”

“I can still give you a baby. We can fix this,” he says as he paces the room like a caged animal. “I love you. You love me. We can save our marriage.”

“I don’t want to,” you shrug when Bucky snaps his head toward you. His face falls as the woman he knew doesn’t look back at him. It’s a different woman. A new one. Reborn through fire and pain. “And according to the rumors I heard, you can’t give me a baby. You are the failure here, Bucky. Not me.”

“What? No,” Bucky shakes his head, remembering the trauma he endured thanks to his brother. “The doctor said all is fine…they said…no…”

“Well, your parents lied,” you hold back a chuckle. You are not like this. “If only you had gone to the doctor as I suggested. It wasn’t my fault. I guess fate doesn't want us to have children.”

“How do you know?” he asks. “Only four people knew what happened back then. Two of them are dead, and the other one…”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “Guess the cats out,” Lloyd smirks darkly. “You’re lucky Steve was around when that asshat tried to grab Y/N. If not, both of you would be six feet under already.”

“Lloyd,” you warn.

“Sugar plum, let me stab him a little,” Lloyd grins as you roll your eyes. He won't stop bugging you. “Please. I got all these nice knives…”

“Nick is back in town." Bucky's legs are about to give in when he hears his brother is back in town. “He knows about you. I got to keep you safe.”

He holds out his hand. “She’s got me,” Steve shoves you behind his back. He makes sure Bucky knows that this time he won’t back down for his friend’s sake. “I gave up my chance on her for you once. I won’t do it again.”

“Gentlemen, the lady is right here,” Matt chastises. “We came here for a reason.”

Lloyd hums. He already imagines stabbing Bucky in the back, or ass. Whatever body part he can reach first.

“No stabbing, Lloyd,” you warn.

“Why did you tell me he’s back?” Bucky asks. "Using this to your advantage would have been a smart idea. If he kills me, everything I own will be yours.”

“I’m better than this,” you snap at Bucky. “Unlike you and your brother, I don’t take advantage of people. Whatever messed up shit is going on between you and Nick, I don’t want to get involved in this. I love you, so I see this as my way of saying goodbye. I don’t want you to die, but I don’t want you in my life either.”

“So, this is the end," Bucky swallows thickly.

He could never have imagined that you would turn your back on him forever. He knew what he did hurt you deeply, and you needed time to forgive him.

“This is the end, James,” you say as you hold his gaze. “I cannot trust you anymore. Not with my heart, and not with my life. You hid that you had a brother. If not for Steve, I would be in Nick’s hands. Held hostage or worse. All you did was lie. Our marriage is one big lie.”

“You should leave talking to the lawyers now,” Matt interjects. “I came here for a reason, Mr. Barnes. Let’s settle this now. You don’t want to make things more difficult for Y/N. Right?”

“I-Y/N, baby doll,” Bucky pleads one last time. “Please talk to me. We can still…”

“James don’t be ridiculous,” you sneer. “There is nothing worth saving. Our marriage is over. We are over. I have zero tolerance for your behavior. Matt will handle everything else. Lloyd will stay with him to make sure you act like a gentleman around my friend.”

“Doll…please.”

You turn around, not looking back as you walk out of the room. Steve follows you hot on your heels. Since your encounter with Nick, he has been by your side.

“That was…you were…I mean…”

“Can we just leave?" you ask. “I don’t know for how long I can keep myself from crying, Steve.”

“Of course, darling.”

Steve would like to wrap his arms around you. But he knows the last thing you need is another man fighting for your attention.

“Bucky looks awful.”

“He’s a mess without you,” Steve says softly.

“Good. I hope he regrets breaking my heart for the rest of his life.”

“What will we do about his brother now?” he looks at you. “Do you want me to take him down?”

“I don’t know yet,” you sigh. “He won’t give up so easily. Just like Bucky. He kept it together today. But I know my husband. He’ll try to get me back. No matter what.”

“No welcome back brother or a hug,” Nick smirks. He leans back in Bucky’s chair as his brother steps into his office.

“How did you get in here?” Bucky growls.

“Your men let me in. We still have the same face, remember? It was child’s play to get inside your home,” he dips his head to look Bucky up and down. “No wonder your wife ran for the hills. You lost weight and look like crap. I bet she will choose a real man. Someone who can give her a baby.”

“So, it’s true, you threatened my wife.”

Nick is unimpressed when his brother gets his gun out. Laughing about Bucky, he looks amused. “I did not threaten your sweet wife. I offered to look after her. I bet she didn’t get a good—”

A bullet hits the wall next to Nick’s head. “You will keep her out of this. I did enough damage to her heart.”

"I will do whatever I want to do with your sweet wife.”

Nick slowly gets up from the chair. He grabs the wedding portrait of you and Bucky, smirking as his brother fires another bullet into the wall.

“I will kill you if you try to get close to her again.”

“If you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead by now. We both know you cannot kill your own brother…”

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes x reader #mobster!bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #lloyd hansen #matt murdock #steve rogers #Barnes vs Barnes (7) - Zero #nick fowler

301 notes · View notes

venus-haze · 2 years

Text

Howl (Bo Sinclair x Reader)

Summary: It’s almost inevitable, going on a road trip and ending up with car trouble. The nearby town of Ambrose seems like the perfect place to get your friend’s car a new battery without going off schedule too much, except the handsome mechanic at the body shop decides a dead battery will be the least of your worries as the road trip abruptly ends far worse than you could have imagined.

Note: Please read the warnings before deciding to engage with this fic. Reader is a cis woman, but no other descriptors are used. Your age is ambiguous in this, but it was written with a reader in their 20s or older in mind. This is my first slasher fic, but I’d like to write more. I hope Bo isn’t OOC in this (especially the ending, I feel kinda eh about it). I rewatched the movie and read the script right before starting on this but who knows. Please let me know what you think! Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 7.2k

Warnings: Murder/death. Descriptions of violence involving weapons (guns and knives). Disturbing and sadistic behavior. Misogyny. Kidnapping and prolonged captivity which involves physical abuse, emotional and psychological manipulation, major Stockholm syndrome, distorted sense of time and self. Duct tape as a gag. Sexually explicit content which involves coercion (non/dubcon), knifeplay, bloodplay, and cigarette burns. Do not interact if you are under 18.

A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you and your small group of roadtripping friends arrived in Ambrose, a charming little town tucked in a forgotten corner of the Louisiana swamplands. You felt comfortable there, safe, even. Disarmed by a nostalgic main street lined with colorful family-owned shops, you thought nothing of it when you all made the trek to reach the town’s gas station and body shop in search of a new battery for Laura’s car. Sure, the detour put a damper on the road trip, but you figured it’d only cost an hour or two of driving time.

Just your luck, the gas station was there, as the strange man along the highway had promised. That didn’t necessarily mean the place was open, as the gas pumps were half-rusted and at the obvious mercy of the elements. You had let your friends argue amongst themselves about whether or not to go inside the shop. You were the only one who noticed a broad-shouldered, handsome man in a blue mechanic’s jumpsuit walk out of the garage that had just started blaring heavy metal from inside. Funny, you would’ve suspected a place like that to play some twangy country classics. The mechanic stood a few feet away from you all, watching the scene in amusement, and you gave him an apologetic smile.

When he gave you a smile in return, one that was more wolf than man, you thought that you’d offer your throat to him without hesitation, let him feast on you as he pleased. As much as you hoped looking a wolf in the mouth would somehow defang him, he seemed famished, in an almost controlled desperation the way one hears howling in the night. You were presented with a blood red flag from the start and willingly ignored it just because you were a bit too curious about the fire behind his eyes and the way he blatantly ogled you, not your friends.

Trying to make polite conversation with him, you had asked him about the music that was playing in the body shop—Anthrax? Megadeth? Korn? You threw out names of metal bands, ones you’d seen on t-shirts or posters. He regarded you with amusement as he answered, though you’d retroactively acknowledge the predatory undertone of his words and actions toward you in the hour or so leading up to your life going to hell. He was always going to devour you.

Like everything in Ambrose, his good ol’ boy charm was nothing more than a facade to keep you in town as long as possible. Introducing himself as Bo, the exact man you all were told to look for, Michelle had cut to the chase and told him that Laura’s car was in need of a new battery. Your guard lowered even more as he threw compliments around like candy, asking all the right questions about the roadtrip you were 347 miles into. He searched for a brand new, more reliable car battery in the shop and the garage, only to muse as he charmingly adjusted his worn-out trucker cap that it might be back up at his house, one of the business deliveries he gets up there, he just hadn’t gotten a chance to unpack it yet.

In hindsight, you weren’t sure why you believed him, or why you let Renee walk up to the house with him by herself. What you couldn’t admit to yourself was that you almost didn’t, feeling jealous at the thought of her alone with Bo. A brief sense of satisfaction had swept over you when, for the second time, Bo’s attention was fixed on your body before he headed off to the house with Renee. You hadn’t seen her since.

The metal door of the basement hovel where you had found yourself trapped for god knows how long slammed open, and you jolted—at the harsh sound and at his unkempt appearance, sweat dripping from his brow, rage in his eyes, his chest heaving as he stalked over to the same spot you’d been in since he dragged you, screaming and crying but with no real fight, as you ashamedly reminded yourself, down there.

“Your friend is gettin’ on my last damn nerve,” he growled.

A foolish hope bubbled warm in your chest at this. Someone was still alive, someone besides you at least. Which one though? You’d seen a looming tower of a man with long black hair stab Laura and drag away her limp form while Bo had wrangled you back into the body shop and down to whatever fucking dungeon you were probably going to die in. Renee was airheaded and shallow; you admittedly didn’t like her much, but damn, if she found a way out of Ambrose, you’d be her best friend. You’d bet anything it was Michelle, though. She was the one who had doubts about stopping in Ambrose in the first place, going so far as to call bullshit when Bo claimed the car battery was up at his house.

It wasn’t like you could ask. He’d slapped duct tape over your mouth, as to his frustration he found he was out of superglue to seal your lips shut. The things that slip your mind. At least you still had your clothes on, though you doubted that would last. Blood, though you weren’t sure whose, stained your shirt beyond salvation anyway.

“Bitch won’t shut the fuck up,” he grumbled, double-checking that the restraints were secured.

You resisted the urge to scoff, as if you hadn’t spent the past twenty minutes exhausting yourself trying to break out of them. The bastard was expertly thorough, to your despair. You had gotten a surge of adrenaline in his earlier absence, a newfound will to escape and survive as you tugged at the leather straps and duct tape holding you in place on the surgical bed, praying for some kind of give. As soon as he stepped foot through that door again, slamming it behind him, you had been no closer to freedom than when he left. The gravity of the situation came crashing down on you, a suffocating hopelessness.

His sleeves had rolled up a bit, and you noticed scarring around his wrists, raised and angry looking despite having healed for some time. You’d never seen scarring like that before, wondering what could have caused such intense trauma to his skin like that.

His eyes followed yours, and he curled his lip, backhanding you across the face. “Ain’t polite to stare.”

The stinging pain in your jaw and the weight of his intense gaze made breathing difficult—that and the duct tape. You began to hyperventilate, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. He cooed in mock sympathy, using the pads of his thumbs to wipe away the tears that threatened to fall down your face.

“Save those for later, darlin’,” he said. “I got somethin’ special in mind for you.”

He left your side to begin rifling through a duffel bag in a dark corner of the room. Emerging back into the light moments later, he had a hand-held video camera and a plastic tripod. Despite your lips being sealed, you hoped the noises of protest you made would somehow change his mind. Instead, he seemed amused by them as he set down the tripod and began adjusting the camera on top of it, giving you a wink as the green light near the lens flickered on.

You stared at the cracked cement ceiling while he set up the video camera a few feet away from where he had you restrained, unwilling to acknowledge what was about to happen. You’d rather be dead—though you figured by the end of the night, you would be.

“Anyone ever tell you how fuckin’ pretty you are?” he asked, observing you through the small screen that flipped out from the side of the camera.

No, and you certainly didn’t want this to be the situation in which someone finally did. You wondered how many of your fallen comrades taped up on the dingy wall had heard the same line. It was almost impossible not to look at them, the dozens of polaroids of young women strapped to the same surgical bed as you, all in various states of brutalization, plainly spelling out your fate. None of the photos had captions scrawled beneath them, no dates or names—he probably didn’t know yours, either.

Bo snapped his fingers three times in a row, your startled gaze immediately shooting over to him behind the camera where he was adjusting the settings. At least his tinkering delayed the inevitable. You stared intensely into the camera as if trying to will it to break, put up a fight on your behalf so he’d call the whole thing off.

He grinned at your obedience. “That’s it. Eyes on me, doll.”

You whimpered. Doll, how appropriate, how fucking fitting. The second he got his hands on you, your personhood was dissolved into objectification. You had welcomed the prelude to it, the desire in his eyes when he openly stared at you earlier as he fed your ego so you’d end up right where he wanted you—accessible, vulnerable, defenseless.

“Perfect,” Bo whispered, as the green light turned red, indicating he’d begun recording. He stepped aside and grabbed a nearby knife as he made his way over to you.

The video camera was no longer your ally; it couldn’t buy you any more time from the inevitable. In an instant, it became your voyeur, a guilty bystander in the terrorization that was about to be documented. You wondered where the footage would end up, part of his personal collection, or maybe someone as prolific as him was churning this shit out for sickos online who’d imagine themselves in his place.

He stood angled toward your side, giving the camera a clear view of your body. He took his time drinking in the state of you, bound and terrified as you looked between him and the knife. You relaxed a little when he set the knife to the side, but just as quickly, his hands were on your body.

His big, calloused hand drifted up your skirt—why the fuck did you put on a skirt this morning—to your panties, and you felt your face heat up at the self-satisfied grin that spread across his face as he felt the wet stain on the fabric, slipping his fingers past the elastic to feel your arousal. He toyed with your clit, rubbing and pinching it as you resisted the orgasm you felt creeping up on you. Then, just as you were about to give in and go over the edge, he pulled his hand away, smug at the noise of frustration you made.

Picking up the knife again, he dragged the tip of the blade across the soft skin of your thighs until it rested far too close to your cunt for comfort. Your breathing was ragged, but you tried not to make any sudden movements or do anything to inadvertently provoke him. The bulge in his pants seemed especially pronounced, he certainly wasn’t doing this to you to compensate for something, you could tell that much.

He smirked upon noticing your eyes on the outline of his cock through his clothes.

“How bad d’you want it, darlin’?” he asked, his voice a low, almost velvety purr.

You shook your head furiously, screwing your eyes shut as he moved the blade, only for him to begin shredding through your clothing until they were nothing but rags on the floor. There was nothing to do but watch in horror as he sliced each of your bra straps, pushing down what was left of the undergarment to allow himself access to your tits. He held the knife to your throat while he leaned down, sucking on one of your nipples until it felt sore, like it was going to bruise. He finally pulled back, smacking your other tit for good measure.

The knife in his hand was dull, you realized, to your dismay. It appeared clean enough, all things considered, but with a blade like that, any injury he inflicted on you would take more effort on his part and hurt far more on yours. A sharpened blade would hurt, but it’d be quick and precise. You felt bile rise in your throat with nowhere for it to go as you considered how cruelly deliberate he was about all of this. Asshole.

For a few glorious moments, your mind had drifted elsewhere as he used the knife to cut through your panties—until you heard a scream and a groan from outside, both you and Bo pausing to look up at the grate in the ceiling and listen. Another scream and what surely must have been a body hitting the pavement, perhaps it was your imagination running wild, but you could’ve sworn you heard bones crack upon impact. Michelle. You felt your chest tighten.

Bo grinned, his wild gaze back on you as he tauntingly dragged the blade across your collarbone, far too close to your throat for comfort, “Listen, if you’re good for me, I’ll keep ya. Won’t have to end up like your friends up there.”

Keep you. You hated keep you. Keep you was long-term, turning your current situation into a permanent arrangement. Keep you was a threat, a dark omen hanging over your head like a bolt of lightning about to crack down on you. You wondered if any of the girls on the wall were so lucky as to receive such an offer.

“Whattaya say?” he asked, as if he needed permission.

Another vomit-inducing sound came from above, and you looked at him, nodding wildly.

He pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead, a praise of “good girl” coming from deep in his chest.

Without warning, he plunged the blade into your forearm, a jagged, brutal cut that split your tender flesh. You screamed through the tape as white hot pain seared through your body, mascara-stained tears streaking down your cheeks as you writhed against your restraints. As soon as he pulled the knife from your arm and leaned down to lick the blood from the wound he inflicted on you, you passed out cold.

Almost to your disappointment, you awoke a few hours later, your injured arm bandaged up, though you could see your fresh blood stains had become the latest addition to the already stained to hell mattress you were laying on. Your pussy felt sore and aching, and you could only hazard a guess as to what else he did to you after you’d passed out. At least you’d gotten an IUD a few months earlier.

Bo was disgustingly chipper when he checked on you about an hour after you woke up, a smile on his face as he walked down the stairs with a TV dinner and a dusty bottle of soda. The scent of over-microwaved corn made your stomach growl, and you didn’t even like corn that much.

When he removed the tape from your mouth, you knew better than to mouth off or try something, not when you were fully aware of what he was capable of, and enjoyed doing nonetheless. Your compliance pleased him, as he praised you for how well you did, that the video he got was the best one yet—like you were made for it. You immediately lost your appetite.

As days went by, he checked on you frequently, though there was no rhythm to his visits, keeping you on edge. He restocked on super glue, but through reasoning unfathomable to you, decided duct tape suited your mouth better. Sometimes he’d bring food for you that wasn’t even fully heated, and there was something especially hellish about having to eat half-frozen mac n’ cheese. You wished he would at least undo your restraints when you ate, but instead he fed you himself, like you were a child—only allowed microwave dinners that made you feel more nauseous than full and having to drink lukewarm tap water or flat soda from a straw.

Your arm was healing to his satisfaction, though where he had stabbed you would undoubtedly scar over horrifically. Astoundingly, you didn’t need stitches, but he assured you that Vincent–you assumed the long-haired man who’d killed Laura–was great at stitching people up. You weren’t sure whether to be comforted by that or not.

Then there was the bed across from the surgical one you were strapped to, its promise of comfort taunted you, but the only time you were in it was when you were restrained as usual, your face buried in the grimy pillows, ass up as he either fucked or belted you until you were crying or bleeding. He preferred both. The TV appeared broken, but you didn’t want to watch anything and be further reminded of the outside world you were missing anyway.

The basement didn’t have a bathroom, and so the only time you were freed from your restraints was when he’d bring you upstairs to the one in the gas station, a knife to your throat the whole ascent up to sunlight, a few taunting yards away from freedom. Though the scummy bathroom had no windows, he went as far to go in with you while you used the toilet, and you knew it was to humiliate you more than it was to make sure you didn’t escape. You couldn’t check what you were sure was your haggard appearance, as the mirror on the wall was covered by brown paper, shards of broken glass poking through the quick cover-up. Maybe it was one of the girls pictured downstairs, seeing an opportunity and taking it, smashing the mirror with an elbow and sheer force of will to put up one last fight. The rust-colored stains on the tile floor told you that while it was a valiant effort, she was not the victor.

You knew you smelled rancid from being down there, anxiously sweating every moment you were in his presence mixed with your own dried blood and his cum that you were sure he’d gotten on every inch of your body at that point. He had presented you with a pack of half-dried, lemon-scented wet wipes on one of your trips up to the bathroom, and you wasted no time in using every one of them to scrub yourself down as he watched intently, leaning against the wall and smoking a cigarette, the bulge in his pants reminding you that you wouldn’t stay clean for long.

The worst part was, you began looking forward to him checking on you. He was sadistic and deliberately cruel, but isolation did you no favors as your already fragile mental state caused you to crack. Time was absolutely not on your side, you’d lost track of it anyway.

One day, however, you heard another group of unsuspecting travelers speaking to Bo outside the body shop, their voices echoing down the grate that allowed the only natural light in. Your hope for rescue turned into a hope for something that shook you to your core when you acknowledged it—you hoped he wouldn’t replace you.

While you didn’t want to spend the foreseeable future in a dungeon, strapped to a surgical bed for a psychopath’s amusement, you certainly didn’t want to meet the inevitable, brutal death that awaited you so soon. The women who came before you were nowhere to be found, and you could only imagine the worst had happened to them. You didn’t know what Bo did with the photos and videos he frequently took of you, but you sure as hell didn’t want to spend your final moments as the subject of a hardcore snuff film.

You nearly gagged as you heard Bo use the same lines and excuses that he’d given you and your friends. No one in the group even protested, two people volunteering to tag along with Bo up to the house to get the taillight they needed. It wasn’t long before the sound of an all too familiar struggle ensued above. Metal clattered, people cursed and screamed, tires squealed, and you could hear Bo cursing and struggling before a gun shot rang out, bringing the fight to an end. You weren’t sure who had won until you heard, echoed through the grate, Bo asking Vincent if he was okay. Your stomach turned at the sound of his voice and the fact that he was alive, though you didn’t want to think about whether it did so in disappointment or relief.

You were shaking when Bo stormed into the basement, blood splattered across his face and on his clothes. He punched the wall, shouting “Fuck!” upon impact.

Your wide eyes were glued to him, and he turned to you, acknowledging your presence with a momentarily intense gaze that inexplicably softened as he closed the short distance between you.

“You were real good,” he said, sounding almost confused. “Stayed nice and quiet while Vincent and me took care of business up there.”

You awkwardly jerked your head toward his face. He’d gotten to know your quirks and tells, as he answered your unspoken question.

“‘S not mine,” he mumbled, sloppily wiping the blood away with his hand.

The tone in the basement for the next hour or so was almost uncomfortably domestic, like he really cared about you. Perhaps you’d proven your loyalty in his eyes by not making attempts to warn the unsuspecting tourists of what awaited them in Ambrose or trying for some kind of escape amidst the chaos.

Of the dozens of things you hated admitting to yourself about the situation you were in, you almost liked it better when he was mean to you. There was less guessing, less overthinking when he’d simply throw you around, fuck you, and then leave.

Over the following days, your conflicting feelings over the slight intimacy he was displaying, a kiss on the forehead here, a meal that wasn’t microwaved there, only grew. If there was anything you could do to gain his favor in this way, you’d do it, you’d do anything for him to be nice to you more than he was cruel. After all, you’d gotten yourself this far with your mouth duct-taped and your arms and legs strapped to a surgical bed or immobilized by the host of restraints he had in his possession. He realized such when you leaned into his touch at one point, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion briefly before he grinned. Neither of you, it seemed, were particularly experienced with whatever relationship you’d found yourselves in.

“C’mon—“ his thick Louisiana drawl made it difficult for you to discern whether he was calling you doll or darl’. Regardless, he freed you of your restraints and presented you with the first article of clothing you’d seen since he brought you down there. It was yours, and you knew exactly where you had put it in your suitcase. A slinky little satin slip that you’d bought days before the trip as nightwear, hoping you’d get lucky in some city or town along the way. The sight of it made you want to scream.

“We’re goin’ on a little date,” he said jovially.

You shook as you attempted to dress yourself, embarrassed when he had to come over and help you get the slip over your head. The fabric was just as soft and silky as when you’d bought it off the rack, though it was wrinkled and you noticed a white stain near the hem. You supposed you couldn’t have it all.

To make matters worse, your legs were weak from the limited use of them over time, buckling beneath you as you tried to slip your feet into the kitten heels that you didn’t recognize. While Bo made a fuss about having to help you with your shoes as well, easily a size too small anyway, you could tell he relished in how helpless you were.

Finally, he pulled the duct tape off of your mouth. He handed you a tube of chapstick—cherry, though most of the label was worn off, odd, it almost looked like the one Renee had. You could care less, though. It was the first time your mouth was untaped for something other than eating one of the disgusting microwave dinners he brought you or him fucking your throat until you cried. You applied the used chapstick liberally, rubbing your lips together in hopes it would soften them some.

“Gimme a twirl.” He whistled as you did so with the grace of a newborn fawn. “Shit, oughta enter you in the Miss Ambrose pageant. Knock all them other girls outta the park.”

Miss Ambrose. The posters were plastered throughout town when you arrived. You could only imagine what the qualifications for the winner would have to be.

He brought you upstairs, no knife to your throat this time, but you knew better than to try something when he always had that or a gun on him. Besides, you were far too weak to even make an effective escape attempt. You trudged forward through the shop, almost at the door when you stopped suddenly, catching a glimpse of yourself in the small mirror on the wall.

The reflection wasn’t you. It couldn’t be. The woman who stared back at you was worn-out, beat up, pathetic—you couldn’t accept that he’d done that to you in, well, you really didn’t know how long he’d kept you down there. If Bo noticed your shock at your appearance, he didn’t care, as he pressed a kiss to your bruised, bare shoulder before throwing his arm over it and leading you outside, into the cool night air.

A cigarette was nestled between his fingers in his other hand, and you felt yourself start to sweat at the sight of it. Normally, the worst he would do was blow smoke in your face, amused by your evident discomfort. A not so distant memory of him putting one out on your thigh, cigarette in one hand and video camera in the other, nearly made you tense up. It was almost as if being out of the restraints, out in the open, made you feel more vulnerable to his cruelty.

He offered the smoke to you, and for half a moment you considered taking it so as to not upset him, but you allowed yourself to meekly shake your head. To your relief, it was the right move.

“Good, these things’ll kill ya. Hate to see somethin’ like that happen to my pretty girl,” he said, taking a long drag on the cigarette before flicking it aside.

You could barely keep up with his long strides, the prolonged weakness in your legs and impractical, ill-fitting heels doing you no favors as he led you down the deserted streets of Ambrose.

The town lit up like it was taunting you, highlighting all of the things you would have noticed if you weren’t too busy making heart-eyes at the handsome mechanic to let them fade into the background. Flickering street lamps laughed at you as you walked up main street under Bo’s arm, making some grand walk of shame past every red flag you ignored, every chance of escape you fumbled. Then again, you were still alive, and Bo had made no mention of Laura, Renee, or Michelle since the night he brought you to the basement. You hated that you didn’t know how long it’d been since then. It could have been a day, it could have been forever. It felt like both.

You stumbled a bit when Bo stopped in front of a light blue, mid century-style house that had seen better days, but inside seemed to be bustling.

“Little housewarming party for some new neighbors. Thought you might like to see ‘em,” he said.

You couldn’t conceal the shiver that ran through your body at his chipper tone, he only used it when he was going to do something to you. Most of the time, to your frustration, you couldn’t read him, but his tone of voice gave so much away.

As you and Bo walked up the short path to the front door, you noticed vague silhouettes patterned the plain curtain in the window, though you could hear faint feminine laughter and upbeat music from inside. After school specials from the height of the Satanic Panic flashed briefly through your mind as you wondered if the torture you’d experienced at Bo’s hands was an initiation or ritual of sorts. The thought was oddly comforting, the possibility of your suffering being meaningful as opposed to simply for the amusement of a sadistic killer.

Bo knocked on the front door before finding it unlocked and letting the two of you in. He kept up the pretense of the housewarming party, making quips that fell on deaf ears as you tried to mentally prepare yourself for what you were going to walk into. You held out no hope that the women would help you, and upon entering the living room with Bo, found it wasn’t possible anyway.

No one reacted when you and Bo entered the room, his arm tight around your waist. The TV was blaring a Bewitched rerun, cacophonous with the Connie Francis cassette that was playing on the radio sitting atop a dusty bookshelf. You recognized the song as soon as it went into the chorus—Who’s Sorry Now. The unfortunate irony wasn’t lost on you, but it seemed to be lost on the three women in the room, who hadn’t moved an inch since you and Bo walked in.

Despite the chatter and laughter, it sounded like the noise wasn’t coming from the women, but rather echoed in from elsewhere. Bo’s grip on you loosened, and you took it as his unspoken permission to check out the party for yourself. Cautiously, you stepped forward, unsure of what to expect from them. Were they aware Ambrose was some fucked up murder town? Did they know what Bo had been doing to you?

A strangled scream tore from your aching throat as you saw the faces of your gracious party hosts. A woman leaned against a dingy, stained couch, forced laughter etched into her wax face. Laura. Your eyes drifted to the woman sitting on the couch with her hair curled between her fingers in one hand, the other gripped tightly around a retro dial-tone telephone. Renee. In a nearby armchair that looked like it’d been dragged out of your grandmother’s house sat a woman whose face was scrunched in clear annoyance, her arms folded across her chest. Michelle.

The resemblance to all of them was uncanny. It wasn’t until you leaned in to examine the wax figure of Laura’s face that you noticed it was far too real for your liking. In a panic, you scrambled backward, directly into Bo’s strong chest. You were sure if he had fed you before this, you would have thrown up all over the place. His sheer delight at your distress made you sure your suspicions were correct, your friends had been encased in wax, their dynamic preserved as part of Ambrose’s facade. The people in the shops, chattering you could hear coming from buildings, it was all pretend, all except you and Bo. You’d yet to meet Vincent, but you weren’t sure you wanted to, if this was what he did to his victims.

Bo pushed you onto the couch so that you were clumsily seated between Laura and Renee. You knew better than to move, remaining as still as the wax figures around you until he told you otherwise. Tears flowed freely and silently down your face.

Taking a step back, he tilted his head as he regarded you mockingly. “Ya know, Vincent might have a good point—you’d fit into the scene real well.”

Out of the corner of your watery eyes, you could have sworn you saw Michelle’s eye twitch from her spot in the armchair. God, was she still alive in there?

“Well darlin’, I can’t blame ya for wantin’ in on this girls’ night here. Seems like you’re missin’ out on a lot of fun,” he said, grinning as he stood over you. “Me and you have a whole lotta fun too, ain’t that right, Y/N?”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you choked out a sob at the use of your name, him giving you some of your personhood back was almost too much to handle. He didn’t appreciate the significance of the gesture, or maybe he did and just wanted you to get the fuck over it. Regardless, he let out an impatient growl at your lack of response.

“I’m waitin’ on an answer, doll,” he demanded.

“I want—“ your voice was hoarse, the words clawing their way out of your throat. “I want to stay with you.”

“Yeah?” he whispered, eyes black as he leaned over you, using his body to cage you into your spot on the couch.

All you could manage was a weak, “Yeah.”

“Guess it’s time to bring you home to meet the family, then.”

He kissed you on the lips, the first time he’d ever done so. He didn’t seem to care that your lips were woefully chapped and bruised, as he deepened the kiss as soon as you began to kiss him back–when did you start kissing him back? Your brain felt fuzzy. It was nice actually kissing him, even though he seemed like he was more concerned with claiming you. Still the situation was fucked up, making out with the man responsible for you and your friends’ misery right next to their wax-preserved corpses. If this constituted a party in Ambrose, you’d decline the invitation next time.

After a few minutes, he broke from the kiss and pulled you up from the couch. He made a show of announcing your departure to the girls, thanking them for putting on such a great party, adding to his own amusement and your crushing guilt.

The walk back to the gas station was quiet, despair overwhelming you as you neared the building, unsure of how long you’d be stuck in the basement again.

As you began shuffling over to the front door, he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’? Didn’t I say I was bringin’ ya home?”

“Yeah,” you answered.

“Get your pretty ass in the truck, then,” he said, smacking your ass for emphasis.

He opened the passenger door, and you maneuvered to the middle of the bench seat, correctly assuming he’d want you right next to him as he drove. You weren’t sure where his house was or how long the ride would be as he cut on the engine and began driving up the street, past the fake shops and the blue house where your friends would remain, a twisted, parodic form of themselves preserved forever.

The radio was playing the same heavy metal you’d hear playing from above in the gas station, but you were no more familiar with the artists than you were when you first asked him about him, your sad attempt at flirting that the lonely and insecure part of you figured was harmless, not even considering the worst that could happen.

As he drove the truck up the road, toward a house on a hill, he glanced over at you every so often. The light from the dashboard illuminated his features, and you allowed yourself to take him in, frustratingly handsome and charming when he wanted to be. You wondered if it’d be easier not to feel so soft for him if he were some disgusting old man.

Bo’s hand gripped your thigh. “Ya look like a damn dream in that.”

“Thank you,” you said, a small smile appearing on your face.

You’d give him that much, for all the names he called you while putting you through your wildest nightmares, he never said anything negative about your appearance, and if the reflection in the mirror you saw earlier was any indication, you’d been looking rough for a while.

The truck finally stopped, and he helped you out of it, his hand on the small of your back as he led you up to the house. He unlocked the door, and when you walked into the foyer, you were almost surprised that, for the most part, it looked normal and lived-in, clothes strewn about and empty cans of beer on several surfaces. Undoubtedly a mess that smelled of must, cigarettes, and something you couldn’t quite identify.

Still, at least it was a house and not a windowless torture dungeon. You knew to count your blessings and not comment on the state of the place. It wasn’t often women like you moved up in the world of unwilling captivity. Besides, if you played your cards right, maybe he’d let you clean a bit. Jesus Christ, who were you? Wanting to clean up after him, be this psychopath’s housewife? You sighed. You were whoever he wanted you to be.

“Tired?” he asked.

You shook your head. With the exception of your first night in Ambrose, wherein he went easy on you, as a rule, Bo liked you awake and somewhat alert when he was around, and you knew he wasn’t bringing you to his house for a candlelight dinner followed by a romantic slow dance in the kitchen.

There wasn’t an opportunity to inspect much else of the house, as he began leading you upstairs. All of the doors down the long hallway looked more or less the same, off-white as a result of time and tobacco smoke, streaks of what you assumed was blood on each of them. He stopped in front of a door on the far end of the hall and opened it for you, pulling you inside.

Bo’s room, like what you’d seen of the house, was an organizational disaster. You weren’t sure what to focus on first. It wasn’t until you did so that you realized you should have asked, but when you noticed the stack of Polaroids on top of a nearby dresser, you grabbed them. Each one was of you in various states of torture and pain, framed similarly to the other ones in the basement. He scrawled something beneath one of the photos, and you were able to make out the chicken scratch as your name and ‘pretty when she cries’. The gesture was romantic by Bo’s standards, and you set the photos back down, almost overwhelmed.

Bo walked up behind you, pressing his crotch into your ass so you could feel his erection. One of his hands wrapped around your throat, the other playing with the hem of your slip. He gave your throat a light squeeze, and you remained still, waiting to see what he’d do next in the unfamiliar territory.

He turned you around, giving you a rough kiss before shedding you of your slip, still intact as it pooled at your feet. You almost let a giggle escape from your lips, so he really did like how you looked in it. He wasted no time in pushing you back onto the bed, and you gasped, light and airy at how nice it felt. A real bed, messy and unmade nonetheless, but compared to what you’d been strapped to, it felt like you were floating on a cloud.

Bo took off his clothes, fully nude before you for the first time. You noticed similar scars around his ankles as those around his wrists but knew better than to stare. Besides, there was so much more to look at when it came to Bo. He was a lot of things, but you’d never accuse him of not being hot. It was one of the first things you’d noticed when you first saw him, and finally getting to see him on full display made your core feel pleasantly warm.

There was no foreplay, none of the pain or cruelty you’d come to expect as he climbed over you. Instead, he pounded his long, hard cock into you, no more concerned with your pleasure than usual, yet your body betrayed you as you neared orgasm despite how roughly he handled you. It was the first time you weren’t restrained while he fucked you, and you had no idea what to do with your hands.

Hesitantly, you reached up, caressing his cheek. Fazed by the intimacy you initiated, his thrusts became erratic, and he took your hand, kissing your palm before pushing your arm away. Then, as if to remind you who was in charge, not to get too comfortable around him, he, in turn, slapped you across the face, and you came around his cock with a moan that sounded almost foreign. His orgasm soon followed, and he cursed under his breath as his hot cum pumped inside you.

To your disbelief, he didn’t drag the act out any longer, pulling out of you and allowing you to settle into the pillows. He reached over to the nightstand on his side of the bed—was this now your side of the bed? Would he let you sleep in it with him?—and shook a cigarette out from the pack, sticking it in his mouth and lighting it with a rusted Zippo lighter.

“Gonna be tough findin’ another girl to keep down there who’ll do it for me like you,” he mused, taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Got real lucky with ya.”

Your heart lurched at the thought of another woman down there. You quickly convinced yourself it was out of empathy, after everything that Bo had put you through, to hell and back until you were a shell of yourself and somehow lucky to be alive, you wouldn’t wish that on any woman.

The part of you that now belonged to him, broken and dependent, seethed with jealousy at the possibility of his attention being divided between you and someone else. He’d spent so much time with you while you were down there, would the other woman get the luxury as he fed and fucked her. Other woman, as if she’d be his mistress, his honey on the side, rather than a captive just like you. You hated yourself, feeling pathetic as ever for having such thoughts.

Despite yourself, you whispered, “No.”

“Whattya mean ‘no’?” he asked, his angered expression quickly dissolving into smugness upon noticing how bashful you were, avoiding his gaze. He couldn’t have that, now.

Gently lifting your face, he forced you to make direct eye contact with him. “You jealous? Want me all to yourself?”

No. Maybe? Yes. You gave a weak nod at his question, hoping he wouldn’t make you confirm such out loud. You were never as lucky as he was.

“Say it to me, darlin’,” he ordered, his voice soft as he pulled the answer from you.

Humiliated, you gave him what he wanted, all the while mentally convincing yourself otherwise as you admitted tearfully, “I want you to myself, Bo.”

Snuffing the cigarette out in the bedside ashtray, he took your face in his hands and kissed you with an uncharacteristic sweetness, before slyly suggesting a shower together, your first one since you’d gotten to Ambrose. Thoughts of him fucking you mercilessly against the shower wall made you squirm, but it meant you could finally use real soap, maybe even wash your hair. You nodded in agreement, to his further delight.

You noticed your bags in the corner of the room, mostly undisturbed except for your suitcase, which he had clearly rifled through to get the slip you had been wearing. At least they were still there, maybe he’d let you wear your clothes from now on, even if it was on his terms. You wasted no time in grabbing the bag that housed your makeup and toiletries before following him into the bathroom.

He woke you up the following morning with your choice of engagement rings in a plastic bin—you shuddered to think of what happened to their previous owners—all glittering boldly and promising eternity with a man who would return to you with blood on his hands and fire in his eyes late at night, the predator finally claiming his prey after the long, drawn out chase. Your head was always going to end up mounted on his wall.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x female reader #slasher x reader #house of wax #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher community #house of wax 2005

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myjunipersjupiter · 1 year

Text

The younger Dixon

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x reader

Wordcount: 1.9k

Category: Fluff

Warnings: Prison era (s3), slight season 1 spoilers, character deaths spoilers,

A/N: Still trying to find my writing style and stuff so I hope it’s good! Sorry if characters are OOC. !not proof read!

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

I was separated from the group in Atlanta, the day they left Merle on the roof. Everyone had already left, but I stayed behind because I knew it would crush Daryl if we left Merle here to die. But it didn’t go as planned. I didn’t have the key to the handcuffs and there was no way for us to break the handcuffs, he told me to cut his hand off, and so I did. I knew they would have come back one way or another, but We couldn’t stay. The walkers were trying to get in and there wasn’t much time. By the time we left the building, everyone left. It was just you and Merle, but both of you wanted to go different ways. We went our ways and promised to find each other again sometime. Well, that was about a year ago, maybe less or more. I have lost the track of time. Ever since then, I have been independent, always working alone. I’ve learned a lot.

For the past week I’ve been walking nowhere in particular, but let me tell you I hit a fucking jackpot. In an abandoned city I found a motorcycle, I always wanted one, and a lot of cars that still had gas in them, and some even had guns, ammo, and other weapons.

It was an early morning, I was on the road with occasional walkers and abandoned cars. I need some food and supplies because I’ve been running low. I made my way to the city that was not too far away. I stopped my motorcycle in front of a grocery store and took my bag to take what I needed. Canned food, water and other drinks, bandages, medicine, hygiene products, and other stuff, still leaving some stuff for other people that would need them. As I was putting my stuff into my bag, I heard a car pull up. I quickly hid behind a counter, the door opened and someone walked inside. Two voices could be heard throughout the whole store.

“Ok, we need baby formula, canned food, and maybe some water. I'm going to look here, and you can go there.” A man’s voice said it was familiar. I couldn’t wrap my head around who it sounded like, so I stuck my head out a little. I saw a woman with short brown hair going through shelves. On the other side of the store, I could only see a little bit of the man’s black hair. I was waiting for them to leave, and then I saw the man turn around. I could see his face. Glenn. I was contemplating whether I should call out his name or not, deciding I will.

“Glenn?” I called out from behind the counter, both of them turning around with their guns in their hands, ready to fire. It took a moment for him to recognize me, but when he did, he put his gun down.

“(Y/n)?”

“Yup, it’s me. I missed you.” I softly smiled at him, the girl next to him looked at me with jealousy in her eyes. I walked away from the counter and in front of him, extending my arms, so we could hug. He gave in, it was a short but warm hug.

“Oh my god, where were you? We were waiting for you, but you never came.” he had a little tear in his eye, quickly wiping them away.

“I couldn’t, walkers were everywhere, and I had to stay in Atlanta for a while until it was manageable.” I didn’t tell him about Merle, I probably should have, but it will have to wait for now.

“Uh, (Y/n), this is Maggie, my girlfriend,” He awkwardly introduced us. I turned to her, smiling at her, “Maggie, this is (Y/n), she was with us from the start, we lost her in Atlanta.” She extended her hand for us to shake, not looking like she trusts me, but let me tell you, I don’t care. I pulled her into a hug, she was still for a few seconds, but she relaxed a little, wrapping her hands around me.

“It’s nice to meet you, Maggie, you’re beautiful,” I turned to Glenn and with a smirk, I asked him, “tell me, Glenn, how could you pull someone like her?” She laughed a little as Glenn pretended to be offended. It was nice getting reunited with him after a year or so, and also meeting someone new. Maggie was still a little unsure about me, but It’s understandable since we just met.

“So tell me guys, you have a camp somewhere around or something?” I was hoping they would say yes and just maybe take me with them, it would be nice to be with your family again. We were together for so long that I would love to catch up.

“Yeah, actually, I mean, we could take you with us, but I don’t know how others would react.” Glenn looked at Maggie, who subtly nodded at him. He smiled at me and told me to follow them. We went out of the store, and they told me they could take me in their car.

“Actually, I have a ride, so I could just be behind you if that’s ok?” I pointed to the motorcycle that was not far from their car. They said it was fine and so we went. After lord knows how many minutes, I could see a prison in the distance. How did I never notice? It’s huge! They started slowing down when someone came out and opened the gate, a child… maybe it was Carl. I got a little excited as we went inside. We stopped, and the boy came out with a gun pointed at me. I stepped away from the bike and put my hands in the air. Glenn and Maggie got quickly out of the car as more people started approaching.

“Hey Carl, it’s okay, put the gun down,” Glenn said as he stepped in front of me, shielding me from anyone’s view. Other people came with their guns.

“Who is that, Glenn?!” Rick was the first one to come. Glenn had a smile on his face and didn’t say anything, just waited for the others to come closer.

“Glenn?” Rick repeated.

“Look guys, whom we found on our run!” He said with excitement, as he slowly stepped away, so the others could see me. Everyone was silent. I was Rick, Carol, the boy from the gate who later pointed a gun at me which was, in fact, Carl and Carol. A lot of people were missing since the last time I saw them. I had tears in my eyes, I wiped them and looked around. Lori, Andre, Dale, Shane, Jacqui, Sophia, T-Dog, Jim, and Daryl. They were nowhere to be seen.

“(Y/n)? What? I… I have no words.” Rick put his gun down, slowly making his way to me. He hugged me as I hugged back, the tears now going down my cheeks. Everyone else joined in a group hug. I was so happy I could see them again. After a while, I was once again standing alone, wiping away my tears.

“Where are the others?” Please tell me they just didn’t come out. Everyone looked at me sadly.

“Well… we lost a lot of people,” He looked at me with a little smirk. I looked at him confused, why was he smiling, “but there’s someone who I think would love to meet you.” He looked at Carol, who just nodded and quickly went inside. I looked around at everyone.

“Who?” Carl was now next to me, he took my hand and everyone went back to doing what they needed to and taking the supplies inside. I, Carl, and Rick went inside slowly.

“You will see in a second,” Rick told me as he was in front of me. Inside was already Carol waiting for us.

“Just wait for a second jeez,” Carol told someone with a little chuckle as we approached, “look.” Was all she said before Carl dropped my hand and Rick stepped away. There he was, Daryl. Standing in front of you, shocked.

“Tell me, you’re fucking kidding me?” He put his crossbow down and came closer, “You’re real?” I chuckled at his statement.

“Of course I am.” Tears once again stained my cheeks. I couldn’t move. But he could, he hugged me, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

“God, I missed you.” He said, his voice soft and quiet with his head resting on my own. I wrapped my arms around him.

“I missed you too.” The younger Dixon and I were always friends, even before the apocalypse, so it was nice seeing him again after so long. He softly pulled me away, looking into my eyes.

“Where were you?” his voice asked me, stern and serious.

“The day they were in Atlanta. I stayed behind with Merle to get him from the handcuffs, but we didn’t make it in time, everyone was already gone and walkers were everywhere. So we left, and then we went different ways, I’ve never seen him since.” His eyes were wide.

“So you stayed to help him instead of saving yourself?” only I could see the tears in his eyes when I mentioned Merle.

“Yeah, I knew you would be upset, so I tried to get him out, but he lost his hand. But he’s alive. Well, at least I hope so.” He may have been an asshole, but you still cared for him.

The rest of the day I got to know the people I’d never seen, and then we talked about what happened when we were separated. It was peaceful, you finally had your family back.

It was late and almost everyone was asleep. I couldn’t go to sleep just yet. I went outside to go grab something out of my saddlebag, something I haven’t had in a long time, cigarettes. I found them in the shop today and to be honest, you kinda needed them. You leaned on the wall of the prison and lit up your cigarette, taking a long drag.

“God, how I missed this.” You missed everything. Your family, the people, the feelings, and even the cigarettes. When I was younger, I used to sneak out of my house to go smoke with Daryl. I missed those days, but there’s nothing that could bring them back. I closed my eyes, breathing in the smell of smoke and the night air. Not hearing that someone was approaching you.

“You know, when I came back to the camp and you and Merle weren’t there, I wanted to just go there and find the two of you myself. They didn’t let me. They said we would go the other day, we went, and you weren’t there. I was so pissed I didn’t go.” Daryl told you with sincerity in his voice, I always knew he wasn’t the one to get sentimental, but when you were alone he allowed himself to get a little soft. I opened my eyes and looked at him. He looked beautiful in the light of the moon. As my eyes scanned his face, I realized something. The reason I did everything, why I didn’t stop, was him. Daryl. I love him, ever since we were kids. I always loved him, but I never realized it. It all made sense. My train of thoughts was interrupted when his eyes met mine. The world stopped. It was just us against the World, no one else… nothing else. Just us.

“Daryl?”

“Yeah, Sunshine?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,”

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asterias-record-shop · 1 year

Text

—𓆩[house on the water (r.b.)]𓆪—

**I’ve literally been thinking about this since I watched the outfit. you don’t have to have watched the outfit, just know Dylan O’Brien is a fine ass mobster with a Jersey accent. slight angst, little bit of fluff, very toxic relationship (remember Richie is a guy from around the 50s raised in a crime family, he’s a bit of an asshole and misogynist but you change that later on) but Richie promises he’ll get better, definitely maybe a bit OOC Richie, mdom turned msub, I got carried away, most likely gonna have a part 2**

Richie had come in right before closing, as always. Leonard had stepped out because he wasn’t feeling well, which was odd because he almost never left, leaving you to take over closing.

You were busy folding the handkerchiefs that Leonard was way too anal about, but followed how precisely he liked to fold them into long rectangles unlike the previous secretary, Zoey. You were glad when she left, mainly because she always eyed your boyfriend Richie every time he came in. Especially with the fact that she always gave Leonard more work when she wouldn’t fold the fabric correctly.

You sighed as the bell rang, looking up as Richie and Francis came in. “Leonard isn’t here,” you say as Richie slipped an envelope into the box in the corner, Francis humming.

“Where is he?” Francis walks over and sits on the table as you quickly move Leonard’s prized shears, setting them on the separate counter.

“He didn’t feel well,” you explain as you set a stack of folded fabrics on the other desk. “I told him to go to the hospital.”

Francis grins. “You couldn’t take care of that, darling? Thought you were a nurse.”

You glared at him as you turned around. “I was a nurse, Francis. Didn’t keep my certifications up whenever my daddy got sick,” you say as Richie whistles. “Don’t whistle inside my work, Boyle, you will call the demons inside.”

Francis laughs as he jumps down from the table, quickly trapping you between the desk and him. “Aren’t we already inside, darling?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you pushed him back. “You keep trying that, you bastard, I’ll have my daddy throw your body on the side of the road like the trash you are.”

He shoves you back, glaring. “You talk big until-”

Richie quickly gets between you two, cocking his revolver as he pressed it to Francis’ lower abdomen. “You better keep your fucking hands off my woman, Francis. I’ll fucking kill you.”

You start to grin, rubbing Richie’s shoulders. “Shoot ‘em, Richie,” you teased him, Francis rolling his eyes with a scoff. “Make him bleed.”

“You’re fucking crazy,” Francis says as he walked out. “I’ll be at the house, Richie!”

You come out from behind him, watching as he uncocked the gun and put it back into the holster. You go to the fabrics, resuming to fold them up as Richie slowly comes behind you, hands settling on your hips. “What’s for dinner tonight, doll?”

“Whatever your maid is cooking up at home,” you say quickly, straightening out your dress before you grab another stack of fabrics. “You ain’t coming home with me.”

He rolled his eyes. “And why the hell not?”

You let out a laugh. “Why the hell should you? You haven’t come home for the past three days.”

“Hey,” Richie says, forcing you to turn around as he pressed you against the table. “You better remember who you’re talking to, doll. I paid for that pretty ass apartment you got right on the water, I can come home whenever the fuck I want.”

“Give me a number, Richie, I’ll fucking pay you back,” you hissed in response as he takes off his hat, pulling his gun from his holster to press it to your chin. This wasn’t the first time you had been held at gunpoint by Richie Boyle, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. “Pull the trigger, Richie Boyle, I dare you.”

He scoffs out a laugh as he cocked the gun, your hand pushing into your skirt Leonard had custom made for you with pockets. “You’re way too fucking bold for your own good, woman.”

You take out your own revolver, pressing it to his groin as you raised a brow. “At least I have bite behind my bark, Rich.”

He pauses, eyes flickering down as you do the same, cocking your gun. He huffs out a laugh as he uncocked his gun, trailing it along your jaw before tucking your hair behind your ear with the muzzle. “You’re so pretty, darling. It’s a shame your attitude makes me want to put a bullet in you.”

You roll your eyes as you uncocked your own gun, sliding it back into your pocket. “You’re such a charmer, Richie.”

He groans dramatically as he threw the gun onto the table, taking yours and doing the same. “You’re so bold, y’know that?”

“I think you forget I’m not one of those good little girls begging for a taste of bad,” you roll your eyes as you turn, grabbing your revolver that matched his, the only difference was yours had his name engraved and his yours. “You know I’ve been fucking gangsters since you were playing with yourself.”

He grins as he grabbed his revolver, slipping it back into his holster before grabbing a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and a lighter. “But I’m the best, right darling? I’m the one that can make you cum the hardest?”

You giggle. “Sure, handsome,” you say, taking the lighter and the cigarette he slipped between his lips between your teeth before lighting it. You take a long drag as his tongue darts out of his mouth to wet his lips before you blow the smoke into his face. “You can think that.”

He chuckled as he takes back the cigarette, doing the same you did before pulling your lips to his and blowing the smoke into your mouth. You hum, exhaling through your nose as he holds the cigarette between his pointer and middle fingers. “I know that, darling. I’m the person who’s got you clawing into the bed every night.”

You hummed. “Except for the past three.”

His eyes roll back as you push him off, grabbing the fabric and putting them in a box so they wouldn’t start to smell like smoke. “Don’t start with me, Y/N! I fucking hear enough from-”

“Don’t you talk to me like that, Richie Boyle!” You yelled at him, stomping over to take the cigarette from him and press it dangerously close to his Adams apple. “I’m not a fucking whore who will let you talk to her however you please. If you want to talk to someone like that, I’ll start packing my bags now and leave that fucking apartment you said you bought.”

It wasn’t a lie. He did buy the apartment, you just kept up with the bills. You made enough from Leonard and the monthly checks your father sent you, even being able to stowaway some as a keepsake. You definitely didn’t need Richie like he thought you did.

“Fucking do it. I dare you.”

You throw the cigarette to the ground, stomping on it with the tip of your heel as you turned around. “I’m fucking done with you, Richie Boyle. You think you can just come and go as you please and talk to me however the fuck you want? Think again, Richie, I’m not a girl you can fucking walk all over!”

He laughs. “Where are you going to go, darling? Hm? Don’t forget your daddy doesn’t own this town anymore, mine does.”

You turned around, gasping as he grabbed your hips and pulled you into his chest. “And you know what that means?” He grinned, leaning down, his smoke tinted breath fanning onto your lips. “I own everything in this town. Including you.”

You shoved him, fists clenching as you turned around. “Fuck you, Richie.”

“Where are you going to go, huh?!” He yells, following you through the tailor shop. “Look at me. Look at me!”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you to turn around before your hand connected to his cheek, slapping so hard that the noise echoed across the walls. You gasped as his head stays facing toward the side, covering your mouth as he clenched his jaw. As much as it shocked you, you certainly didn’t regret it. “You better fix your fucking head, Richie Boyle. I am not an object that belongs to you, and I’m certainly not going to stand here and take your shit. I am not the cause of your frustrations and I’m certainly not going to be on the receiving end. Now let me go.”

His grip loosens as you walk toward the end of the room, grabbing your coat from the hook before slipping it on. “I’ll have my stuff out by the morning. Daddy will send people to get my things in an hour-”

“Y/N.”

You sniffled, wiping at your cheek. “We’ll talk about who will keep Kingsley,” you say, talking about your German Shepherd that you found on the streets. “But I doubt you’ll want him because you never fucking did anything for him. Daddy will send a car to get me in a few minutes, I’m going to call him.”

You couldn’t walk out of the room before he softly grabbed your hand, pulling you into his chest. “Doll, look at me.”

“No,” you say, attempting to push against his chest as you stared at the now insanely attractive ties. “Let me go, Richie.”

“Y/N,” he says, his other hand softly cupping your cheek to get you to face him. “I’m sorry.”

You inhaled sharply, those were not words you had ever come out of Richie Boyle’s mouth. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, stroking your cheek with a shaky exhale. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, doll, I am. Don’t go. Please don’t go.”

Your eyes narrow, squinting at him as you shook your head. “I’m not dealing with your shit, Richie. I’m not, never again. I don’t fucking deserve it.”

He shook his head. “I know. I know, darling, I know. You don’t. I promise, I promise I’ll try,” he lifts your hand to his lips as you bite your lip, holding back a sob as he kissed your knuckles. “I’m so sorry, darling. I’ll be better. I’ll be better for you. I’ll come home every night, I’ll stay with you until you wake up, I’ll take care of Kingsley and let him onto the bed if you want. Just don’t leave.”

You shake your head. “You’ve said this before, Richie. I’m not going to be a fucking dumbass and listen to you again.”

“Why the fuck do you think I bought you that apartment, huh?” He snapped, the hand on your cheek going to hold your jaw. “So I knew where the fuck you were every night. So it was in my fucking territory and I can fucking protect you. Because I know you fucking love that stupid marina for whatever reason you’ve never fucking told you. Why do you think I want to do that, hm?”

You paused, looking up at him. He was so close. “You can’t even say it, can you?”

He scoffs, looking away before you tried to pull your wrist from his grip. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not going to be with a fucking coward who can’t even say three fucking words,” you snapped, trying to pry his hand from your wrist. “Let go of me!”

“Why are three fucking words so important to you, huh?!” He raises his voice before you gave him that look, oh that look that always put him in his place. “Why do you want to hear them so bad? Why does it matter if I say it or if I show it?”

“Because you don’t fucking show it, Richie!” You yelled at him, finally getting his hand off of your wrist before pushing him back. “You don’t show it or say it! All you do is come home, ask for sex, then leave! I’m not your personal fucking whore, got dammit! You don’t say it, you don’t act like it, for fucks sake, sometimes I wonder why I’m so fucking in love with you!” You inhaled deeply, covering your mouth. “I’m leaving, Richie, before something happens that we can’t undo.”

Richie licked his lips before covering his mouth, looking away. “You’re in love with me?”

You laughed bitterly before scoffing. “I was, yeah, Richie. Now I don’t know. What I do know is that I’m not going to fucking stay with a coward like you. You might be all strong and shit in every fucking area of life, but you’re a fucking coward in this one,” you grabbed your purse, turning around. “I’m not going to stay with someone who’s too scared to love.”

“I love you.”

You paused. Why did it take him so long to say it? Was it just because you were leaving? The fact that the great playboy Richie Boyle wasn’t going to get someone he wanted?

“I love you,” he repeats, walking over as you start to take off your coat and put your jacket onto the hook before putting your purse over it. “Y/N, I love you.”

“You should leave, Richie,” you whisper, turning around to cross your arms over your chest. “I still have work to do, and I’ll be damned before I let you push me out of my job.”

He walked over, slowly crumbling to his knees in front of you. “I love you.”

“Get up, Richie,” you say, trying to go around him before he grabs the back of your thighs and pressed kisses over your dress. “Pathetic isn’t a good look for you.”

It was a lie. Pathetic was an extremely good look on him. Everything was a good look on him, for fucks sake, he was Richie Boyle.

“You don’t think so?” He teased, rubbing your thighs down to your calves through your dress. “Thought you liked it when I’m on my knees.”

You scoffed, yelping as he pulls you flush against him. “Richie, I’m not dealing with your shit-”

“No more shit, darling,” he says, kissing at your hip. “I’ll show you. I promise.”

A gasp falls from your lips as he starts to lift up your skirt, bunching it up at your waist as his hands go to your pretty lace underwear. “You want me to stop, doll?” He asks, licking a firm line from your cunt to your clit through the fabric. “All you gotta do is tell me.”

“Fucking hell, Richie,” you whisper, covering your mouth. He always did this, always. You both had gotten into fights before, and they always ended like this: sex against the closest surface. Not this time though. “Richie, stop.”

He pauses, looking up at you confused. “Why?”

“Why must you ask why? You don’t need a reason, I told you to stop!” You shove him, going around his body as he rushes to stand.

“Hey! Y/N, don’t you walk away from me!” He quickly comes behind you, turning you around to press you against the table of ties. “Why the fuck are being so difficult, huh? I’ve done everything you’ve wanted!”

“Not when I wanted you to!” You yell back, the bell of the front door quickly covered by your shout. “You don’t try, Richie. I’m not going to deal with your childish antics like a little boy who doesn’t get the toy he wants.”

“You listen to me,” Richie says, voice shaking in anger as his hand grabs your jaw to get you to look at him. “I’ve been fucking trying the entire time we’ve fucking been together! Don’t tell me that I’m not trying!”

His yelling reminds you of whenever your father would yell at your mother before she walked out on him, immediately resetting his brain functions to where he found out how much he needed her and did everything she wanted to get her back. Your eyes were watering with tears just like hers used to, asking yourselves why you loved such a horrible man.

“Why aren’t you looking at me, huh? Don’t fucking-”

“Mister Richie,” a voice says, both of you looking to the side to see Leonard standing there. “I don’t… I don’t think it’s right for you to be talking to Y/N like that.”

Richie scoffs. “What’d you say to me?”

“Richie stop,” you say quickly, grabbing his jacket to pull him back to look at you. “I’m okay, Mr. Burling,” you smiled at Leonard, a sad, teary eyed smile. “I’m okay, Leo.”

“You hear that, old man?” Richie says as he grabbed your hand. “She’s fine. This might be your shop, but don’t forget who runs it.”

He looks at you, watching as you nod with a deep inhale. “I’m okay, Leo.”

Leonard shook his head. “You need to let her go, Richie.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, old man,” he yelled at Leonard, quickly pulling his gun with your name engraved on it towards the older man, cocking it. “You want to talk to me like that?!”

“Richie, stop! Stop, please!” It didn’t click that you had your own gun, but even then, you wouldn’t be able to put a gun to Richie. “Just… just stop! I’ll do whatever you want, just leave him alone. Please.”

You quickly grab his gun, uncocking it. “Please.”

Leonard exhaled as Richie puts down the gun, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Let’s go, doll. I’m feeling pasta for dinner, sounds good?”

You nodded mindlessly, his hand resting in the small of your back before he pushed you in front of him. “I’m sorry, Leonard.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay, honey, I’ll see you tomorrow-”

“No you won’t!” Richie yells as he gets to the door. “Tomorrow is date day. And night.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the door slammed closed. “I don’t have my purse.”

“You don’t need it.”

“I need my coat.”

“You can have mine,” he starts to slip off his jacket, slipping it over your shoulders as he blew into his gloved hands. He fixes his suit jacket, slipping his hand into the pocket that lounged near your skirt to take out his cigarettes and lighter. “You want one, doll?”

You shake your head as he holds one between his teeth, lighting it by covering it from the blowing wind to make sure that it lit. He inhaled deeply as you bring the coat closer to your form, Richie’s hand settling back into the small of your back as he fixed his hat. “You wanna do anything specific tomorrow, darling? Can take you shopping, we can go out to breakfast-”

“Why are you acting like you didn’t just pull a gun on my boss?”

He scoffs, puffs of smoke falling from his lips before he takes another long inhale. “You don’t need him, or that stupid job. I Can support you on my own.”

“Why? So you can hold it over my head like you did earlier? No thank you.” You scoff in response as he shrugged.

“I could just make you quit.”

“Richie Boyle, you better fix- mhm!” You hummed loudly as he holds you hips, pressing you to a brick wall as he pressed his lips to yours.

Oh, you hated how addictive his kisses were. His smooth lips and breath laced with smoke, slick tongue pushing into your mouth as the cigarette holding hand cups your face and pulled you closer. “I wouldn’t make you do that, doll,” he says, smiling. “I know how much that stupid tailor makes you happy.”

“He’s a cutter,” you correct, shaking your head. “Not a tailor.”

“Whatever the fuck he is,” he says, taking the cigarette to his lips and inhaling deeply before blowing into the cool night air. “We should… invite him over for dinner one day.”

You shake your head, trying to push him off. “You say that now, but as soon as the time comes, you’re running for the hills.”

“Y/N,” he says sternly, stroking your lips with his thumb. “I’mma make you happy, doll. I’mma make you so fucking happy.”

You inhale shakily as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, the cigarette burning quicker than normal in the cold air. “Richie, I’m not dealing with your shit anymore. You got too many strikes.”

He shook his head. “I know, doll, I promise I’ll do better. I swear.”

You softly pat his cheek as he smiled at you. “You better, Richie Boyle.”

“I love you, Y/N L/N.” He says, loudly and confidently. “I fuckin’ love you.”

You giggled, stroking his hair. “I love you too, Richie Boyle.”

part 2 maybe?

#asterias-record-shop #requests open #richie boyle #the outfit #the outfit 2022 #richie boyle x reader #richie boyle x fem! reader

73 notes · View notes

sanajeh1909 · 11 months

Text

Pairing : Chamber x F!Reader

Word Count : 8213

Warnings: Violence (mentions of guns, stabbing and killing people)

POV : 3rd person

One Shot

A/N : Sorry for my poor English, its not my native language. Chamber can be a bit OOC. I had hard time to express reader and focused on Chamber more than reader itself. Gif doesnt belong to me. I need to improve my writing skills. I hope yall like it.

·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧ Dangerous Desires

You have joined Valorant Protocol by request of your friend : Fade. You have grown up in a place that war almost never ends. The constant exposure to death and bloodshed shaped you into a cold and hardened individual, one who viewed killing as a means of survival rather than an act of malice. After the first light, your life became a warzone. Killing people to survive has become normal to you. But all the killing and murdering didnt fade the playful attitude of yours, especially when it came to death. When your friend offered you to Protocol, you thought its time for your life to calm down a bit. You enter the room of the HQ where all the agents are there chatting with each other.

Looking around, you want to make new friends and find someone who can relax with you in somewhere quiet. You see a man who is well dressed, of course your eyes catches his figure.

He notices you admiring his physique. He is built like a mannequin, with a perfectly fitted suit. He looks over and flashes a smile that is charming, yet slightly sinister.

*”Bonjour, Mademoiselle.”*

*”Bonjour.”* You extend your hand for a handshake. But instead, he takes your hand and kisses it. Its soft against his lips. Then, he releases your hand.

*”Charming and well educated. I like that.”*

You smile at him. There is something behind it, but he doesnt seem to realize the mischief under your smile.

*”Would you like to accompany me to somewhere quiet and relaxing?”* You ask. He doesnt know what is going to happen if he accepts, yet...

*”That sounds delightful.”* He offers you his arm. *”If madame would be willing to accompany a gentleman.”*

You chuckle softly, he is unaware of the scheme you are planning. *”I would gladly accompany a gentleman like you. However, im not married. No need to call me ‘madame’”*

You accept his arm and gesture the way to parking lot. You two began walking.

*”Madame is a figure of speech.”* His French accent makes him more attractive than he already is. You two reach the parking lot and you gesture your car, unlocking the doors. He gets inside the car and admires the interior of the car, admires its luxury.

*”Very nice!”* He turns to you. *”Where are we going?”*

You, on driving seat, turn to him and smile softly* *”I would like to keep it as surprise if you allow me.”*

*”Surprise me, then.”* He says, crossing his arms, smirking. *”Oh, by the way. The way you speak is divine. I love the sound of a French accent.”*

You smile, feeling the pride grow in your chest. *”Merci, although im not fluent in French, i give my best to speak perfectly.”* You start driving inside forest, end of the road is the surprise place. Its dark, nothing can be seen except the road that car lights making bright.

He looks out the window, then gives you a curious glance. Your French is perfect, why does he get the distinct feeling of you are not a native speaker? He leans back in his seat, eyes on you as you drive for several minutes without a wrod spoken. The car is quiet. The surroundings a quiet hum. He waits for you to speak, his eyes are on you.

You feel his gaze on you and you break the silence. *”I get the feeling that you may thinking im French perhaps by the way im talking. No, im not French or native speaker of French.”* You drive, its quiet again. The eeire air is hanging on.

He tilts his head in curiosity. For a woman who isnt a native speaker of French, you are perfect. He is genuinely curious, now. Not only is your accent perfect, but your grasp of the language is incredible. He leans back in his seat again, letting you drive. *”So, i have to ask. Where did you learn to speak such beautiful French? You must’ve had many teachers, i assume.”*

You laugh softly, you cut your laugh short. *”I must admit you are wrong. I have learned French by myself, speaking with natives has improved my accent.”*

He raises an eyebrow, leaning forward in his seat. He is incredulous now, but he doesn’t show it. *”Really? Impressive. Most people i know arent that good, not even native speakers of the language. Did you always have a penchant for languages or just for French in particular?”* He glances at you and flashes another charming smile.

You let out a deep chuckle. *”You have caught me, Monsieur. I have a liking of languages, fourteen, in total.”* You smile in amusement, still driving. Its quiet and dark place to drive at night.

*”Fourteen?”* He repeats. *”I barely know three!”* He chuckles and shakes his head.

Why fourteen? Do you have an academic or professional interest in learning them, or do you just have a personal goal to learn them all?

You feel what he is thinking. You break the silence. *”I see you have doubts in you, you can ask me your questions, Monsieur.”*

He laughs. He knows he is being teased. He looks out the window, eyeing the dark forest around him. Then looks back at you. *”Tell me why you know fourteen languages. Im interested in your motivation, you see.”*

*”I have a strong liking of languages, you may call it fetish.”* You speak with amusement in your tone. Its been 10 minutes of driving.

He tilts his head at your word choice. *”A fetish. Well, now i think i must ask the question, then. Which language is your favorite and why?”*

You smile and sigh before speaking. *”Its hard to choose in between, actually. A lot of languages to choose one.”* You park the car and stop the engines. You turn your head to look at him, you flasha smirk. *”Shall we go out to see the beauty of the world, Monsieur?”*

*”You are not making it easy for me, you know?”* He chuckles. But yes, he gives you a look of excitement in his eyes. Whatever you have planned, he likes it. *”Let’s see where you’ve brought me.”* He gets out of the car.

You smile and get out of the car as well. You walk towards him and you lead the way. When you both reach the sands, you sit on a bench and take off your heels. You put your heels next to bench. *”Do you like beaches?”*

*”Oh, madame, i adore the beach.”* He sits down beside you and takes off his shoes without hesitation. The sand is warm and soft. *”Nothing like the feel of the sand and the sea. This is beautiful.”*

*”Yes it is. Would you like to walk inside the sea, or should we sit here?”* Your tone of voice is soft, almost soothing.

He shrugs. Its entirely up to you. He turns his head to look at you. *”I’ll do whatever madame desires. You are very beautiful, you know that?”*

You chuckle softly at his words. *”You are complimenting me.”* You get up from the bench and you look at him. *”Shall we go?”*

*”I am. Why wouldn’t i?”* He stands up and starts walking towards the sea. He turns around, looking back at you. *”Coming, madame?”*

You follow him and start getting inside the water, enough to feel the soft waves on your ankles. *”Isn’t it soothing?”* You smile and you turn to catch his gaze.

He follows you into the water. The salty water tickles his toes. Its soothing, the calm waves in the shallow water. He looks down, kicking up sand, and back at you. *”It’s soothing, yes”* He smiles, but the expression is disingenuous. His eyes are studying you. That soft gaze that was there has gone, replaced by a look of cold precision. He doesnt look away, either. He is judging you, studying you. His eyes dont move.

You realize his judging eyes. *”May i ask what’s making you uncomfortable, Monsieur?”*

He chuckles, his tone slightly mocking. “*Oh, dont assume anything. Im merely trying to gauge whether or not you are a friendly individual, so far without luck.”* He flashes you another, more genuine smile. *”Or perhaps, you are not comfortable with me, madame. That is why i am here, though. To make you comfortable.”*

His tone when he refers you as madame doesnt sound genuine. *”If i wasnt comfortable, i wouldnt have asked for your companionship. If you are having troubles of trusting me, take your time.”* You smile but it doesnt reach your eyes.

You notice the difference in his voice. That mocking tone in that one phrase alone seems to be a break in chaarcter. He looks down, then back up at you. He tries to match your smile, but he cant do it for long before it drops. He loooks at a nearby sandcastle, then looks away. You are right. He doesnt trust you. He tries to change the subject. *”Tell me about yourself. Why are you on the beach so late?”*

You smile. This time it reaches your eyes even though its small smile. *”I always come to beach at this hour. Today’s honorable guest is you. If you wish to leave, i can give you the keys of my car for you to go back. But im afraid that you might get lost on the road though.”*

His face twists into a confused look. *”Honorable... guest? What do you mean?”* He is standing up in the water, the water just below his knees. He stares down at you, not breaking the eye contact. No matter what you do, he is looking at you with his piercing amber eyes.

A small, genuine smile on your face, your tone of voice is soft. There is something dangerous inside you. *”I dont have any intention of hurting or killing you, unless you ask me to do so.”*

Was this a threat? Were you threatening him? It didnt sound like you do but... the desolate beach, eerie air of the night makes it harder to not be on alert.

His face hardens. He takes a small step closer to you, looking down at you. He doesnt break eye contact. he speaks softly, his voice is low and harsh. There is no emotion in his eyes or his face. *”Would you like to kill me, madame?”*

*”If its your wish, i can. Though my heart doesnt want to point a gun at a gentleman like you.”* Smiling, you catch his eyes on yours. Your gaze is piercing, yet there is something soft in it. Is it because you really mean your words?

His face is blank. It is emotionless. cold and calculating, yet he still holds you in his gaze. He takes a half step clloser to you. His eyes are studying yours, studying your soul. *”You would kill a man without a reason?”*

Your smile remains, your gaze is piercing his soul. But there is something broken in it yet hard to catch it. Were you in this situation before? *”If its their wish to die, i have nothing to object, do i?”*

The coldness in his eyes fade into confusion as you speak. *”What is wrong with you? How could you do that to someone? Do you not have a sense of morality, or do you just have the heart of a murderer?”* He crosses his arms, scowling. *”Tell me: do you want to kill me?”*

Your smile widens coldly. *Arent we all murderer, in Protocol? And no, i have no intention of killing you. Unless you are begging to get killed, Monsieur.”* The way you phrased ‘Monsieur’ was cold, insincere.

He is taken aback for a second. You have a point, but not everyone within the Protocol kills on a whim. he shakes his head, then shrugs it off. He flashes a smile, a bright, charming smile. *”Are you sure that you arent looking to kill me? I would be lying if i said that i was convinced.”*

Your smile gets warmer yet there is still hints of coldness in it. *”Say then, would you kill me, here and now? I know you have a gun on you. Dont you want to point at a woman who is talking about killing someone mercilessly?”* Your smile gets wider and grows colder. You are scheming something dangerous for sure.

His face is serious, deadpan. He pulls his gun from his waist. *”I could.”* He doesnt make a move to point his gun at you. He just holds it loosely behing his back. *”Its something that i am capable of.”* He looks around the beach, scanning it for any potential witnesses. The beach is desolate, no one is there except you and him. *”Are you willing to die here, madame?”*

You slowly reach your thigh and pull your gun from its holster that was there. A ghost you are holding on your hand yet its not pointed at him. *”Are you willing to die here, Monsieur?”* You smile coldly, no emotion in your voice, your tone is sendind shivers down his spine.

That was wrong thing to do. He is standing up in the water, staring at you. His face is deadpan. His hand grips the gun tighter. *”This is your final chance to run, madame. Are you sure you want to do this?”* He is still speaking softly, his tone is cold and emotionless. There is a sense of confidence behind his voice that should scare anyone. He isnt afraid of you. He doesnt even seem fazed by your gun. That is far more concerning.

Your smile gets warm. Maybe because you know you will die there? *”Do, point your gun at me, if you wish to die.”* You speak softly. What are you planning to do?

He smiles at your invitation. He raises his gun to point at you, without any hesitation. His finger rests over the trigger, ready to fire. His tone is cold, emotionless. ***You have three seconds.***

You slowly raise your gun and point at him, there is smile plastered on your face. *”Are you really willing to kill someone innocent?”*

He doesnt move. You could almost see the cogs turning in his mind, processing the morality of what he was about to do. His mind seems to have made up its mind, because his gun is pointed directly at your head. His eyes are cold, emotionless, piercing your soul. His finger is on the trigger. He is about to do it. ***You have two seconds. Make the second count.***

You suddenly click and unlock the magazine of the gun, dropping it on water. Empty gun is staying on your hand pointed at him. Your smile turns into cold smirk. Your intention were not killing him. But why did you plan this? What was your aim with this?

He is caught off guard. He lowers his gun, but not out of fear. More as a gesture of surprise than anything. He looks as though he would like to laugh, but he doesnt. *”So you have given me my life back, madame.”* He lowers his gun, setting it loose behind his back. He is still studying you with those piercing amber eyes. *”Why would you do that? Why give up your only weapon?”*

You lower your gun, the empty gun resting on your hand. You smile at him as you speak. *”My aim was never killing you.”*

He raises his eyebrows, looking down at you. *”Then why bring gun at all?”* For a moment, he looks slightly annoyed, like you had just wasted his time. Then, he shakes it off. *”But, you could have killed me, you know that, right?”*

*”You ask me why i bring my gun, yet you carr on you. Isnt it a bit rude? I could, but it would be pointless to kill you. I have nothing to gain from your death.”* You turn slowly and start taking small steps on water.

He laughs. His laugh comes from deep in his soul, filled with cold amusement. He looks at you, standing up in the water and crossing his arms. He is grinning now. the coldness and calculation has left his eyes. What you see now is a man ***loving*** this situation. He is the happiest he’s been in weeks, maybe months. He turns to face you, smiling widely. *”Oh, you are good.”*

*”I am, indeed. At least i can take it that you are trusting me now. No, Monsieur?”* You say with a smile on my face, your tone of voice is playful yet sincere.

He laughs again. His voice is warm and charismatic, like you would expect. You have certainly earned back the trust. *“I am trusting you, madame.”* He takes a few steps closer to you. He looks down at your feet, then looks back up at you with another wide smile. *”Let’s make a deal. We walk along this beach together, not speaking a word to each other, just looking. We both keep our guns holstered, no killing. How does that sound?”*

You laugh softly. His words amused you, not in negative way. You are intrigued by his actions. Is he always like this? *”Deal, then.”*

He holds out his hand to you, smirking. *”A pleasure doing business with you, madame.”* He looks down at you, staring at your face. There is a soft smile on his face, like that of a smug and satisfied cat. He waits for you to reply.

You accept his hand for handshake. Your smile grows warmer. Maybe he isnt that bad?

He shakes your hand and lets go, then smiles. He turns around and starts walking with you by his side in water, his arms crossed on his chest. He looks out at the dark sea, into the woods, around the beach. The sun has set long time ago, the moon shining above. Beach is deserted long time ago. He slows his pace. *”There is something beautiful about the quiet, dont you think?”* He shrugs. *”You can hear the wind, the waves... its like music.”*

You smile at his words, you chuckle softly. It was good to rest your soul once in a while like this. Away from the war you used to be in. *“Right, its always calming...”* You walk at the same pace as his, walking next to him. Your hands are next to you to balance yourself as you walk in water.

This is a very different version from the one you would just met. His warm smile is inviting, like he could be talking about anything with you. It is not the face of the cold hearted hitman you had just spoken to. He looks around as you are walking, studying the beach. He takes a small step forward, making eye contact with you. There is a mischievious glint in his eye. Does he look like the kind of man who will get the best of you?

He pauses, his brow raises as he looks at you. *”Would you like to play a game? We are both bored out here after all.”* He grins, but the corner of his eyes are dark. This man, who had just wanted to kill you, has sense of glee about him. *”Are you good gambler? Do you trust your luck?”* He sounds sincere, but he looks as though he is planning something. His smirk is slightly sinister.

You raise an eyebrow, confused by his invite but amused. *”Are you inviting me to Russian roulette?”*

He bursts out laughing, covering his mouth and shaking his head. When he speaks again, he sounds like he is holding back his laughter. *”No, im not a murderer... I was thinking of poker?”* He asks, grinning at you. *”Unless, you want to play a game that gives you a chance to kill me...”* He adds jokingly.

You shake your head, not approving what he said but you speak slightly playful even though you mean your words. *”If you really have deathwish by my hands, we can. But i dont have ammo with me now.”* Your lips curls into small smile as you speak. *”Poker, you say? I dont like gambling actually.”* You pause for a second and add jokingly. *”But we can play Russian routlette with your gun.”*

*”How about a bet, then?”* He looks at you, his amber eyes piercing you to your soul. When you dont respond, he takes a step closer to you. He crosses his arms and looks down at you as he speaks. *”You are so lucky, you know that? For some reason, i let you live back there. You should appreciate that. You got away with your life, free of charge.”* He nods at you. *”But i will not be so merciful the next time.”*

You laugh at his words. It seems like you didnt really take his words so serious. Your laugh and your tone of voice is almost teasing. *”Je suis désolé, Monsieur. I will be careful next time.”*

His smile gets even bigger, the corner of his eyes turning a darker shade of amber. He cant control his smirk any longer, and he begins to laugh again, the sound of which rings out into the silent sea. As he laugh, he closes his eyes.

The silence of the beach feels deafening. The waves lap up against the beach hits both of your legs, the wind whistles and sighs. He breaks the eye contact with you, still laughing. *”You have a strange way of showing appreciation, dont you?”*

You give him side eye with smile, not judging but enjoying the conversation with him. *”I would like to say ‘im not like other women’ but the sentence is already corny.”* You wait for his reaction after speaking.

There is still a wide smile on his face. He turns to face full towards you. You both face to each other as both of you stopped walking. His laughter dying down. *”You are unlike any woman i have ever met”* He grins at you. *”You remind me of someone.”* His smirk turns into half grin. He looks at you, studying your face. *”Who, i wonder.”* He mutters.

You turn your face slightly, your gaze doesnt leaves his face. *”I wonder who might it be?”*

His smile gets even wider. Its almost unnerving. His eyes are focused on you, watching your every little reaction to try and understand what you are thinking. His head tilts to the side, a look of intrgue on his face. *”I have a suspicion.”* He says, his tone is serious now. *”There is something very familiar about you... I cant put my finger on it yet.”* He chuckles.

*”Even after not shooting, still suspicious i see”* You raise your hands to shoulder height as if surrendering. *”You can search for any weapon, you wont find anything except an empty gun and butterfly knife.”* You squint your eyes for a brief second.

He smirks again. He takes a few steps towards you, studying you with his piercing eyes. He chuckles, then raises his hands in the air in surrender. *”Very well. You have earned my trust. For now.”* He lowers his arms to his sides, still smiling. *”For now.”*

You lower your hands at his response. Your lips curls into sly smirk. *”For now doesnt sounds convincing.”*

*” What would you like my wording to be?”* He raises an eyebrow. *”Do you want me to bow down before you and pledge my loyalty as your humble servant?”*

You roll your eyes at his words, his behavior is amusing to you. *”No, i will know when to trust you.”* You smirk at him teasingly, your tone is playful. You enjoy the conversation way too much than you expected.

He chuckles darkly, rolling his eyes. *”You are a very tricky woman, you know that?”* He grins, crossing his arms. A voice in his head tells him that there is something suspicious, that you know something. He dismisses it, shaking his head. *”You are also quite entertaining. I like that.”* He steps closer to you. *”Are you always this fun, or only when you almost get yourself shot?”*

You laugh with deep voice. How you have developed yourself to enjoy to be on verge of the death always excited you because of your past. But how he pointed at it was funny. *”If you would like to see if im funny or not, then why dont you try and see? I am always funny. I dont look like i take anything serious though.”*

His grin gets bigger. *”You know, i might just do that.”* He looks aruond the beach. Its dark, pale lights of the beach lighting the sands up. The woods are indistinguishable behind the lights. He turns back at you. He steps clsoe, and he is now only a few steps away from you, close enough to lean down and speak in your ear. *”What would you do if i were to kiss you?”*

You smirk but it shows how displeased are you from his words. *”I dont like the idea. I might stab you and see if you are still funny, maybe, no?”* You tease him with his words.

He smiles a little wider. *”You are not like other women, are you?”* His tone suddenly becomes serious, his amber eyes piercing your soul. *”I would like to get to know you. The real you.”* He looks down at you; there is a hunger in his eyes. His face, once warm and charming has turned cold once more. *”Is there a chance i might earn your trust?”* He steps even closer to you, his lips almost touching now. *”What say?”* He whispers quietly.

You slowly put your hand on his chest and gently push him back. Your face is smiling but you are not pleased this little conversation. *”I will decide when to trust you. It was remarkable that you didnt shoot me when i dropped the magazine of the gun, yet you were ready to shoot any second.”* You squint your eyes slightly and widening it. *”How am i gonna trust someone who did it?”* Your tone of voice sounds slightly playful yet serious. You mean every word on your last sentence.

His grin disappears, and he narrows his eyes. His voice grows stern, and you feel a cold presence coming off of him. *”And how are you going to earn my trust?”* He leans in close to you, staring directly into your eyes. His amber eyes are cold and calculating again. Its obvioux that that question did not sit well with him. His mood seems to have shifted again. *”Your weapon was still pointed at me.”* He takes in deep breath. *”Is there something about you I'd rather not know?”*

You speak calmly with a smile on your face. *”I had a chance to shoot, yet i dropped the ammo. Would you preferred me to shoot you there?”* Your smile widens and you let out a small chuckle. *”I will earn your trust, maybe. Time will show that.”*

He smirks. *”Maybe. Time will tell, wont it?”* He crosses his arms, leaning down as he speaks. His amber eyes narrowed as they gaze into yours. There is a subtle hunger in his eyes, a fire behind them. Like he wants something from you, something he is not telling you he wants. *”You have me intrigued.”* He grins. There is a sly, almost mischievious look about him. *”Tell me more about yourself. You must have plenty to tell... Im listening.”*

You pause for a brief moment. *”Lets make a deal, then. We both tell more about each other. It would be unfair to leave other person illiterate, no?”*

*”Im inclined to agree.”* He smiles, a smirk on his face. He reaches out a hand for you to shake. You can tell he is serious about the deal. *”Lets make a deal, then. A truce, i suppose.”*

You shake his hand firmly. You may gain more of him, maybe? *”Deal.”*

He shakes your hand firmly, too. There is warmth in his eyes and his demeanor. *”Very well. I will tell you everything i can about myself. And you will, in turn, tell me everything you can. Is that satisfactory?”* He crosses his arms, looking at you curiously. There is a sparkle in his eyes. *”Where would you like to start?”*

*”Yes, it will satisfy me. Im starting then. Im 20 years old, and you?”* You smirk. It will be entertaining to learn more about him. You didnt think he would be willing to talk about himself, so you were prepared to get what you want by force.

He smiles. *”I am 28. What are your passions? I like weapons, as you have seen. What do you like?”* Another smile; his lips curls into a smirk.

*”Killing people?*” You speak jokingly and laugh loudly. *”Languages, as i said in the car. My turn then. Im 1.64 meters tall, you?”*

He grins. *”Killing people is one of my passions, but you already knew that.”*

The look in his eyes is cold again, like he couldnt have been the one to jokingly joke with you moments ago. *”We may be of the same passions, however.”* He smirks, his voice deep and cold. He looks up slightly, thinking. *”Im 1.79 meters.”* He smirks. He looks back at you with a charming grin. *”Do you like reading?”*

*”Yes, i do. Horror or thriller novels are my favorite genres. What about you?”* You are showing new side of you to him: playful and charming. And you see new side of him too. It feels like he is more comfortable with you than before.

*”Im more of a non-fiction person”* He pauses. *”I have always been more interested in reality. Learning as much as i can about my foes. Learning their vulnerabilities, their fears, their weaknesses, their pasts, their traumas, their hopes... You know. The things that might make them break and lose.”* He flshes a quick, genuine smile. *”If they break, it makes my job all the easier.”*

*”Breaking mentality is good tactic, but what would you do if it doesnt break?”* You smile. Its quite disturbing smile. *”Someone might not be scared even when you point a gun at their head.”*

He raises his eyebrows and looks at you, a sly smirk on his face. *”I never had a situation like that happen to me yet. But if someone is not afraid of me, then i know one thing: they are either the bravest person i will ever meet, or they have nothing left to lose.”* His tone is serious again. *”Which one are you?”*

*”What if i am...”* You pause for a moment, leaning towards him slightly. *”...both?”*

He leans towards you as well. His voice is calm, his eyes still cold and calculating. *”Are you both?”* He tilts his head, his amber eyes piercing yours. A voice in his head tells him that something doesnt add up. He shakes it away, ignoring it. *”If you are both, it just makes my job all the more entertaining.”*

You smile, your eyes also smiles with your lips. Your eyes sparkles with excitement. *”Since we are allies, we have nothing to hold anything against each other. Dont you agree?”*

His smirk grows slightly. *”Allies, are we? I suppose so, yes. I like your reasoning.”* He smirks again. *“Its a lot more fun this way, is it not?”* He asks, a playful tone in his voice.

*”It is indeed.”* You pause for a moment. *”I have dropped the formal title. It will be better to get used to each other. Unless you want me to call you Monsieur?”*

*”No, no! You may call me by my name, Vincent!”* He flashes a smile. He seems to think again for a moment, then nods. *”I guess we are allies. Lets make a deal; you tell me your weaknesses and I'll do the same. Does that sound like a fair deal?”* He leans in a little closer to you again, his face is a few inches away now. His voice is warm and charming. He looks to you, looking up and down and he seems to be analyzing you.

*”Vincent, a good, charming name. Sanajeh, you can call me by my name too. Lets make everything balanced.”* You give him warm and charming smile. *”Weakness?”* You raise an eyebrow. *”Are you willing to leave yourself vulnerable around me now?*” You smirk teasingly.

He smirks. *”Well, i suppose that is only fair.”* He shrugs. *”If we are to become allies, i suppose we really ought to know everything there is to know about each other, should we not?”* He gives a slight chuckle. *”Im willing to play by your rules. But i expect you to play by mine”* He gestures between the two of you. *”So shall we begin?”* He smiles, tilting his head.

You smile, amused by hiss game. You enjoy his game yet something feels off. You shrug it off. *”Turn is yours.”

*”Very well. I’ll start off with a simple one.”* He laughs. *”Im claustrophobic.”* He chuckles. *”Your turn.”* His eyes sparkle mschieviously as he waits for your response.

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by his answer. *”I have never thought you might be claustrphobic, you seem like you dont have any weaknesses.”*

He leans in again, almost invading your personal space at this point. *”Nobody is flawless, my dear.”* He whispers quietly in your ear. His voice is slightly silky as his eyes bore into yours. His eyes sparkle like they have been sprinkled with little diamonds. *”Does it excite you to know that someone like me has flaws?”* His breath is hot on your neck. You see him almost lean in further, his lips inches away from your neck. His eyes are fixed on yours and his face inches away from yours.

Your hand goes over your thigh, next to your gun where your knife is resting. You are ready to slip your knife out and stab him if he dares to move one more inches. Why arent you doing it now?

He notices your hand. He smirks again, a sly look on his face. He leans closer, his lips almost touching your neck. You feel his breath on your skin. You feel a shiver going down your spine as his breath brushes your skin. Is he going to kiss you? He doesnt make a move. Suddenly, he pulls away and chuckles. *”You think I'd do it again, dont you?”* His smile broadens.

You are annoyed, feeling like he played with you like a toy and left you on the floor. Your hand still rests on your knife. *”Its not nice of you to play around with someone.”*

His warm smile instantly vanishes into thin air. His face turns cold. He looks at you with steely eyes, his face blank, as if he felt no emotion at all. *”I was showing you what happens when you let your guard down. Your weaknesses show. You could have been hurt.”* He mutters, his voice quiet and cold. *”But instead you just got your feelings hurt.”* He seems to be angry about something. His fists are tightly clenched and his face is scowling.

You are annoyed by his words and behavior. *”Im willing to take action to protect myself.”* Your grip on the knife gets tighter yet you still didint pull it off from its place.

He scoffs. *”Yes, you were ready to stab me with your little knife, werent you?”* He looks at the knife that rests on your thigh. *”Would your little knife stop a bullet?”* He gives a laugh and shakes his head. His smirk is gone. The look on his face is furious as he glares at you. *”No. It wouldnt.”*

*”Your gun is still in its holster. I would have stabbed you before you pull it out. *”You turn your face slightly, your gaze is still on him. You scoff, its visible you are irritated.

He looks into your eyes and stares at you. *”Then why didnt you?”* His voice is cold. You dont answer and just stare at him in irritation. He looks away from you for a few seconds, then looks back at you, a smirk on his face again. *”You see, dear, you were not expecting me to make such a move. It caught you off-guard.”* He laughs. *”My gun may be in its holster, but you were not expecting me to do that.”* He smirks, his voice becoming slightly mocking.

You are irritated, a lot. You change the subject. *”Dont you have anything to do in HQ? You came all along with me here.”* You turn your gaze, you start to take small steps inside the water, walking slowly.

He shakes his head. *”Not at all.”* He shrugs. *”I dont mind. I like the company.”* He leans in again. You feel his hot breath on your neck, his lips mere inches away from your skin. His eyes bore into yours. *”Do you have anything to do besides walk around?”* He asks teasingly.

You pull your knife out with swift movement, ready to stab his throat. *”You should learn what ‘personal space’ is.”* Your gaze is piercing, stern. You dont like his game anymore.

You see him freeze, his eyes wide. He doesnt make a move. Then he laughs. A loud, boisterous laugh that goes straight from his heart to his mouth. His voice booms. He steps back, his hands raised. *”Ha! You actually pulled a knife on me!?”* He laughs, a bright grin on his face. He looks at you and you see nothing but amusement and laughter on his face.

You swing your knife on your fingers, then take a step closer to him. Your knife is on his throat. *”If you dont respect my personal space, i might hurt you.”*

*”Lets see if you can hurt me with that.”* He gives a smirk, his voice cold. His arm extends out and he flicks his wrist slightly. His headhunter is aiming directly for your center mass. His tone is cold, as if he was being serious now. You see his finger slowly going to trigger. His eyes stay trained on your center mass as his finger is on the trigger, ready to pull it. *”You wont be able to.”*

His eyes look down the sights of his pistol. He grins. *”Try me.”*

*”Its not fair to point a gun someone who has knife on their hand.”* Your face is stern yet your voice is playful. Your expression and tone doesnt match. *”You are quite unfair guy with fair look.”*

He scoffs. *”So you want me to unchamber the rounds and put on the safety, then pull a knife on me?”* He gives a wry smile. *”My job is fighting. I dont care about things being fair.”* He laughs again. *”Maybe im not as kind as you thought.”* He leans in close to you again and whispers in your ear. *”You dont know me as well as you thought.”*

You growl and raise your chin slightly. You put your knife back where it was resting. You slowly walk past by him and get out of the water. His golden tattoos glows as his headhunter disappears from his hand.

He seems to go back to his normal self, a charming and playful figure. He walks and leans towards you and looks you in the eye. *”You know, despite the fact that you pointed a knife to my throat, im quite attracted to you, my dear~”* He says with a wink. He leans in closer, whispering in your ear again. *”You have quite the aura, you know that?”* His breath is hot on your neck. You two had stopped walking in the sands.

You gently push him back, playful yet annoyed smirk on your lips. *”Enough games for tonight, no?”*

*”I was only getting started, darling~”* He smirks, leaning into you once more. He gives you a look up and down again, his eyes shining like stars in the night. *”If you are going to push me away like that, why did you not do so when i nearly kissed you back there?”* He asks, giving you a sly smile. The look of amusement is back in his face.

You smirk, slightly annoyed. Your tone of voice is playful and low. *”Some questions are meant to be left unanswered.”* You walk past by him, you dont turn back when you speak gaain. You slightly raise your voice. *”I might have piqued an interest in you. You are entertaining, Monsieur.”* You said ‘monsieur’ in mocking, teasing tone.

He laughs. *”You did piqued my interest.”* He says, his voice full of playfulness. He glances at you with a smirk. *”Im flattered you think im entertaining. You are intriguing yourself, and my curiosity is piqued, as you say.”* He tilts his head to the side, a smug look on his face. *”You know, you are quite playful yourself~”* He chuckles, looking away.

You laugh loudly at his words. You stop on your tracks and turn back to look at him. *”If you dont come, i will leave you here and go back HQ alone. Lets go back.”* You raise an eyebrow and smirk playfully.

He raises an eyebrow, but seems to be entertained. *”Fiiine~”* He chuckles. He seems to make a pout face, mockingly, and makes a ‘hmf’ sound. *”I will only follow behind you if you hold my hand.”* He gives you a smizing look, teasing with his eyes. He holds his hand out, offering it to you. He seems to be joking.

You give him a look that is questioning him if he is serious or not. Its visible he is joking, and you hope he is not being serious about it. You roll your eyes and turn back, walking slowly as you talk without looking back. *”You are not 5 year old kid drowning in the sea. 28 year old grown man like you shouldnt be asking for help to walk out of the sea.”*

He rolls his eyes as well, but chuckles. He follows behind you and sighs as he gets on land. *”Im only human, you know.”* He pauses. *”A helping hand never hurt anyone.”* He smirks.

*”The hands that holds gun? Asking for help?”* You laugh from your heart. His words is funny and amusing. *”Dont make me laugh.”*

*”I like you, you know?”* He laughs, as if he meant that. He pauses and you hear his foot shuffle in the sand. *”Let me have your number at least.”* He asks, his words being genuine, though his expression says otherwise. He looks up at you, eyes shining brightly.

You raise an eyebrow. *”Give you what?”* Of course you knew what is he asking for and you heard it clearly. But you want to make him say it again.

*”Your phone number, dummy.”* He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, opening the dial interface. He holds out his phone and shows that the dial is empty. He raises an eyebrow and looks at you.

You pull your phone out and give him to dial his number too. You get his phone and start dialing your number. You save yourself as ‘your worst nightmare’, then you hand the phone to him.

But you didnt know that he saw what you did and smirks himself. The he dials his number on the phone and enters his name as ‘your worst crush’. Then he looks into your eyes, smirk still on his face as he tosses your phone back at you. You hand his phone back to him. *”You forgot my name, did you not?”* He laughs.

You look at your phone and you see that he saved himself as ‘your worst crush’. You raise your gaze to him and smirk at what he did. *”Vincent Fabron. I cant forget the name of my ‘worst crush’, can i?”* You raise an eyebrow and speak teasingly.

*”You have been warned. Im gonna blow up your phone every day.”* He gives a wry smile. He seems to be entertained again. He raises his eyebrows and looks at you. His wry smile turns into teasing grin.

You chuckle softly. He is entertaining for sure. *”We will be staying in HQ together. You will bear my games everyday. Be prepared for it.”* Your tone is playful, you look at him with wide smirk on your face. *”If you are ready now, lets go back. Its getting late.”* You walk towards your car and get in car. You look at him with wide grin as you wait for him to get in.

He raises an eyebrow, smirking at you. His face shines in amusement. He rolls his eyes and gets into the passenger side of the car, his face glowing. He puts his seatbelt on and looks at you, still with that smirk. *”We are gonna be a real dynamic duo, i feel it.”* He laughs a little, and his face breaks into a huge, amused smile. It might actually be a wholesome smile. *”You are gonna be trouble.”*

You laugh at him. You put your seatbelt on with a grin on your face. *”You are the trouble.”* You start the engine and drive back to HQ.

*”I am trouble~”* He grins, his voice sweet and smirk still shining with happiness. *”But im a good kind of trouble.”* He winks at you. *”Are you a good kind of trouble, too?”* He leans in towards you and the car turns onto the main road. He seems very interested in your answer.

You shake your and head let out a small chuckle. That wide grin is still on your face. *”Bad kind of trouble.”* You point the word ‘bad’ with your tone.

He laughs. *”What are you, some kind of criminal?”* He chuckles. You see him tap his fingers on the armrest, bouncing his knees excitedly. His eyes dance from the road to you. His smile is big. He turns to you and laughs. He raises an eyebrow and leans forward. He lowers his voice to a whisper. *”You are a bad girl, arent you?”* He is grinning ear to ear.

You chuckle. You tap your fingers on the wheel excitedly. *”If i am criminal, then your place is guillotine.”* You chuckle again, longer than before. *”Who knows? Maybe i am, maybe not.”*

He gasps. *”The guillotine!?”* He chuckles. *”You would dare to hurt me, your crush?”* He asks, laughing along. His head bounces up and down with his laughing. *”Now i know im in trouble~”* He leans forward. He is still laughing, with his eyes sparkling. His voice is full of life and joy. He turns his eyes back to the road as you pull into the parking lot.

You park your car and stop the engines. Your lips forms into smirk as you both get out of the car. *”It was nice to kill you-… i mean meet you.”* You smirk playfully, your tone of voice is teasing.

He smirks back. *”Likewise, dear. Likewise.”* He is smiling and a little playful. *”You drive quite well~”* He looks at other parking spots. *”Who else got here?”* He asks you. He pulls out his phone and checks something, then puts it away. *”You can kill me another time.”* He nudges you, chuckling.

You roll your eyes playfully and turn back. You walk towards your room through corridor.

He follows you, grinning like an idiot. His eyes glowing. He seems to be having fun. *”Where to now?”* His voice is cheery, light. He taps his foot lightly. An unspoken question. What does Vincent Fabron even expect? Does he even have a plan? You could be in trouble.

*”To my room.”* You stop in your tracks and turn back to face him. Your tone is slightly playful. *”Where do you expect me to go?”*

*”You are not going to drag me into your room?”* He smirks, his voice a little flirty. He tilts his head and give you a sideways look. *”Whats it you want, my dear?”* He asks, his voice dripping in mocking attitude. The look in his eyes is hard to read. Is it serious? Is he interested? Is he teasing you still? He keeps moving, following your movements closely, a smug expression on his face. He seems happy. He seems like he is up to something.

You raise your chin slightly, looking arrogantly. Your tone is almost commanding. *”You arent coming to my room.”* You turn back and walk away, leaving him there. Without turning back, you raise your hand and wave at him as bye bye. *”See you tomorrow.”* You open the door of your room and get inside, closing the door behind you.

He raises an eyebrow, shocked to be rebuffed. He seems to be genuinely taken aback by the move. He laughs a little. *”So im rejected.”* He chuckles. He leans back on the wall in the hall and chuckles some more, laughing out loud at the situation. *”I think... im falling for her.”* He chuckles. He shakes his head and smirks, looking up on the ceiling. He seems to be thinking about something. *”What a girl...”* He chuckles.

#valorant x reader #valorant chamber x reader #chamber x reader #valorant chamber #vincent fabron #valorant fanfiction #vincent fabron x reader #chamber #chamber valorant

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unfriendlyamazon · 9 days

Text

wip wednesday (spy x family edition)

i woke up at 3am this morning and had nothing to do but write out what was in my head. i started fiddling with a how to steal a million au for loid/yor, with some changes to fold in the rest of the cast appropriately. ignore any ooc, they are no longer spy nor assassin in this one, which makes the scene where audrey hepburn holds peter o'toole at gun point all the harder to write!

“Hey kid!” a voice shouted across the courtyard. “You can’t play here!”

Anya scampered up from where she’d been hiding behind the fountain. The security guard was behind her in only six quick strides, grabbing her by her collar and dragging her back. Her ball slipped from her hand, bouncing across the tiled courtyard and through the iron wrought gates. A few of the well dressed society people glanced her way as her feet swung above the concrete, and then they turned their noses up and continued on.

Anya’s face scrunched up as she waggled her small limbs. Caught! Just like Bondman was in last week's episode!

“You’ll get nuthin out of me!” her tiny voice shouted as she balled up her fists. “I’ll pop a synide pill!”

“Okay, kid,” the guard said with a resigned voice. “As long as you do it anywhere else.”

He dropped her on the street outside and turned away. Another town car drove up, and a butler man walked out, opening the door for a lady in a fur coat. Anya’s eyes went wide as she strolled past. All day, fancy looking ladies and men in suits had tracked back and forth into the tall brown building with the big fountain. She was sure there was some kinda secret society, or maybe a spy meeting happening!

Another car pulled up, a black one with tinted windows. Anya jumped straight up and watched as a man in a green suit stepped out. He handed his keys to the valet and adjusted the gloves he wore on his wrist. A trilby hat was perched on his head, the trench coat he wore fluttering open. Anya’s eyes went wide. He looked just like Bondman! He crossed in front of her, stopping when his loafers pressed down on her bouncy ball.

“Excuse me!” she shouted, scrambling after him. “Hi, hello!”

The man bent down, picking up the pink ball. He held it out to her, tilting his hat forward.

“Is this yours?” he intoned.

“That’s Anya’s!” She took it from him with both hands. “Excuse me mister, but are you spy?”

He started, eyes growing wide with shock, and then he let out a soft laugh. His gloved hand reached out, patting her on the top of her head.

“A spy couldn’t be made that easily,” he said.

Anya nodded firmly. Of course that was true. “Why are all the fancy people going in there?”

“That’s an auction house,” he said. “They’re going to buy art today.”

“What for?” Anya asked.

“Because they like it,” he said. “Because they want to display it for themselves.”

“Oh.” She gave a disappointed pout. “I fought they were all master criminals.”

A smile pulled the corner of his mouth, and he knelt down low to match her height. Dropping his voice he said, “If you ask me, they’re all crooks.”

Anya’s eyes went wide, her mouth opening as she gasped in excitement, and then she bounced away, holding her ball over her head. “Crooks!” she shouted, and again, “Crooks!”

Wide eyed stares went her way. The man gave an apologetic smile to the wealthy patrons before turning on his heel and marching away. Anya sang as she bounded down the street. The tall buildings of Berlint shone in the morning sun, reflecting sunlight onto the cobbled streets. The world was full of promise and adventure, and Anya couldn’t wait to see what the day would bring.

—

“The Monet sells for four million,” the auctioneer said, pounding his gavel. “Thank you, to the lady in red.”

The woman in the front row nodded graciously and set her paddle down. The painting of water lilies was set aside, and the room moved in anticipation as the next piece was brought out. Yor smoothed down her black dress and sat up straight. The cloth was removed from the beautifully framed Van Gogh, which depicted five sunflowers against a dark blue background.

“And here we have ‘Still Life: Vase With Five Flowers’,” the auctioneer said. “It is a beautiful piece with original frame, thought to be lost in the bombings in Eastern Nielsberg, it was brought to our attention by Miss Yor Briar. We’ll start the bidding at two million.”

Paddles rose in the air, and Yor smiled.

She shook the hand of the couple who paid ten million for it. The auction had been a successful one all around, and many went to the lobby to toast to their new finds. Yor stayed behind, waiting for Mr. Henderson to finish speaking to the auctioneer. He approached her with a smile, arms out.

“A most elegant display today, Miss Briar,” Mr. Henderson said. “Our house is grateful as always that you choose to share your family’s impressive collection with us.”

“Of course,” she said. “I’m only happy I can bring these artworks back.”

“A shame they’re still so difficult to attain,” he said with a sigh. “Any more word from your estate?”

She shook her head emphatically. “It’s still in rubble, I’m afraid. Mama and Papa were very secretive about their collection. I think they were concerned with keeping it safe from the West.”

“Oh, yes, many were in those days.” He took her hand in his, patting it gently. “I’m only glad that from your tragedy, you’re able to bring beauty back into this world. It is the most elegant notion.”

She forced a smile on her face. “I’m terribly sorry, but I need to meet my brother for lunch. Will you be dropping by the house?”

“Of course, my dear!” He slapped his hand to his heart. “You refuse to sell Cellini’s Venus, but I know once I visit you, I’ll be graced with her elegant beauty once again!”

“Oh, yes, well.” She coughed into her hand. “It’ll be for the last time, I think. I’m donating her to the Berlint National Museum.”

His mouth opened wide in shock, his monocle nearly popping off his face. “My dear! You said you’d never part with it!”

“It is somewhat sentimental,” she admitted. “And I still can’t bring myself to sell it, but I know that if it’s in the museum, they’ll preserve it for generations to come. In a small way, it feels like they’re preserving my family as well.”

“Oh, dear.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “That is truly… elegant.”

Yor couldn’t stop the small laugh that bubbled out of her. “I suppose so. Thank you, as always, Mr. Henderson. I look forward to your visit.”

She turned sharply on her heel, smile still plastered on her face as she marched out of the auction hall. Ten million dalc. Her heart pounded in her chest. It’d been risky to go with the Van Gogh, but in truth, she wanted to see if she could. Every time Mr. Henderson approached her, she expected him to greet her with anger, for security to follow behind, for her to be dragged from the prestigious hall directly into a jail cell.

But it had worked once again, to the tune of ten million dalc.

And no one knew it was a fake.

Everyone thought the pieces she brought to the auction hall were the works of great artists, and in a way they were right. She stayed up night after night perfecting her brushstrokes, aging canvases, carefully copying signatures with bold, even strokes. Oh, new tests were invented all the time, and all the time she had to be sneakier, and smarter, and bolder. Now her greatest work of all would be in the Berlint National Museum, a testament to her skill. She hadn’t even asked for any money. No, this one was just because she was damn good.

Yor practically skipped her way down to the reception hall. She was so giddy she didn’t even notice the man in front of her until it was too late. They sidestepped each other in time, feet moving in a graceful waltz as they turned, ending with them facing each other. Yor stopped suddenly, staring into the handsome face of the stranger. He wore a neat green suit, with eyes the same color, blond hair carefully brushed back beneath his hat.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Excuse me,” she repeated.

They didn’t move for another beat, and then he turned away, going up the stairs she’d just come down. Yor breathed out. Those eyes. They’d looked right through her. For a moment, it was like he could see exactly what she was thinking.

A silly idea. And now she was late to lunch with her brother.

Yuri waited at the cafe on the veranda outside. The Berlint National Museum was located in a round, alongside the Federal Ministry, and Berlint City Hall, all visible from the table they took up beneath the red umbrellas. Yuri drank coffee and grinned widely as Yor sat down.

“Morning, sis!” he said. “How’d it go at the auction house?”

“Well,” she said, placing her bag on the chair. Her eyes grazed the menu. “The Van Gogh sold for ten million.”

“Wow!” He leaned forward, chin resting on his hands. “I still can’t believe you found that at the old house.”

She laughed awkwardly, turning over to the drinks menu. “It was a lucky find.”

“I didn’t know mom and dad had so much art hidden away!”

Yor was grateful that the server appeared just then. She ordered the red wine and pressed that it be delivered quickly.

“How are you, Yuri?” she asked. “How are the police?”

“Oh, yeah!” He grinned at her, sunshine pouring from his face. “I told you I was contacted about a job, right? You’ll never guess where.”

She tilted her head with a smile. “Where?”

“The Berlint National Museum!” He threw out his arm, gesturing to the round. “I’m working a contract there for their security. After catching that art thief last month, the museum contacted me. They want a complete overhaul of the system, and so I’m offering my services. Isn’t it great?”

“That is great!” She clapped her hand together. “Oh, Yuri, that’s so exciting!”

“We’ve been preparing a place for the Venus,” he said proudly. “I’ll come by tomorrow with the museum head to receive the statue. I still can’t believe you’re finally giving it up.”

“It’s time,” she said, and she accepted the glass of wine from the server.

Her brother raised his coffee cup to her. “Now we’re both in the art business.”

She giggled, raising her glass. “To the family business!”

Their mismatched drinks clinked together, and Yor’s heart felt light. Ten million dalc in the bank soon, her work in the museum. She could stop, finally, if she wanted to.

Of course, the question remained: did she want to?

#spy x family #my fanfic #we'll see where i go with this #i rarely write children so feel free to give any feedback #no i don't have a plan for anya but i wanted to include her

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