#as if it would just go past me looking dead on the pavement | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

uyuuma · 27 days

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“ HIT ME WITH YOUR KILLSHOT, BABY ”

hitman!toji x fem!reader ღ MDNI.

❥ summary. he was just on another job, why did you have to go and make it more difficult? normally he isn't sloppy with his work but you were a witness and he had to deal with you somehow.

❥ warnings. nsfw, female anatomy, murder (toji's target dead as hell), gun mentioned, choking, reader being tied up, rough handling, degradation, biting, unprotected sex etc.

❥ a/n. sorry for inactivity recently... having a little bit of writers block fr. decided to just write anyways. (no but my requests are open y'all gimme some ideas!!!) but yeah as soon as i sit in front of my screen im like 'i could write but i think imma play some more valorant' lmaoo

❥ wc. 5.2k

You sighed as you walked down the narrow urban streets of the big city. Your heels clacked on the pavement and the cold air stung your exposed shoulders. Why did you decide to go out? It was just another shitty night at the club, where the loud music was overwhelming and creepy men hit on you constantly.

"Tonight was a bust." You said under your breath, hands clutching onto your elbows trying to conserve warmth. Your breath was warm and you could see it travel as if you blew smoke into the air.

You should've just stayed home and cuddled up next to your cat, watching YouTube or Netflix. Instead you found yourself walking alone on the quiet streets, not even cars were driving by. It was almost eerie how deserted the city was around you. Perhaps it was because it was 2 in the morning, but it still sent shivers down your spine thinking about how dangerous it was to walk alone.

All you have to do is get to the bus stop, there was a bus scheduled to come by at 2:30 am. You clutched onto the little pocket knife that was disguised as a hair comb in your purse. It wasn't much, but it was something at least.

Lost in thought, you didn't realize there was a scuffle happening in the upcoming alley way you were walking up to. Sounds of someone struggling and choked back cries. It took the sound of something cracking violently to make you look up in shock. You turned the corner carefully to a sight most horrifying for a girl alone on the streets.

A large man was standing over another one who was slumped over onto the dirty floor. Crimson pooling onto the cement below his head, traveling slowly over to the other man's shoe. Your jaw dropped at the sight, breath caught in your throat. What the hell did you just walk in on?

"Disgusting, it touched my shoe." a raspy voice scoffed. The voice was aimed away from you, since the man hadn't noticed your presence yet. He had a silenced pistol in his hand and as it dangled above the floor, you realized that's what made the cracking sound. Your eyes widened realizing this might be a real-life hitman. He was dressed in a suit and his gun had modifications that no normal criminal would have.

The man angrily slid his black dress shoe on the cement, trying to clean the blood off of it.

You gasped at the realization that you did not belong in this situation at all and turned around to run back towards the club. You'd rather take your chances at the club than continue walking past the alleyway to get to the bus stop. Unfortunately, your gasp had not only alerted the man, but also your clacking heels colliding with the pavement when you turned.

The man looked behind to see you turning tail and booking it, a disappointed groan escaping his throat. How could he have been caught? Who the hell is taking a leisurely stroll at this time of night? All he could do was chase after you, he had no choice. He couldn't leave any witnesses behind.

As he turned the corner to see you running, he noticed that you took your heels off to run barefoot. He smirked, thinking you to be clever for at least not being dumb enough to sprint in heels. Unfortunately for you, he was a professional and knew exactly how to catch up to you.

You could swear you put enough distance between you and that horrific murder scene, all you could hear was the pounding in your chest and your exasperated breath. You took just a fleeting second to stop running and catch your breath, resting your hands on your knees as you inhaled and exhaled carefully.

In a matter of moments someone roughly grabbed you from behind and wrapped strong arms around your neck. You let out a strained scream as your hands clawed at the bulging biceps that held a tight grip on your delicate throat. Your lungs burned with the sensation of being strangled from behind, you desperately kicked and clawed to the best of your ability. To no avail, you could feel your vision become blurry.

"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be out alone at this time of night." The man whispered into your ear as you lost consciousness.

His muscles began to relax as you became limp in his arms. It would take only another 10 seconds to kill you, but a part of him couldn't bring himself to. He decided he'd take you with him and figure out a plan later. First and foremost, he needed to clean up the body of his target. Once he finished his job, he could deal with you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・✭・.

After some time, you slowly awoke to the feeling of a cold cement floor. You were laying on your side and your neck was still sore from prior events. You tried to open your eyes, but realized you were blindfolded by something. You went to swallow from the dry feeling in your mouth but felt that you were gagged as well. What a nightmare this whole situation is, at least you weren't dead right?

You started to squirm, trying to get yourself free from whatever was binding you. Nothing worked though, whoever tied you up knew exactly what they were doing. You started to panic as most of your senses were stripped from you, the only thing you had left was smell and sound.

Sound may have been your enemy in this moment though, as it made your mind race from the anticipation of hearing footsteps enter the room. The footsteps echoed loudly, ringing in your head as you froze in fear. From how the sounds reverberated in the room, you could tell you were in a large, empty space.

You laid on the floor, helplessly, mind wondering what the hell was going to happen to you. If this man didn't just kill you right away what other sadistic things did he have planned? Or perhaps he was going to hold you for ransom? Fuck, whatever it was it couldn't end well for you.

The footsteps came closer and closer until they stopped next to you. A gust of air that blew down on you indicated that he lowered himself onto one knee to get a closer look. You could smell cologne and a faint metallic aroma, what you assumed to be the blood on his shoes. You felt two strong fingers press against your neck. The feeling caused you to jolt in shock.

"Well, you're certainly not dead." The voice said with slight amusement. It was the same deep voice that you heard in the alleyway, there was no mistaking who this was. He slid his fingers off your neck, knowing he didn't have to check for a pulse if you were moving on your own.

His eyes scanned your form, how it was obvious you just came back from a night out. The way you wore a revealing dress and your hair was all done up, well until he roughed it up a bit.

"Someone came back from a night of fun, I see." He said mockingly as he ran his hand through your hair. "Precious thing like you shouldn't be out there alone, what're you stupid?" He asked yanking your hair slightly.

Your little muffled whimpers made him chuckle. "See what happens when you go out by yourself? You end up bound and gagged like this." He was thoroughly enjoying your panicked squirms and whines when he looked down at his watch. He saw that it was already getting close to sunrise. He needed to figure out what he was going to do with you.

"Alright, well I gotta figure a way for you to keep your mouth shut." The voice said as you heard him rustling through something. You heard items fall onto the floor next to you, terrified at what they might be. You then heard him let out an amused laugh.

"Did you think this tiny thing would stop someone? Oh sweetheart, you're too naive." He tossed something plastic on the floor as he continued to go through a bag of some kind.

It hit you that he was talking about the tiny blade you kept in your purse. He was going through your belongings in your purse!

"Cute name and you're still pretty young." He said as you assumed he was reading the info off your ID. "Be a real shame to cut that life of yours so short." You could tell he said that with a wide grin.

Your panic heightened at the implication that he might have to kill you after all, you were ready to plead for your life. Even if you couldn't talk at this very moment, your body flailed trying to protest the very idea.

"Chill, I'd never kill such a pretty little thing such as yourself." He said continuing to dig through your purse.

"But I don't know... if you keep resisting like that maybe I will." He taunted as he pulled something else from the purse, something that was lodged into the deep crevices of the bag.

"A condom huh?" He said as his voice piqued with interest. He admired the thin packaging between his two large fingers.

"Ah hah, I see what you were doing now." He pulled down your blindfold so that you could look at him.

Your vision adjusted as you squinted. You looked around briefly and saw that you were in what looked to be an abandoned warehouse. Your gaze then fixed on the man that held you captive.

Your eyes widened as you came to the realization that he was... really hot? His eyes had a piercing, dark gaze and he had a small scar on the corner of his lips. His black hair was shaggy and it covered his eyes almost. He seemed to take off his black jacket from earlier, which left him in just a white button up. His muscles and large shoulders could barely be contained by the shirt. The fabric clung onto his large frame and it was mesmerizing. You were lost in his features, not realizing you were practically gawking at him.

"Did you just fall in love?" He smirked down at you, pulling the blindfold off of you. His black gloves glistened as he gripped the fabric of the blindfold.

You looked away in embarrassment, how could you gawk at someone who had you tied up on the floor? Seriously, get a grip girl.

He eyed the condom and then looked down at you with a mischievous smirk. "Did you go out in hopes for some good dick?" He said playing with it between his fingers.

You stared at him in silence. Your mind went blank.

"Bitch, answer me when I ask you a question." He said as his expression changed to annoyance.

You quickly nodded, trying not to get on his nerves. So what if you went out in hopes of getting laid? You were going through a dry spell and wanted someone to blow your back out. Was that so hard to ask for?

"Hmm, this might work out then." The man said as he held his chin in thought. He looked back down at you and smiled.

"How about a deal then..." He leaned down closer to your face so that he could whisper.

"I fuck your pretty little brains out and you pretend like you saw nothing. Got it?" He said as he tilted his head to the side.

"I mean it's that or I shoot your pretty little brains out. I don't know, your choice." He added on with a shrug.

You writhed against the floor trying to plead with him for your life, but you were still gagged.

"Oh right, can't understand you." He pulled the saliva soaked gag out of your mouth and quickly clamped his own hand over your lips.

"Oh and just a little warning, it is not a good idea to scream." He said coldly, hand clutching at your jaw a little too hard.

You nodded in his grasp, face heating up from how close he was to you. He smiled and let go of your jaw.

"Good girl, now tell me what you'd like." He said adjusting the collar of his shirt.

"P-please don't kill me, sir." You mewled out as your eyes welled up with tears.

He groaned in dissatisfaction and rolled his eyes. "The name's Toji and I told you I won't have to kill you because you have another option." He picked up your chin with his hand and got close enough to your face to feel his breath hot on yours.

"Not many men in my position would even give you an option. Now, tell me what you want." He softly dragged his thumb across your soft lips. A smirk creeped onto his face as he enjoyed your terrified expression.

You hesitated to respond for a moment. "P-please fuck my pretty little brains out... I won't tell a soul about what happened today." You couldn't believe the words you were saying right now. I mean, you were only saying what you needed to, to live right?

"See, you're a smart girl after all." Toji said with a wide grin. He carefully undid the ropes that bound you. The ropes left small burns and a bruise, but other than that you were virtually unharmed. He helped you off of the floor and handed you back your purse.

You looked at him confusedly as you held your purse. Was he letting you go?

"What? Did you think I was some sort of monster who'd fuck you on the cold floor? Nah, a pretty girl like you deserves at least a plush hotel bed." He said moving some of your hair behind your ear.

Your face warmed up from his sudden chivalrous attitude. You found it almost suspicious how kind he was.

He then crushed the little plastic comb knife beneath his foot.

"Don't try anything fucking stupid though. I hope you're clever enough to know you shouldn't take my kindness for granted." He said as he twisted his shoe against the plastic remnants.

You could only nod as you swallowed the knot growing in your throat.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・✭・.

The car ride was silent, the tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife. He was quiet and kept his eyes on the road. You looked at the time on the dashboard and saw that it was already 4 am.

He parked the car and came around to your door to let you out. You quietly stepped out and held onto your purse as he closed the door.

Without a word, he walked in front of you to the hotel and held the door open. He motioned you to walk in, a faint smile on his lips.

You could run, right now. You could run and scream and call for help. It would be over in an instant for him if you did.

Yet, his confident smile made you realize that he knew you wouldn't. He knew through digging in your bag that you needed this. You needed him badly.

You walked slowly through the door, hips swaying seductively as you walked by him.

He glanced at your ass and cleared his throat as he followed you in.

"Sorry sir, we have no vacant rooms at this time. Maybe you'd like to try-" The old man looked up from his computer and his eyes widened.

"My apologies Toji, we'll get a room for two ready right away." He said hurriedly, punching in a number into the phone on his desk.

You looked up at him shyly, wondering how his mere presence was enough to get him a room on a whim.

"Just the many perks of my job." He said, leaning down to softly speak into your ear.

"Here's your room key Toji, it is on the top floor for you and your missus." The old man said, placing the card into Toji's hand.

"Not my missus yet, maybe after tonight she'll be convinced." Toji chuckled. "Thanks ol' man." He said as he grabbed your hand.

He led you to the elevator where you two stood in silence on the ride up. Your breathing became harder to control as you felt the anticipation grow in your gut.

The elevator dinged as you reached the top floor. He walked out first, heavy footsteps could be heard on the carpeted floors of the hallway. When you guys reached the door he scanned the card and let you walk in first. You walked in carefully, observing the room around you. It was like a penthouse suite... clearly the stuff reserved for the wealthy.

Your mouth hung open as you looked out the massive window overlooking the rest of the city. This man must live a life of luxury with the money he makes off of killing people.

Toji walked behind you and grabbed your chin with his strong hand. He let out a low groan into your ear.

"Nice isn't it? Maybe if you blow my mind tonight, you could live like this everyday." He said, his voice sounding sultry. He slipped his thumb past your lips. He let out a satisfied huff feeling your warm tongue glide against his finger.

You sucked on his thumb and it drove him crazy already, he needed more and he needed it fast. He quickly lowered himself so that he could pick you up bridal style. You shakily gain balance in his arms before he throws you onto the big fancy bed.

You landed on your butt, your heels hanging off your foot from the fall. Toji stood in front of the foot of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt, letting it slide off his broad shoulders. It was dark in the room, but you could see the moonlight illuminate the scars that decorated his upper body. You looked at his figure not only in awe, but worry seeing how his job took a toll on his skin.

His giant chest heaved as he took your trembling body in. You looked delicious, like he could devour you in a matter of seconds. He crawled onto the bed, between your legs. He took your heels and threw them across the large room.

"Kinda glad you walked in on me during the job." He said tracing his hands along your body. Every curve of yours was tantalizing and he wanted to savor every little moment he had you.

Your breath hitched as you let out small whines from his touch.

"Toji..." You muttered out his name and it was like music to his ears.

"Yes, don't worry baby." He said sweetly as he moved his hands down to the hem of your dress. He lifted up your dress and observed the sheer tights that stood in his way. He frowned slightly and pushed his fingers against your clothed cunt.

You gave out a pathetic mewl as he slowly pushed his finger against the fabric.

He became impatient and lifted your right leg over, twisting your torso so that your lower body was on one side. He slid his hand along your thigh to your ass where he gripped onto your tights. You could hear him tear at your tights with a 'RIP' sound. You whimpered feeling his strong grip tear a big hole into the crotch of your leggings.

"That's much better." He said satisfied. He moved your leg back over so that you were spread out for him.

Your face grew hot as he moved your panties out of his way. He brought his gloved hand to his mouth and took it off using his teeth. He grabbed the glove with the same hand and tossed it away. He rubbed his bare finger against your slit, gathering your wetness so that he could enter you easily.

His hands were huge, fingers thick and rough from the callouses. Just a single finger entering you made you squeak from how he stretched you out.

"Fuck, you're really tight." He said almost in disbelief. He moved his middle finger deeper, down until he was buried to his knuckle in your warmth. He smiled, feeling how you clenched around his singular finger.

"Oh sweetheart, you're going to break so easily." He said as he slowly moved his finger inside of you. He reveled in how you squeezed your thighs together, as if you were trying to cut off circulation to his hand. He responded to your desperate moans and arching back by adding another thick finger into your hole.

"Toji!" You squealed out gripping onto the soft sheets.

He chuckled seeing how easily you crumbled beneath him. He slipped his left arm under the small of your back and swiftly scooted your body up the bed, as if you weighed nothing. He carefully laid your head onto the pillow, your head was just below the headboard now. He shuffled so that he could lay on his stomach, his head comfortably between your legs.

You gasped feeling his warm tongue begin to lap up your juices. His tongue found your sensitive clit, skillfully flicking against it while thrusting his fingers in and out of your soaking pussy.

Your moans became louder as you squeezed your thighs around Toji's head. Any lesser man wouldn't be able to handle how tightly you crushed him between your thighs. But this was Toji, he could handle your intense grip, in fact he loved it.

He groaned into your pussy, closing his mouth to suck onto your sensitive bud. The fingernails on his left hand began to sink into your soft thighs as his other hand continued to plunge deep into your cunt. He picked up the pace, the sounds of your moans and the wet squelches of your needy pussy filled the room.

You soon found yourself spasming uncontrollably, your eyes darting to the back of your head as you felt your climax approach. Your hands gripped onto Toji's hair as you arched your back, moaning loudly as you came on his fingers and tongue.

"F-fuck! Hnnn...Toji..." Your cunt clenched around his fingers as you rode your high. Your fluids started to leak onto the bed sheet.

He withdrew his fingers and gave them a good cleaning with his mouth. His two fingers parted from his mouth with a trail of spit. He watched as you lay there, out of breath.

"What are you so tired for? I did all the work." He asked jokingly. He smirked and spread your legs nice and wide for himself again.

He undid the button on his pants and took them off. He then moved to take off your dress, not wanting to rip the pretty thing off like he did with your tights. He tossed both pieces of clothing to join the rest that were on the floor.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous." Toji admired your body. He took his right hand to cup your tit carefully, infatuated by how soft it was. His massive hands moved to play with both of your tits, massaging your chest roughly.

Your body trembled from the overwhelming sensations, you weren't sure how much more of this you could handle.

"Shit, I'm so hard right now it's not even funny." Toji said as he pulled at the waistband of his underwear.

You looked down to see how painfully constrained he was inside of his boxers. The imprint was massive and it caused your eyes to widen and your face became pale.

"Like what you see?" Toji let out a small laugh as he freed his erection from his boxers. His cock was heavy, even when it was hard it hung from the sheer weight of it.

You bit your lip, anticipating how something that thick could ever fit into your hole. Even though you were terrified, that warm feeling in your gut returned. You knew that regardless of how tight you were, he was going to make it fit.

"Alright, since you had one on you, I'll just use that." Toji said, grabbing the condom that you had in your purse. He used his teeth to tear open the wrapper and took the rubber out of the packaging. He went to put it on but laughed as he tried to unroll it.

"Baby, this is not big enough for me." He said holding up the half-rolled condom. He chucked it into the trashcan and sighed.

"Was worth a try, guess I'm going in raw." He said, pretending to be disappointed.

"W-Wait!" was all you could yell out before he lined himself up with your hole. His tip prodded at your entrance, trying desperately to push himself in. You gasped and clutched onto his shoulders as he slowly entered your little cunt.

"Goddamn, this is going to be a struggle huh?" He said, his voice strained as he tried to get just the tip in.

"Fuck." Toji cursed as he withdrew his cock. He spit onto your pussy and rubbed it in with his thumb, trying to get you nice and wet.

"You already came and I ate you out, how much prep does that tight little pussy need?" He complained as he stuck his tip back into your entrance.

You clenched your teeth as you felt him finally sink into your pussy. Whines escaping your mouth as he stretched you out, your hole being filled up like never before.

He grunted as his fat cock buried its way into your cunt, his hands holding the back of your knees as he pushed his entire weight against you.

Your vision became blurry from the tears that formed in your eyes. Your body was doing its best to adjust to his size, but it was just too much for you.

"s'too much Toji..." You slurred out as you could feel him bottoming out. You looked into his eyes with a fucked-out expression, mouth hanging open as drool slid down your chin.

"Too much? Already?" Toji asked mockingly. He pushed your leg against your chest, your tights tearing even more from this new angle.

"We've only just started." Toji smiled as he withdrew his cock only to slam it back into your cunt.

You squealed from his hips slamming into you and it caused him to chuckle. He only picked up the pace and continued to roughly thrust into you from your reactions.

"So. Fucking. Fragile." He grunted through gritted teeth while relentlessly pounding into your pussy. God, the way your cunt gripped onto his cock was euphoric. He swears he could cum right now if he wasn't taking his time.

He bucked his hips and folded you underneath him to get an even better position. With you bent in half beneath him, he could reach even deeper into your pussy, slamming that sweet spot that makes you scream.

Your screams were muffled however, since he hungrily pressed his lips against yours. His tongue explored your mouth, dominating your tongue in the process. His eyes were closed, enjoying the bliss of the moment. Your eyes were open, unfocused and rolling into the back of your head from the overstimulation.

Your stomach started to ache from the feeling of him stuffing you full to the hilt. But that giant knot in your core was still begging to be released. You could feel yourself getting closer to climax with every thrust. "Fucking slut... you're squeezing me so good." Toji groaned out of breath. Your bodies were becoming sticky from sweat. Toji hung his head down by the crook of your neck as he continued pounding your sore little pussy. You sunk your fingernails into his solid back, clawing at the flexed muscles.

He liked the feeling of you tearing up his back and decided it was only fitting to hurt you back. He bit down onto your neck with a growl as he bullied himself harder against your tender cervix. Your little cries of pain made him only bite harder. He sucked on the bitemark, leaving a nice little welt for you to remember him by.

"I wanna cum Toji... please..." you weakly asked as your legs shook from the intense pleasure mixed with pain.

"'Course baby, anything you wish for." He cooed as he grinded his pelvis against yours. His cock not only hit that sweet spot, but his pelvis stimulated your clit as well, driving you over the edge.

Your legs gave out, your jaw went slack and your nails dug into Toji's back so deep that it drew blood. "C-Cumming!" Was all you could mutter out as you climaxed, even harder than the first time. You felt ecstasy for the first time in forever, Toji delivering on his promise to fuck your brains out. Your mind was still foggy from the heavenly orgasm, even when Toji fucked you at an incredible speed, all you could feel was your muscles tensing.

"Holy shit, you're clamping onto me like crazy." Toji grunted out as he gripped onto the headboard, the bed creaking as he fucked you into the mattress. "Gonna cum so hard..." He mumbled under his breath. His thrusts became sloppier and less coordinated as he focused on finishing. He looked at your face and smiled seeing the cock-drunk expression on it.

Your whole body was spent, your hands no longer clawing at his back and your legs dangling above you. He could tell he wore you out well.

He thrusted into you a couple of times for good measure and then withdrew himself.

"F-Fuck, I'm cumming..." Toji groaned and pumped his cock with his hand before shooting his hot seed all over your tits. His load was thick and hot, some of it shooting far enough to coat your lips.

"Damn, turns out I also haven't had a good fuck in a while." He said out of breath, admiring how far you made his cumshot go.

You couldn't really respond with how tired you were. You just licked your lips, savoring his salty load. You maintained eye contact with him as he watched you seductively lick your lips.

"Haha, be careful now. I won't ever let you go if you look at me like that." Toji said parting your sweaty bangs out of your face.

Toji took some tissues from the bedside stand and cleaned you off, being careful not to make an even bigger mess. He threw the napkins into the trash and lazily fell next to you. He sighed, looking up at the ceiling.

"I mean as long as you don't snitch, you're free to go." Toji said in a bored tone. His hands resting behind his head.

"Don't wanna go." You said in a whiny voice. You shifted onto your side, facing him. Your soft hands traced his arm lovingly. Any man who could fuck you like that wasn't leaving your life that easily.

Toji smirked and looked down at you, hand resting on your hip.

"Was hoping you'd say that." He said before kissing you on the forehead.

The sunlight started to come in through the window. You blocked the light with your hand, your eyes assaulted by the sudden shine. Toji groaned and clicked on the remote to close the automatic curtains. Darkness once again enveloped your bodies. You smiled and rested your head against Toji's chest.

Guess the night wasn't a bust after all, you ended up with a hot, rich boyfriend by the end of it. I mean, sure he kills people for a living but, only you needed to know that.

#female reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #jjk toji #toji smut #toji x you #fushiguro toji

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starryblueeyesandstarryblueskies · 3 months

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Officer Down | J.H.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Summary: Jay takes a hit to the chest during a shootout and gives you quite the scare. Based on episode 6x2.

A/N: I finally wrote something!! (Shocking I know) it only took me 7 months but I’ve finally got a new fic for yall. I’m sorry for being so slow to write but the last 7 months have been ROUGH.

I’ve been wanting to write this fic forever and was finally inspired to finish it after rewatching the episode. I don’t really like how this turned out but that’s what happens after writers block I guess

Warnings: near death experiences, guns and shooting

Word Count: 637

This case had been difficult for the team, Jay getting hit his hardest with his dad being one of the victims on the fire. The longer the chase for the arsonist, the more you could see him spiraling. You expected it, all things considered. Jay may have said they didn’t have the best relationship, but it was still his father. What you didn’t expect was for Jay to disobey a direct order from Voight and go after the suspect on his own.

After you took his truck and two way, you thought he would be safe, far away from the action. So when you heard his call come in over the radio, your heart sank to your stomach.

“This is 5021 George. Emergency. Shots fired. Offender down, need an ambo. Lower Wacker and Columbus.”

As soon as you heard his location, you took off running, Kevin close behind. Rounding the corner, you saw Jay unmoving on the pavement, his side covered in blood.

“5021 Victor. Officer down. I repeat, officer down. Lower Wacker and Columbus. Get us an ambulance!” You rushed to Jay’s side, leaving Kevin to take care of the offender.

You tried to stay calm as you ripped open his shirt, panic threatening to override your training. You could see he was bleeding from his side, but you couldn’t tell what the damage was from the other bullets.

“Jay? Hey, talk to me.” Your voice wavered.

Jay was breathing heavily, looking at you with wide eyes. You pulled his vest away from his body, feeling under it for the bullet.

“It didn’t go through. It didn’t go through.” You pressed on the wound at his side with shaky hands. “You’re gonna be okay. It’s okay. Just breathe.”

You watched intently as the paramedics patched up Jay in the back of the ambulance. There were officers all around you, blocking off the scene and questioning the other members of the team, but you tuned it all out.

Once the paramedics were done treating him and he had gotten a thorough scolding from Voight, you made your way over.

“Hey.” You took a seat next to him. “You gonna be okay?”

Jay looked at you sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m okay. No serious damage, just a few stitches and some major bruising.”

“Good.”

“I’m really sorry, Y/N. I just couldn’t stop myself.” He said quietly.

You nodded lightly, giving him a small smile and patting his leg gently. “I know.”

The paramedic came back over and you used the interruption to excuse yourself. You could feel the aftermath of the situation setting in and you needed to get away from the scene.

You heard footsteps behind you and Kevin appeared at your side. “Hey, you okay?”

“Yep, I’m good. I’m fine.” You replied, unable to keep the emotion out of your voice.

Kevin put a hand on your arm, slowing you down and turning you towards him. “Woah, woah.” You couldn’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes as you met his gaze. “Yeah, that’s the adrenaline wearing off. It’s okay.”

“I thought he was dead.” You choked out the words.

Kevin put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close. “So did I.”

As the two of you made it back to the cars, he brought you in for a hug. You gripped his shirt tightly, embarrassed by your crying, but soaking in the comfort after the emotions of the past hour. You knew out of anyone, Kevin would never judge you for being human.

“I gotcha.” He rubbed your back comfortingly. “C’mon, Sarge said we’re done for the day. Jay’s in good hands. I’ll drive you home.”

You spared one last glance back towards Jay as you got into the car, only to find him looking right at you, his face etched with concern.

Writing Masterlist

#jay halstead #chicago pd #one chicago #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead fic #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead blurb #jay halstead one shot #chicago pd fic #chicago pd x reader

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michelle-is-writing · 1 month

Text

Help, John Wick

Word Count: 2.8k~

Warnings: mention of gun fire, blood, injury, stitches

Working the evening shift sometimes proves to be a hassle, especially when I’m needed past midnight. On nights like these, I know as soon as I leave the hospital doors that I’m all alone in my somewhat safe city. The biggest issue in my city is the constant hidden dangers within it, as reported by the news many times. The attacks are always random, and the people are disguised, meaning no one can tell who is truly good or bad.

With the clock nearing 12:05, I’m finally able to clock out and head out of my hospital and to my car. On the way to my vehicle, I notice something weird about my driver side’s tires; they seem to be flat, but one has a knife stuck in it.

“What the…” my voice trails off as I look around my hospital’s parking lot, seeing maybe three or four other cars scattered throughout it. I’m already in a not-so-safe situation, and quite frankly, walking out alone late at night is not the best decision for someone like me to make.

Instead of risking my safety, I begin walking backwards to go back into the hospital before turning around, only to be knocked down on the ground by someone running into me from my left. As I fall with the person who rammed into me, my ears pick up distinct gunshots - something you hope to never hear when you’re leaving work late at night.

“Stay down!” A deep, gruff voice yells before the weight of the body on top of me is suddenly gone, and more gunshots ring out around me. Despite the pain from being slammed down, I still manage to shuffle away and get behind the bushes next to the pavement. It’s not the best cover, but it can at least help me figure out what the hell is going on right now.

Looking through the thick branches of leaves in front of me, I spot two people now revealed by the street lights as they shoot toward the entrance of the hospital. “Why would anyone shoot at a hospital?!” I find myself muttering before I jerk my head over to the doors. There stands a dark-haired man dressed in an all black suit, a pistol in his hands as well. Only two shots are fired from that pistol before all gunshots come to a stop, but before I have any time to process what has just happened, the man is running toward me. I’ve never seen him before, and he certainly doesn’t look like someone who could shoot two people in two clear shots. His face is even cast with concern as he nears the bushes I hide behind, a hand outreached for me.

“We need to go! Now!” He tells me, grabbing my hand before yanking me up from the ground and taking off. With his hand firmly gripping my hand, I’m left with no other choice but to run with him. Feeling my fight-or-flight instincts kick in, I recognize the rush of anxiety flowing through me as well as so much confusion. Why am I running with a man who just shot several men either wounded or dead? He’s obviously trying to help me, but who exactly is he trying to protect me from?

After running across the parking lot to a car parked in the shade, the man yells at me to get in, but as I near the passenger side door, I feel myself halt as time slowly passes around me. My body feels as if it’s stuck in honey, unable to move or do anything, and my mind doesn’t feel much better.

“Get in now!” The man yells one more time, fully snapping me out of my stupor and bringing my attention to the door handle of an older car as I open it before climbing in. Alongside me is the man falling into the driver's side, quickly turning the engine on before speeding out of the parking lot. Speeding lights pass all around me while my eyes fall to my arms and hands, a burning sensation taking over my limbs. My palms and elbows are scratched up from the fall, droplets of blood adorning the scrapes before leading down to the new holes on the knees of my scrub pants, crimson liquid beginning to show through there as well.

In this moment, as my brain now begins to process the oncoming stings and burns, I turn my head toward the man, finding him to be focusing every ounce of his attention on the road in front of us as he speeds way above the limit. “What just happened?” I ask him, my voice almost disturbing him from his focus as he slightly jolts in his seat. “What’s going on?”

He shakes his head, his long hair moving along with him as he seemingly ponders if he should answer my question or not. For a few seconds, he remains quiet before sighing and giving in. “It’s… hard to explain,” he starts, giving me a cautious glance before looking back at the road in front of him as he speeds through traffic. Between taking sharp turns and darting in between cars, I can’t help but grasp the door with all my might to keep me from going all over the place.

“A couple days ago, you treated a patient, a man who came in with a bullet wound directly below his heart,” The man explains, making me stare at him confused. I did have a patient come in with those exact issues, but he told us he was mugged and that’s why he was shot. Why would someone try to attack a mugging victim in the way they did?

“Well, the guy wasn’t exactly mugged, and the people who shot him thought you were helping out him and his… group,” he further adds, making my eyes widen in a mix of horror and confusion. “They didn't even know your name or anything about you and they still tried to put a hit on you, all because you helped him survive. He asked me to make sure nothing happened to you, said you were a sweet girl, and I promised him I would keep you safe,” he nods his head toward the road. “So, here we are.”

Despite his explanation definitely being… weird, I don’t question him any more about it, and instead, I ask him something else. “What’s your name?”

At my question, he gives me a wary glance before answering. “John,” he tells me, gaining a nod back from me.

“John, I think you got shot,” I inform him, my eyes falling to his bloody arm. It looks like the bullet either grazed or went completely through his arm, but nonetheless, it’s still bleeding like a gunshot wound.

John barely reacts, only nodding his head “I know,” he simply explains as if it were something simple and not a bullet wound. “I’ll take you somewhere safe until we know what the group is trying to achieve.”

His words barely register in my ears before I’m turning in my seat to shake my head at him. “No, no, we need to go to my apartment,” I urge him, and just as I expected, he begins to tell me it’s not safe. “But my dogs are there!” I quickly argue back, feeling my heart pound away in my chest.

In an instant, it’s like a flip in his head switches, and he gives me a small nod in response to my words. “Okay,” he simply mutters, “Show me how to get there.”

Arriving at my apartment, John parks the car way down my street before having us run up to my back gate and get in through there. By the looks of it, my apartment seems to be untouched, and after John does a quick run through, I’m able to let out a sigh of relief. I’ve witnessed a lot of crazy things tonight, and the fact that I have a man whom I just met in my house after being shot at is crazy. However, my dogs don’t seem to care about the crazy night I’ve had as they’re too busy trying to get John to pet them. In spite of what I witnessed him do earlier in the midst of gunfire, seeing him act like a complete teddy bear around my dogs practically makes my heart skip a beat.

“Sit down here, John,” I tell him, gesturing to stools by my counter as I wash my hands in the kitchen sink. “So I can stitch up your arm,” I add, drying the water from my hands before gathering the stuff I need from my medicine cabinet. He nods at my words before sitting and waiting patiently, now with my smallest dog in his lap. Beside him are my other dogs, all sitting beside him as if they were all best friends already.

Smiling at the sight, I look up from my dogs to meet his eyes, only to be greeted by his chocolate-like eyes already staring back into mine. However, I quickly look away and begin helping him take his coat off all the while remaining careful about the arm he got shot in. It’s only after I cut the arm of his sleeve off and begin gently cleaning the dried up blood off his arm that John speaks up. “Do you treat all your patients like this?” He asks, a small smile taking over his lips as the question falls from his mouth.

I find myself smiling back at him before moving onto clean the actual wound. “Only special ones,” I tell him, earning a small chuckle back from him despite me pressing gauze with alcohol against the bullet wound on his arm. I choose not to mention it, and instead point out all of my dogs’ sudden fondness for the man. “They really like you,” I point out before examining his wound. The bullet went through the very edge of his arm, avoiding his humerus or anything major. Despite it leaving a decent sized wound, it’s still a pretty easy fix, thankfully.

Telling John he’ll need stitches only gains a hum back from him. Even when I poke the needle through his skin and pull it through, he still fails to react, and instead, John speaks up with the same tone of voice he had earlier. “I love dogs,” John confesses, using his free hand to scratch the wrinkles on my pug’s forehead. “And they’re all so cute too,” he adds, once again, not showing any sign of pain as I finish suturing his arm.

“That’s a good thing, that you love dogs,” I tell him, dressing his arm before taping it. “It shows a lot about someone,” I add, watching as he watches me closely, yet softly. As time goes on, I anticipate his next words, but even now, he still doesn’t mention it.

“I’m sorry we met this way,” John’s apology takes me by surprise, causing me to look away from his arm and stare at him. “I wish this could’ve been under better circumstances,” he adds, a small sigh falling from his lips afterward. “You’re a truly wonderful person; you didn’t deserve to be a target tonight.”

Instead of agreeing with him, I sigh as well before smiling and speaking up. “If it weren’t for you, they would’ve shot me. Over something I haven’t the slightest clue on,” I point out to him, “I know there are things that go on in this city, and I never expected to be in the middle of it, but I am eternally grateful that you were there and able to save me tonight,” Taking his hand in mine, I maintain eye contact with him and squeeze his hand. “You saved my life tonight. Thank you.”

At my words, John smiles back and nods. “No problem, nurse (Y/n),” he tells me, his thumb gently running across the back of my hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll be here to do it again,” he adds, making my smile grow even more as his eyes never leave mine. I don’t doubt the mysterious stranger will hold true to his word, but at the same time, I want to learn more about the man outside of saving me from the city’s dangers.

“And I’ll be here to patch you up again,” I tell him back, giving his hand a quick squeeze before turning to put away all of my medical supplies. “In the meantime,” I start, glancing between him and my kit as my dogs take the opportunity to swarm him. “Would you mind explaining to me a little bit about what exactly goes on in this city?”

John doesn’t respond right away, and instead, he chooses to stand up beside me in spite of the protests from his new furry friends. Putting away the rolled gauze and cotton balls, I look over at him as he appears beside me, only to earn another small smile from him like before. “Too much for one night,” he tells me, placing a gentle hand on my arm as if to stop me from messing with my medical supplies. “For right now, you need to sleep. You’ve had a long day,” he points out. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to make sure you continue to stay safe for the night. Is it alright if I stay here?”

Seeing him gesture toward my living room where all of my dogs sit and eagerly wait for him to join them on the couch makes a small laugh leave my lips. If it weren’t for him saving my life and my dogs being so trusting of him, then I probably wouldn’t be as confident as I am with letting him stay. “Actually, I would prefer that,” I tell him, before nodding at the couch behind him. “Although I don’t think you’ll be alone, unfortunately.”

Just as I say that, all the dogs run over to us and stare up at him, causing John to look down at my dogs with a smile before his expression changes into one of concern. “You need to be bandaged as well,” He tells me, causing me to look down and see my busted up knees once more, reminding me off the dull pain currently shooting from them. “Let me do it,” he further adds before gently pushing me to sit back on the stool just like I had done with him.

“I can handle them, it’s okay,” I tell him with a chuckle. “I’ve handled much worse on myself.”

Despite my words, John doesn’t respond to me, and instead, he opens my med kit back up and begins taking out the same kind of supplies I used on him, all except for the sterilized needle and string thankfully. He doesn’t argue with me on me taking care of myself, but he acts as if I hadn’t said anything to him either.

Strangely, I allow him to take care of my wounds without interrupting him, settling for watching him instead. It’s only when he moves onto rolling my scrub pants above my knees that I find myself regretting my decision. His touch is seemingly nothing more than that of someone who cares, but I can’t help but feel the small degree of intimacy in the moment. I can’t decide if it’s his slightly rough, yet gentle hands grazing my skin or just the close proximity of him on his knees in front of me, but my mind is scrambled right now.

“Told you I’d keep you safe, right?” I hear him say, bringing me out of my stupor and down to him once again. His eyes remain on his task at hand, being careful as ever while cleaning my wounds. Instead of responding, I smile and simply nod back at him, relaxing a little as I do so. He seems to pick up on this, a soft, small smile making its way onto his face as well as he moves onto bandaging the now clean scrapes and cuts.

Once again, I feel his hands touch my skin with gentleness and care, but at the same time, I can’t help but revel in the sensualness of it as well. It doesn’t help that there are times that his touch lingers more than necessary and the smile on his face still has yet to die down. I can’t help but feel bad for the thoughts currently flowing through my mind, but a part of me likes the idea of him staying with me - minus the reason why, of course. Another part of me hopes this isn’t just a one time thing either.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick imagine #John wick imagines #john wick fanfic #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves #Keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #Keanu reeves imagines #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick chapter 4 #john wick 4 #keanu #keanuverse

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Break Me Down - Part 1

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 5,200 Warnings: Some male skeeviness lol.

Part 1: The Game Begins

Two months ago…

You and M.M. continued to pour over all the records that the CIA had been able to pull on Soldier Boy.

This had been your life for the past month: locked in one hotel room after the next, up to your eyeballs in research. Or pounding the pavement in the sweltering summer of Brazil, on any whisper of Soldier Boy.

Right now it was the former. You all were piled into M.M.’s room, as it was the only one with a kitchen.

You smiled at Frenchie and thanked him when he offered you a steaming mug. At least you would finally get to experience Brazilian coffee.

You hiked a foot on the table where you and M.M. were working and sipped carefully; the mug was filled to the brim. Your companion eyed your pajama-clad leg, which only encroached an inch or two into his space.

“Excuse the fuck outta me,” said M.M. “Can you not?”

You briefly looked up from the (completely fabricated) biopic you were reading on Soldier Boy. “Hmm?”

M.M. gestured to your bare foot on the table. “Hello? What, were you raised in a fucking barn?”

With an amused smile, you lowered your leg. “I’m cramping up. We’ve been at this for six hours.”

“And counting,” Hughie said with a tired sigh. He and Annie had just come from scoping the local tourist spots and dive bars in the city. It wasn’t for pleasure though. You all had arrived in Brazil last night on a rumor that Soldier Boy had been spotted at a club a couple of days ago.

Annie heaved a sigh as she dropped into the seat next to you. She stole your paper fan on the table and tried to dry the sweat on her face and neck. You smiled and passed her your bottled water as well.

You and Annie had been “work friendly” at Supe Affairs. Now you felt like she had accepted you the most readily into the group. She seemed genuinely interested in who you were as a person as well.

Though you tried not to give too many personal details about your life, she had a way of disarming you, getting you to open up with her genuine willingness to listen.

You were friendly enough with Hughie and Kimiko as well, and you could also admit, you liked M.M. He was a straightforward man (and fun to tease with his anal idiosyncrasies). You got the most done with M.M. by your side. And watching him with Frenchie was pure entertainment.

Overall, you felt respected by them, even if you knew you weren’t as close as the rest of them seemed to be. You just hadn’t been on the team long enough.

The only one who mostly ignored you was Billy Butcher.

Butcher didn’t want you on the team. He’d made that pretty clear from the beginning.

What had his words been? Oh, yeah.

She’s a fucking amateur. Won’t last thirty seconds if, heavens for-fuckin’-bid, she encounters an A-lister like Soldier Boy.

You knew he considered you dead weight. But as Grace had told him, her track record speaks for itself.

No, you weren’t former SAS, like Butcher. You weren’t CIA, or any other military alphabet soup. But if there was one thing you knew how to do, it was tracking people down.

You were currently flitting through Soldier Boy’s sham career: the shitty music videos, the starlets, the ticker tape parades, and what precious little there was about his beginnings: about “Ben.”

You did find out that his family was from Hartford, Connecticut, and stupidly rich too. You found his parents’ names to go along with that.

And then it was a hop, skip, and a jump to him being unveiled as Soldier Boy.

“That is curious,” you murmured.

“Curious about the world’s most infamous granny fucker?” Butcher remarked. You slid him a wry look.

The fact that he tried to erase his past is interesting,” you said. “The details that aren’t here are just as important as the ones that are.”

Butcher hesitated a second, an ice-cold beer poised to his lips. He tipped it toward you in acknowledgement. “On that, we actually agree.”

“What do we know about his real life? Before he became Soldier Boy,” you asked.

Butcher sat down across from you and shaded in the details he knew, mostly about a disappointed father.

“Didn’t get enough hugs as a lad,” he surmised.

You suspected he was understating the truth. If there weren’t that many recorded accounts, pictures, or footage of Soldier Boy’s parents and home life, then he didn’t want people to know.

Interesting, you thought. Eventually Butcher got up to run down another lead that came in via text from Grace. Frenchie came back from the kitchen and saw how intently you were staring at your computer screen, eyes rapidly scanning.

“Ah,” Frenchie said, gesturing between you and the departed Butcher with a hand that held three alfajores cookies. “I see the same anal tenacity that fuels Monsieur Charcutier.”

You raised a brow. “My tenacity is for the case, not Soldier Boy.”

This wasn’t a vendetta for you. This was just business.

“For money,” M.M. correctly guessed, but his eyes held no judgment. “Been there.”

You sighed, smiling a little. Yes, you were doing this for money. They didn’t need to know anything more than that.

You liked this team well enough, but this was a job. The way you protected your family, and yourself, was by not talking about them.

That night, Frenchie’s ordered “package” arrived, courtesy of Grace. It was a healthy dose of Novichok gas—perhaps one of the only substances on Earth that could put Soldier Boy into a peaceful sleep.

Well, you didn’t know if it was peaceful, exactly. But he’d be asleep. That was all any of you cared about.

“At least it’s in proper containment this time,” M.M. said, examining the large cannister. Annie peered at it over his shoulder.

“I don’t know. My shitty perfume case seemed to hold it just fine,” she quipped.

You smiled from your usual seat at your computer. Annie came over with a sandwich for both of you. It was from the café down the street, and you’d been meaning to try it. Every time you stood out on your hotel room’s balcony, you could smell fresh bread and smoked meats coming from the café.

“Oh, yeah. How’s your sister?” Annie asked around a mouthful of sandwich. “She’s in college now, right?”

She had a good memory. Annie had heard you on the phone with your sister before you all left last month. You’d said one last goodbye, knowing it wouldn’t be safe to talk once you were locked into this mission.

While you were reluctant to answer Annie’s question, the others seemed distracted in the kitchen, fighting over who ordered chorizo and who ordered steak on their sandwich.

Still, you lowered your voice, even as a proud smile graced your lips. “She got into Julliard.”

Annie grinned and set her food down to give a little clap.

“She starts in the fall, so a few months,” you added.

“Aww, you’re glowing with pride,” Annie teased. And you laughed, but it was true. You wouldn’t hide that you were very proud of your little sister’s accomplishments.

“She’s worked hard, and she deserves it,” you said. Though your eyes dimmed. “I just wish I could help her celebrate…she’s on my case for taking this job.”

Quite simply, she worried about you. You were good at your job, but you were still human. She’d seen you come home banged up and bruised more often than you cared to admit…

Annie gave you a knowing look. “If you don’t want to be here, you don’t have to. I’m sure you can get other jobs—”

“Getting into school is just the beginning,” you said. “She’s got four years to go. Then her master’s. Hell, her doctorate if she wants.”

“There are scholarships…”

“It’s not enough,” you said with a sigh. It’s never enough.

“All right, lads,” Butcher said. He wiped his mouth with a napkin as he read off his phone. “The new Strongest Cunt in the World has been spotted. Suit up.”

“Where’re we going?” you asked, closing up your laptop.

Butcher shot you a wink. “Colombia.”

While on the private plane, you were the only one still awake as you continued to watch the archival footage with your Airpods in. Reel after motherfucking reel of Soldier Boy.

You really were starting to get sick of his smug face. He was clearly a good actor, if nothing else.

Then you came across the Russia files.

Part of you didn’t want to watch. You knew exactly what they were, and you didn’t want to see anything that would make you sympathize with him in your mind…

And yet, your father’s training was ingrained in you—like fingerprints on your skin. Like a vice grip around your throat.

Everything is relevant, always. Even if it isn’t.

…That, and maybe your own insatiable curiosity won out.

So you steeled yourself with a breath, and you hit the play button.

Gradually, your eyes widened.

You had seen awful things—as a private investigator at your father’s firm, and at Vought.

You had filled your quota of blood and death. And you had already seen the footage of Soldier Boy blasting a tower full of people in New York with the nuclear power now housed in his chest.

You also knew what he did to M.M.’s family. But after watching several minutes of Soldier Boy's torture, hearing his struggle, his outbursts of rage, the ragged gasps for breath, the clawing, traumatized sounds...

It was like stereo between your ears, and it was...too familiar. Too much.

So you finally turned it off, closing your laptop with an unsettled breath of your own.

And you were unable to sleep that night.

When you all finally arrived in Colombia, you and the team surveyed the wreckage in the casino.

It was a fucking blood bath.

As you stepped carefully through the wreckage of bodies and gambling chips, you looked for clues. Anything that might tell you about what Soldier Boy was doing here (though you could guess), and however unlikely, where he might go next.

You were disheartened to find the body of a young woman. Her big blue eyes were vacant, her blonde hair caked with blood from a head shot. On further inspection, you found a small room key in her hand.

With a sigh and a gloved hand, you took the key. You also closed the girl’s eyes.

You kept looking while the others had fanned out in the opposite direction. When you came across a small table that wasn’t turned over or splintered into fragments, you raised a brow. There was a napkin pinned to the top with a steak knife.

You yanked it out and examined the flimsy napkin. Noticing that you’d found something, Butcher came over to your side. He was much taller than you, fairly looming over your shoulder. You angled the note toward him.

Try harder.

S.B.

It was more than just a taunt.

It was the beginning of a game. And it made you smile.

“What the hell’re you smiling about?” Butcher asked.

“I like it when they’re cocky,” you replied. Butcher shot you a sideways glance, one that said you were maybe more deranged than even him.

“All supes are cocky bastards.”

You eyed him with a teasing grin. “On that, we actually agree.”

True to Grace’s word, she provided you all with the full extent of the CIA’s resources. While Butcher tracked down the hotel of the room key you found, you and M.M. were able to tap into any and all local street cameras and map out the likely points Soldier Boy had hit in this city—and where he could be going next.

According to the hotel manager, Soldier Boy had paid for a month’s stay, but hadn’t checked out after coming back for some of his belongings. The security cameras had caught him leaving his hotel room with a few men—armed ex-military types, and possibly his new entourage.

But the trail ended there.

Over the next two months, Soldier Boy continued to be one step ahead of you in the chase.

Though his movements were calculated (disappearing like a coil of smoke whenever you caught his scent), he seemed to be taking an extended vacation surrounding strip clubs, casinos, and other likely destinations for sex, drugs, and money.

And he’d evaded capture after hitting at least three banks on his way out of the U.S. alone.

At the current crap motel of the week, you shared the couch with Kimiko and Hughie while you surveyed traffic cameras.

“What’s the likelihood that he’s even still in Colombia? In South America, even?” Hughie asked. It was a good goddamn question.

“We have agents covering every major port and air hanger,” M.M. said. “If he wants to escape the continent, he’s gonna have to fight his way out, or rent a dingy and float his motherfuckin’ ass across the Atlantic.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past him,” you remarked. “What connections does he have?”

It wasn’t the first time you’d asked that question, but it was the first time you got a straightforward answer.

“Who knows,” said M.M. “He’s an ancient fuck.”

“Who killed all his old friends,” Hughie supplied.

“Well, his team, to be fair. I don’t think he ever had friends,” Annie said. “...Plus his old girlfriend.”

“What a spectacular bonfire that was,” Butcher dryly quipped.

Nice, you thought, heavy on the sarcasm.

You sighed. Clearly, you all would have to be prepared for anything.

When you weren’t pouring through surveillance, you took to the streets with Annie, playing the part of American tourists.

“Soldier Boy don’t know who the fuck you are,” Butcher had reasoned. He’d then pointed at Annie.

“Her fame as Starlight can get you two into whatever bar, club, or fuckhole that might’ve let him in. She’ll park it at a table, attracting attention. Meanwhile, you’ll circle around and look for him.”

It was actually a sound plan, and you could be a decent actor yourself. This wasn’t the first time you’d adopted a role to find your target, and on this mission, it probably wouldn’t be the last.

Well, a week later, the plan worked. You and Annie encountered a woman at a bar who waited tables at a nearby club, in Medellin. She’d served Soldier Boy just last night.

Medellin was considered the party city of Colombia, and for good reason.

Butcher had cleverly found your “disguise” for tonight, though you hadn’t liked the smirk on his bearded face when he gave you the shopping bag.

It turned out to be a semi-legal black leather dress, along with thigh-high boots possessing a sharp heel. Annie’s dress was just as short, and gold. With her blonde hair and shimmering makeup contrasting your black dress and smokey makeup, the two of you looked like night and day. Light and dark.

While Hughie manned surveillance in a rented van, parked outside the club, the rest of the team had found strategic points to cover in the club: M.M. was at the bar. Frenchie and Kimiko had found a table to watch the area in front of the stage, while Butcher was somewhere clinging to the shadows.

You followed Annie into the club. Once they’d recognized her as Starlight, they’d let her right in, and you by association. You didn’t envy her fame, but you could admit, it had some perks.

Inside, the club was dark and loud, and packed with people and streams of colorful light bouncing off the walls. This isn’t going to be easy.

Both of you scoped the area subtly before joining M.M. at the bar.

Well, you two found your own opening further down. Sitting next to him would be too obvious.

You subtly pressed a finger to the communicator in your ear while Annie ordered drinks.

“It’s gonna be hard to find my own ass in here,” you said to the team. You scanned the place and noticed an entire second and third floor. “This place is huge.”

“Then get crackin’, love,” Butcher’s voice reached you. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but you did take the vodka martini Annie offered you.

“Ah, you beat me to it,” a man said, his richly accented voice hovering near your ear. You turned your head and had to lean back a bit. You were met with blue eyes, tan skin, and an attractive smile. The man tipped an imaginary hat, letting his shoulder-length dark hair dip into his eyes.

“Good evening, mi vida,” he said. “I was gonna buy you a drink, but I see you’ve got one. Mind if I finish my beer with you?”

Inwardly you wanted to sigh, but you gave a flirtatious smile to keep up appearances. “Sure.”

“Where are you from?” he asked, and with a more teasing smile. “I’m having a hard time placing your accent.”

You affected a giggle. “Oh, really? You mean I don’t have a massive, neon sign over my head that says, ‘American Tourist?’”

“Well, maybe not neon,” he joked. “I’m Antonio.”

“I’m Jess,” you lied, shaking his hand. He turned it over and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand. Annie raised a brow behind you, but she sipped her drink.

Antonio must’ve been a local. His dark blue buttoned-down shirt, jeans, and boots were more casual than the obvious tourists with their flashing finery. And by his accent, you could guess that he was at least Latino. Colombian, most likely.

You were able to subtly dodge the question of exactly where you were from. And the two of you flirted for a few minutes while you continued to survey the people passing by, scanning the gaps between bodies.

When Antonio finally asked you to dance, you agreed. It would get you further into the club with a better excuse than walking around aimlessly. You turned to Annie.

“Catch you later?” you asked. She tossed you a wink.

“Yeah, girl. Have fun!”

You smiled and let Antonio lead you to the dance floor. You discreetly used every movement to your advantage, looking beyond your dancing partner to continue your search. If Soldier Boy was here, you would find him.

“He’s not here,” said Antonio. It actually managed to jerk you out of your focus.

“Who?” you asked, feigning confusion.

“Whoever you’re looking for that isn’t me,” he said, injecting a fair bit of charm into his voice.

You actually felt your face warming up at that. The way he was looking at you now, there was very little doubt as to what he wanted. His grip on your hips tightened.

Part of you was getting impatient with this part of the game, but at the very least, he was a good dancer. He pulled you effortlessly through the cumbia, Colombian salsa dancing, even if he was starting to sweat on you.

Now, you could almost swear someone was watching. Though it might’ve been the sweat dripping down your spine, you felt that strange prickle on the back of your neck.

Well, besides Annie. You knew she was keeping an eye on you from the bar, as were Frenchie and Kimiko as they joined a poker game in the far corner, away from the dance floor.

Your gaze continued to flit through every corner of the room between spins and the movements of your feet and your hips.

When Antonio’s hands started get a bit too familiar with the curve of your ass, you took his hands and used them to spin yourself. He brought you back in tight. A bit too tight.

“Come on, baby…” he whispered in your ear.

And you felt his hand slide up the inside of your thigh. He even had the audacity to try and slip past the lacey front of your underwear.

That’s when your patience snapped.

You grabbed his wrist and “accidentally” drove your heel into his foot. With precision you felt it land between two vertebrae.

The girlish yelp he made brought a flicker of a smile to your lips, but you covered it with a doe-eyed look and many bumbling apologies.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He all but shoved you as he limped away, cursing you in Spanish. You’d taken four years of it in high school, and you still only caught half of it.

Hiding your smile, you walked away and pressed a discreet finger to the comm in your ear.

“The stage front is clear. Scoping the back.”

“Wait for me,” Annie said. She was still sitting at the bar. “I think you broke that guy’s foot.”

“He had tenacity,” Frenchie remarked.

“All balls and no brains, as usual,” you muttered. “Stay there and look shiny, Annie. He’s less likely to recognize me, but he might come out to play if he spots a familiar face at the bar.”

“She’s right,” Butcher said to Annie. “Stay where you are.”

You made your way to the bathroom and scoped the hall. There in the privacy of the shadows, you adjusted the gun holster on your thigh. It was a miracle Antonio hadn’t felt it.

Not that a gun would do much against Soldier Boy, but you didn’t feel right without it.

Then you kept moving and dodged various couples making out (and more) on your way upstairs.

“Going up,” you informed the team quietly. The second floor was a series of rooms, none of which you wanted to pop in on without an invitation.

After you made it to the end of the hall, you turned a corner and noticed a door hung open a crack. Sliding it open, you found a wall of music there to greet you.

And that wasn’t all.

Inside was a room of people drinking and drugging and generally doing things to one another. You didn’t want to go in, but you wouldn’t put it past Soldier Boy to get caught up in a mass orgy.

You walked through the room, only taking in what you needed to with your eyes.

Focusing on the far wall, you saw a leather chair by the window, with a still smoking cigar laid to rest in an ash tray on a small table. Your head tilting with interest, you went over to the table and found another hand-written note.

Once again, you sighed. “He’s not here, guys. He bounced.”

Once you all regrouped with Hughie outside the club, you handed the note to Butcher with a grimace.

“You have a love letter,” you said. And Hughie too.

With a wry brow raise, Butcher looked down at the scrap of paper.

Butcher, you’ll die first. Then the cum-guzzler.

S.B.

That night at the hotel, after you'd showered and peeled off that ridiculous dress, you poured over the Soldier Boy files again.

You hadn’t touched the Russia ones since that first night, but you knew you were missing far too much. In order to anticipate his moves, you needed to understand how he thought.

You couldn’t do that if you didn’t even have the full picture of who he was. And the movies, the silly music videos, even the exploded skyscraper and Homelander’s death—none of it told the full story of Ben.

It didn’t tell you what he wanted. What he cared about. Why he was playing cat and mouse instead of just taking his stand, like his soldier persona would’ve demanded of his pride.

Or maybe that pride's just like everything else: a well-crafted costume.

A knock at your door jolted you out of your thoughts.

You got up to your feet, briefly looking down to make sure you were decently dressed (you supposed pajama shorts, a bra, and a tank top would suffice). You grabbed your gun and checked the peephole before you answered the door with a smile.

It was M.M. with a mug of tea for you. “I knew you’d still be up, killin’ those files. It’s almost morning, you know.”

You accepted the mug with a warmer smile.

“Aw, you do care,” you quipped. He rolled his eyes.

You laughed a little. “Seriously, thank you.”

He pointed at you.

“Go to sleep,” he said. You raised two fingers to your temple in salute.

“Sir. Yes, sir!” you joked. Really, you appreciated his concern. After hearing many a story about his daughter Jennine, and seeing how the rest of the team respected him, you knew that he was a good man.

And thanks to him and Annie, you were actually starting to feel like part of this team.

After you wished him goodnight (or good morning, at this rate), you closed the door to your hotel room, followed closely by your laptop.

You took out your phone, silently contemplating what time it would be in New York right now.

Well, it would be very early in the morning. Still, you thought it was worth a try, since you had the time.

You dialed your sister, Luisa. While it rang, you remembered just how thin these hotel walls were. So you stepped out to the rickety balcony. Jeez, hope it holds my weight throughout this call.

When your sister eventually answered, she murmured your name sleepily in confusion.

“Hey, sorry for waking you up,” you said, feeling bad.

“It’s okay.” She yawned. “I should be up soon anyway. Got 8 am classes Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.”

“Ech. Screw that shit,” you teased.

“You’re the one sweating balls in South America.”

“I’d rather be drowning in my own sweat than listening to some old bag drone on for eight hours,” you volleyed back, and leaned against the balcony’s railing, even as it creaked suspiciously with your weight.

“You, my friend, are uninspired. You mean to tell me mosquitoes and drug cartels are better than Mozart?” your sister asked incredulously. Her sleepy voice was starting to lose some of its gravel as you two fell into familiar bickering.

“Wow, way to type cast. Not all of South America is about drug-running,” you pointed out.

“Aren’t there, like, entire shows about people shoving cocaine up their ass to get from Colombia to Miami?” Luisa asked.

“…Yes, but that’s not the point,” you said with a giggle. “And good guess. I’m actually in Medellin right now.”

“Are you supposed to tell me that?”

“Not really, no, but I don’t think you’ll sell me out to the cartels,” you joked. Or to the Russians, your mind added. That thought made your lips twist sourly.

“Anyway, are you okay? How’s school, really?”

“It’s good, sis. You know I’m good. I’m worried about you,” she countered, and you could hear the concern in her voice.

“You know me. I’m always good,” you replied with good humor. The silence on the other line told you that you hadn’t been quite convincing enough.

“When do you think you’ll come home?” she asked.

For what seemed like the hundredth time that night (or morning), you sighed. “That’s hard to say.”

The answering silence told you even more about your sister’s thoughts, and you felt guilty for it.

“I’m happy just knowing you’re doing so well. With school, starting your adult life, doing your thing,” you added.

“You need to start thinking about yourself,” she told you.

“What do you mean, Lou? I’m fine.”

It was Louisa’s turn to sigh.

“You know, I was so proud of you when you decided to leave Vought," she said. "When you finally got out from under Dad. When you started working at Supe Affairs…you seemed happy, like you were finally proud of yourself too.”

Emotion started to burn behind your eyes. Part of it was probably sleep deprivation, but you heard the sincerity in your sister’s voice.

She just knew you so well. And she wasn’t lying there—what she’d said was all true of you. However, after the joke that was Victoria Neuman running Supe Affairs, you didn’t know what you could trust anymore.

Maybe not even your own judgment.

“But I really wish that you’d consider more than just your work,” Luisa said. “Like a hobby. Take a painting class. Go to karaoke, like we used to do in grade school after Choir practice. You have such a beautiful voice! Like Grandma’s was.”

“I’ll leave the performing to you, Lou,” you said with a chuckle. She was serious, however.

“Work isn’t everything,” she reminded you. Now her voice was firm. “You should go out with your friends. Go out with Annie! Rub shoulders with her celebrity friends.”

“Right.” You huffed a laugh. You’d been around plenty of famous supes while at Vought. You’d ran down the leads and tracked down the criminals, just for the supes to swoop in and “save the day.” You did the grunt work, and they claimed the credit.

You’d had enough of “celebrities” to last you a lifetime.

“Maybe then you’ll—and let me not shock you here—meet someone,” Louisa said. “And finally put an end to that goddamn dry spell. What's it been, like three years?”

“All right, all right.” You held up a hand of surrender, even if she couldn’t see it. You were grateful she couldn’t catch you blushing. “That’s enough about my non-life, thanks.”

You shook your head. Embarrassment actually clawed inside your belly.

Yes, it had been a while since you’d actually been with anyone, relationship or otherwise. You just didn’t have time to have a life, you’d reasoned. Working at Vought had been grueling, and your hours at the S.A., while better, were still demanding.

…Still, you could appreciate that your work-life balance left much to be desired. And that was on you.

Case in point, you were on this job.

You tipped your face heavenward, letting the sunrise spill some warmth on your face.

“But…I hear you, okay?” you replied with your eyes closed.

“You do?” she asked suspiciously.

“Yeah. When I get back, I…I’ll work on it, okay?” you said. “I love you.”

“Love you too, sis. I should probably get going, but…please be safe.”

“Always,” you promised.

After you hung up, you finally opened your eyes.

That prickly feeling was back, almost like you were being watched.

You scanned around, but your human eyes didn’t find anything out of the ordinary in the sunshine pouring in between the rows of buildings.

In fact, you didn’t see a damn thing that wasn’t supposed to be there.

So you clutched your phone to your chest, letting out a deep breath. Then you headed back inside.

But mere feet above you, if you had only looked up to the roof, you would’ve seen a hunter lazily eyeing his prey.

AN: Ok! So a little bit slow in this chapter, but it’s all important setup.

In the next chapter, the reader meets Soldier Boy:

You laid a hand on his chest, fingers spreading between the open buttons, and felt his warm skin.

He glanced up at you with another challenging tilt to his head. What are you gonna do now?

You met that challenge, boldly leaning down to press a kiss against his lips.

Keep Reading: PART 2

Series Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

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6lostgirl6 · 1 year

Note

Can you please do a Dracula fic for me where it is modern times and you are Dracula’s mate. He sees you and immediately knows what/who you are to him. He goes about trying to court you but he does it in the same way you would way back when. You find it cute and sweet, seeing as how most guys put minimal effort in and just wanna get in your pants. Basically you guys fall in love and he tells you what/who he is, you obviously accept it, and maybe ends with you asking him to turn you. Which he’s obviously gonna do.

Thank you. 🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️🖤❤️

Chivalry Is Undead

Pairing: Modern!Vladislaus Dracula x Fem!Reader

TW: Dracula haunted by your death, blood mention, dead bodies mentioned, reincarnation, mentions of past life, Dracula hissing at you, turning.

There was only one moment in time in which Vladislaus Dracula was able to find a sense of true happiness in his life. This was the time he felt like he was truly a human being rather than a monster, a tyrant. The time in which he still had you, his long lost wife.

Now, centuries later, he was considering taking a trip across the world to ease the pain of losing the only thing he had ever truly loved and felt that he could never recover from. The trip from Romania to America was rough, staying in the cargo hold of a boat until they reached land. By the time he was able to step out, the entire crew was lifeless and drained of all blood.

A few days after he arrived in the city, he decided to explore the area and get to know the city a little better.

It was impossible not to notice how out of place the vampire Lord stood in the crowd. He was dressed in clothes that would remind people of the Victorian era. It didn’t help that he was the only one to carry an umbrella during the day without a sign of rain. However, he also caught the attention of multiple women, none of which interested him. His beloved wife held a special place in his heart, there was no room for any other.

After walking for a while, he was suddenly hit with a very peculiar scent in the air. Dracula paused in his steps, his eyes widening as he took in the sweet aroma. His undead heart would have skipped a beat if he were human.

He could smell the scent of his beloved.

He hastened his steps, effortlessly pushing through the crowd as he did so. He wasn't going to let any disgusting human get in the way of him finding his lost love. He paused again, standing in the spot where the sweet aroma was at its strongest.

Suddenly, he widened his eyes in shock as he looked across the busy street and a rare smile appeared on his face. His pupils began to dilate as he stared across the street. There you were, standing near the crosswalk with a device in your hand that he remembered was a cellphone.

He couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than you; the exact image of the beloved he lost so long ago. The sensation of moving towards you itched in his body. He was tempted to forget about the traffic in front of him and just appear before you. It was your touch, your presence, and your entire being that once soothed his tyrannical soul. He missed you and desperately wanted you back in his arms and that is exactly what he'll do.

You were watching something on your phone, waiting for the pedestrian signal to change so you and a small crowd of people could cross the road. Soon, the pedestrian signal turned green, allowing you and the small crowd to begin walking across safely. After crossing the road, you went to walk down the sidewalk when you suddenly bumped into what seemed like a brick wall, causing you to drop your phone.

With the stranger's quick reflexes, he was able to grab your phone before it could land on the pavement.

“Apologies, Miss...” He said, his voice was deep with a Romanian accent, handing out the device towards you.

"Thank you so much." You said with a sheepish smile, taking your phone back from the handsome stranger. "I'm really sorry, I should have been paying better attention."

Damn, even her voice is the same...

He waved his hand towards you dismissing your apology with a friendly smile. "No, do not apologize, the fault is mine. Might I ask your name?" He asked with curiosity.

You found him awfully charming and you gave your name out instantly. "What's your name?" You asked, just as curious about the handsome stranger. In that moment, the stranger took your hand not holding your phone and pressed a kiss upon your knuckles. You felt your heart skip a beat.

“What a gorgeous name…” He muttered, staring into your eyes.

Dracula’s keen hearing was able to sense your nervousness and your immediate attraction to him. His mind was hazy and fangs aching to make their claim upon your delicate throat. To claim you as his mate so he would never lose you again. "You may call me Vlad, my dear, I have traveled all the way from Transylvania for sight-seeing."

“You’ve come a long way…” You uttered, your gazes were still locked on one another, unable to break the connection between you both.

“I have, but I believe the agonizing trip was well-worth it, to see true beauty such as yourself.” He commented, smirking a little when he noticed the warmth flooding your cheeks. “I was exploring the city, but it would be lovely to have someone like you accompanying me. Would you like that?”

Your eyes softened, giving a smile from his charm, he was quite different from the other men you would see around the city. It warmed your heart to have a man show genuine interest in you and want to merely spend time with you. “I would love that.”

Dracula felt relieved as his eyes softened from your acceptance. He held his arm out and you quickly wrapped your arm around his own, elbows linked together. It was very old-fashioned you can admit, but you couldn’t help but prefer it. However, you couldn’t place it, but the gesture was oddly familiar, as if he’s done this with you before.

Your relationship with Vlad has been going well for a few months now and you are happier than you have ever been. Since becoming his unofficial tour guide, you have spent almost every day with him. You have even been on a few dates with him, unable to resist his sweet nature and silver tongue. Dates that consisted of fine restaurants and extravagant tours of the city that you had never had the opportunity to experience before. However, you noticed that Vlad was very vague when it came to specifics about himself. In particular, he was not interested in discussing his past, his finances, or his methods of obtaining them and his need for carrying an umbrella everywhere. When you asked him why, he mentioned it was because he had a rare skin condition that would become irritated if exposed to direct sunlight.

Despite his mysterious behavior, you still found him extremely charming and you noticed that you were starting to grow intense feelings for him. However, as your relationship developed and your feelings grew, you began having dreams, strange dreams. More like nightmares because you would always dream about ancient times where you and Vlad were once married where the dream would end with your impending doom, you were never given details of your ultimate demise.

You never bothered to tell Vlad, not wanting to push him away or make him think you were crazy because you dreamt that you were his wife in some past life, you never wanted to ruin your chances with him. For instance, you were going on another date with him tonight, deciding that you both would meet each other in an extravagant park that was quite a distance from the city.

After getting into your car and making the drive away from the city, you arrived in the parking lot near the entrance of the park. Glancing outside your window, you turned off the engine before stepping out onto the concrete. It was just after dusk and the skies were starting to become darker as the minutes moved on. After locking your car, you headed over to the entrance and looked around.

Part of you disliked Vlad not having a cellphone, due to him hating technology, but you had no way of getting a hold of him should you ever needed him or his location. Checking the time on your phone, you sighed as you were about to put it away. You were becoming a little anxious that you might have been stood up.

“Looking for something?” A pleasant voice whispered in your ear, thick Romanian accent sending shivers down your spine.

You jolted slightly, gasping as you turned towards the person. Standing behind you with an amused smirk was Vlad, seemingly entertained by your reaction. You rolled your eyes and playfully smacked his arm, knowing that it wouldn’t hurt him. “You scared me!” You exclaimed, a teasing smile plastered on your face.

“I apologize, my sweet.” Vlad replied, staring intently into your eyes. He thought it was delectable how scared you became, even if it only lasted for a meer moment. He was dressed in black with a thick overcoat. “It’s rude to scare the lady that captured my heart.” He continued, reaching out to take your hand in his own. He couldn’t resist touching you.

You felt your cheeks grow a little warm, gripping his hand as you both entered the park, enjoying the scenery. However, you were still a little distracted from the dreams you’ve been having. Usually, you were able to ignore it until you went home where you could reflect after your dates with Vlad. Now though, your mind was constantly replaying the dreams in a loop. You didn't notice how distant you became the more the date went on, getting lost in your own head.

Dracula noticed you were more quiet than usual, opting to replying in short answers or needing him to repeat himself. Dracula may have been old, but he understood when someone is thinking about something, something very important.

He stopped you both when you appeared next to a fountain, turning towards you and taking both of your hands in his own. "What bothers you so, my sweet?" He asked, concern evident in his gaze.

"I'm sorry..." You muttered, a little embarrassed from your behavior. "I've just been thinking about some things."

"Like what? Does something trouble you?" He questioned, squeezing your hands. Everything was feeling very familiar again, and you were starting to feel a little weird.

"I've been having...strange dreams lately. Dreams that seem very real and like I've been there before. But it's impossible, right? Dreaming about something that's never happened?" You explained, but it only left you asking questions.

Dracula swore his heart jumped to his throat. Could this mean you were starting to remember your past life with him? Was his mere presence and time spent with you the answer to getting you back?

"What do you dream about?" He stepped closer, his gaze refusing to leave your own. "What is it, my sweet?" He was eager to hear your answer.

"It's really stupid, it's like we've met before? The dreams start with us being married during an ancient time and the dream ends with me dying in some way and leaving you behind...the dream never gives me answers though..." You explained, voice low. "But, we were really happy and I woke up crying sometimes."

"It's because it was real..." Dracula replied, his eyes soft and if he could, tears would have been gathering in his own eyes. "It was real, my sweet..."

"But that's impossible, Vlad." You stated, a little confused from his reaction. "Past lives don't exist and even if you were alive during that time, you would be dead right now."

Dracula sighed, before looking around. He didn't sense anyone else in the vicinity, meaning that the both of you were completely alone. For once in his immortal life; he felt nervous, nervous for your reaction.

"Come, my sweet," Leading you by the hand, you both walked over to the fountain, sitting down on the stone structure. "There is something we must discuss."

"Vlad...this isn't because of my dreams, right? It's okay if you think it's weird..." You started before Vlad politely cut you off, showing his hand.

"My darling, the dreams you've been experiencing are very much real. Centuries ago, you were the love of my life and we were once married. My pride, arrogance, and selfish desires caused me to lose you forever. However..." He gripped your hand tightly. "I have you once more, in this life. I've been given a second chance at happiness my darling, with you." He explained, he didn't want to beat around the bush.

You stared at him, slightly in shock from his explanation. Your mind was going a mile a minute, and crazy as you may seem, part of you believed him. However, the logical part of your mind screamed at you to wake up. If it were true, how is Vlad here?

"Then how are you even alive, Vlad?" You questioned, looking into his eyes.

"Because...I am a monster, my darling." He hesitated before continuing, "I am Count Vladislaus Dracula and I am a vampire."

"W-What?" You asked, standing up and backing away a little. Not allowing you to escape from him again, Dracula stood up and closed the distance between you both once more. He towered over you, his intense gaze staring into your own. "Vlad, that's not-"

"Search your feelings, you know it to be true." He stated, grabbing your hand.

"Vlad, this is such a stupid j-"

Suddenly, Vlad appeared in front of your face, hissing down at you with glowing eyes, fangs protruding from his gums and jaw slightly unhinged like a snake. His face was monstrous and for the first time, you were scared of him. You screamed in fear, struggling to remove yourself from his grip as he wrapped his arm around your waist, gripping your wrist with his other hand.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The monstrous face of Vlad returned to normal, pulling you close as tears gathered in your eyes, trying hard not to sob into his chest. He felt horrible that he had to show you this way, but he didn't know how else to convince you he was telling the truth. "You needed to see, darling, I'm sorry for scaring you." He caressed your hair.

You sniffled, your face pressed against his chest as Vlad continued caressing you, trying to calm you down. His monstrous face tormented your mind, however your heart was screaming that you needed to hear him out.

"M-My dreams..." You pulled away slightly, looking up at him as he moved a free hand to caress your cheek, wiping away stray tears from your skin. "W-We were really married...?"

He gave you a small smile, before nodding his head. "Yes, my sweet, but now we are given a second chance. This time, I will do everything in my power to protect you and keep you with me forever." He promised.

"But you can't..." You replied sadly. Vlad was a vampire, an immortal creature that would continue living for many more centuries, while you could die at any moment. You felt your heart breaking, knowing that even though you had a second chance, you would still lose him.

Unless...

"Unless you change me..." You mentioned, causing Vlad to look into your eyes with an unreadable expression. However, you didn't realize how much Dracula wanted to sink his teeth into your throat and change you right this second. However, he maintained himself as you continued speaking.

"Is that what you want, my darling?" He asked, pulling you close as his other hand moved to cup your other cheek. "Do you wish to become mine eternally?"

"Yes." You answered, wrapping your around his neck which made him want to purr from your affectionate touch. "Yes, I want to become your wife once more."

Without another word and breaking your gazes, he wrapped an arm around your waist before dipping you slightly. From this position, all you could see was the face of your former lover and the stars above.

"Your wish is my command." He uttered, before leaning down, which made you close your eyes instinctively.

You were bracing yourself, awaiting for the pain that would engulf you when Vlad would sink his fangs into your neck. The pain that would ultimately change your life forever. However, that never happened as you felt the man of your literal dreams pressing his lips against your own. You gasped slightly, the kiss between you two quickly becoming passionate.

Dracula couldn't hold back the pleased growl rumbling from his chest. The ability to finally have you in his arms again and tasting your sweetness through the kiss almost made him lose control. However, he wanted to make the change romantic and less painful.

Behind your closed eyes, more memories were revealed like a record player and you felt tears swell into your eyes once more. You remembered everything and your heart shattered, knowing how much pain your husband has been through since your departure.

Reluctantly, Dracula pulled away from the kiss, staring down at you with a pleased smile. Your heart was frantically beating against your chest and the way you were staring up at him made him feel an intense longing. "Are you ready, my darling?"

"Always for you, my king." You uttered in Romanian, your eyes full of devotion locking onto his own.

Dracula's instincts were going mayhem as his eyes widened, hearing those sweet Romanian words fall from your lips, uttering a name that you once called him centuries ago. He missed you so much, and he finally found you, he finally had his beloved wife once more.

"My queen..." He replied in Romanian, smirking down at you as his fangs extended.

Next thing you knew, was the excruciating pain in your neck as the love of your life sunk his fangs deep within your throat before you lost consciousness.

Spam Liking W/O Reblogging = Blocked

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weretheones · 7 months

Text

All You Got | Part 11

Part 11: New Trails

Plot: Daryl Dixon hadn’t known much beyond anger and loneliness his whole life, until he found family at the end of the world. Everything he grew to care about was ripped away the day the prison fell; so when he recognized you, an enforcer of his loss, hiding in that cabin, he almost pulled the trigger. But after you end up saving his life, he couldn’t find the indifference to leave you for dead, even if you’d been on the Governor’s side. (Mid-Late Season 4)

Series Masterlist | AO3 Version

Paring: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader Word Count: 5k Warnings: typical twd content. mentions of death. A/N: hey remember me? pls say yes :D

A day later, you raided the closest town.

A new multitool, granola bars, some tampons. It wasn’t much, but at least you had the car when the night turned cold.

And Daryl.

Those hints of vulnerability hidden behind a surly mask hadn't disappeared yet. And best of all, he could look you in the eye again. Even if you still couldn’t always quite tell what he was thinking, the reaffirming glance of familiar blue laced with a type of gentleness you’d never noticed before— not even in those quiet moments: when he was patching you up, when he was sick with fever— warmed you up better than any sputtering car heater could.

He’d never forget the prison. The sight of those metal fences shadowing your face. But there was a trail where your feet had landed these past weeks, littered with moments that could convince even a man as stubborn and heartbroken as Daryl that it was the right choice to stick by your side, the shadow of prison fences and all. Somehow, somewhere along the way from that dingy cabin to the car you shared, you’d made it okay.

So things were okay, too. For a while.

But the days went on.

On and on and on…

Limp leaves of brown and red flew in the air around spinning tires. Ahead was a horizon of cracked pavement lit by the thin light of sunset and the beam of headlights. Except for the speeding car, the road was empty. Nothing to see but amber skies.

Then those slipped away. The sun dipped behind tall trees, and it was only those headlights and the cold moonlight. No walkers. Not even an abandoned car. Just an empty road, no matter how many miles you traveled.

“Where are we going?”

For the first time in months, there was an air of hopelessness caught in your lungs. It infected your voice, wrapping around the words like rotten tendrils of ivy.

Daryl’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. White knuckles.

He shook his head.

“I dunno.”

The bus had nearly dashed all your hopes, but there was still that stubborn bit of you holding onto the far-fetched idea that something was still out there to find. To protect. Though the road had become so long over the days, the idea smaller and smaller as north, west, south, and east blended, and slowly you were disorientated. No more paths to follow. No more maps to trace.

You could feel your grip slipping, right as the first flakes of snow fell.

—

Eventually, he taught you how to hunt.

The tracks were the softest thing you’d seen in a week, not since Daryl had smiled at you by that river. Thin ovals imprinted in the dirt under a scatter of leaves that you brushed a hand across, gently.

“Deer, right?” You looked up at Daryl. “How fresh are they?”

He just shrugged. “Wha’ ya asking me for?”

You crouched closer to the tracks. They were relatively deep, the edges cut into recognizable prints. With the back of your knuckle, you pressed into the dirt beside them. It gave away underneath, marking an even sharper and deeper print. The earth was soft this morning, warmed by the pleasantly bright sun despite the first fall of snow a couple of days ago.

The sinking prints could only have been made that day. After sunrise.

“They’re fresh,” you concluded. “Maybe an hour or two?”

Daryl smirked, and you soon had one to match it.

A deer would be more than enough meat for the two of you. The last time you’d had a catch like that, it’d been in the thick of last winter. Taking a deep breath in, you swore you could still smell the stew steaming from your bowl. It was enough to give your step an extra bounce. To give some fuel to that dwindling hope in your chest.

Things weren’t always bad, even if it felt like everything was slipping through your fingers lately.

And then an hour later, you were standing over a dead walker and a dead deer, all chewed up.

—

Still no home. No direction.

The air was damp. An almost suffocating musk that infected every inch of the abandoned motel room. From the tacky wallpaper to the mismatching purple curtains, this place screamed road-trip stop. A little strip of a dozen rooms at the edge of an unnamed town dedicated for only those passing through.

It seemed fitting to spend the night, then.

“You can’t seriously like those things.”

Daryl’s eyes found yours, even in the dim candlelight.

“Love ‘em.” He threw another pig’s foot into his mouth and you cringed.

“Ew.”

“More for me, then.”

That was just fine with you.

You rolled your eyes and took another bite of canned corn. It was too sweet and a bit metallic from its years in a can, but at least it wasn’t a foot.

The pair of you had your backs resting against your claimed, and ironically empty, single beds. After a week of sleeping in that car, taking turns curling into the backseat, it was a treat to have a real mattress to sleep on. Even if it was cheap and full of squeaky springs that dug into your spine.

But somehow here you were, on the floor instead, sharing a late and unexpected meal against dusty, floral bed sheets.

Daryl insisted on holding watch most nights. A simple thing that always seemed to lull you to sleep faster knowing that he was there, he was watching. You stopped doubting if he would keep you safe a while ago. He always did, after all. But tonight, it’d been your turn to do the same for him, to wait for each of those heavy breaths to come and the gentle flutter of his eyes as he fell deeper and deeper into sleep.

That walker had almost got him.

Really almost got him. If you hadn’t fired a bullet when you did, you would have spent the night digging a grave. All for some gas to fill a car you still had no idea where to drive. It was always just the next town, the next house, the next store, the next—

He let you throw your arms around him after the last of the dead had fallen, even if his muscles turned to stone when you did. And he listened after you told him to rest first. Perhaps the memory of that loose, unbridled fear in your eyes had turned him to putty in your hands, for the time being.

It was only a couple of hours before sunrise when he woke up. He asked you to rest, too. Whatever you still could get.

The last thing you wanted was to sleep, to give in to your heavy eyelids and fall away from the world. Not when you could still smell the walker’s rot, could still hear Daryl’s heavy grunts. The crack of that bullet breaking through that monster’s skull. No. No, you wanted to be here. With him.

But you were putty in his hands, as always.

It'd barely been halfway through his turn on guard when an old nightmare slipped its way into your subconscious. A morbid twist of Daryl’s neck ripping underneath that walker’s teeth into the sky high flames you’d never forget from the early days. As you began to toss, the squeaking of your mattress pulled him away from the window. His chest ached to hear the mumble of your fragile voice around incoherent pleads, and then that name— the same name over and over.

He woke you up.

The haunting touch of the dead, cold and cruel, slipped away with the curl of his warm, merciful fingers squeezing around your shoulder. It’d taken more than a few seconds to realize his features weren’t twisted in terror and pain, like all those other faces that you could barely remember anymore had been. Then there was the drumming beat of your heart as you sat up and clung onto him, for the second time that day.

After you let go of him, he sat back on your bed, quiet and rigid as a statue. Back to his usual, touch-adverse self.

So you sat there, listening to your breathing slow and the whistle of the night’s air sneaking past that cracked window.

“I’m sorry,” you finally mumbled, brushing your messy hair away from your face.

The stream of moonlight that slipped through the break in the curtains reached across your face. He followed the movement of your hand, heard the rumble of your voice, thick with sleep, and seemed to warm back up.

Slowly.

He swallowed. “Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.”

You nodded, fear shifting into numbness.

“You alright?”

The moonlight fell on him too, highlighting the concern that laced his eyes.

“Mhm,” you hummed.

It was about the most you could muster out; you could still feel the ruthless grasp of dead fingers around your neck.

It wasn’t convincing, of course. That look on his face didn’t let up.

“I’m okay,” you reiterated with a deep breath.

His eyes flickered over you one last time before he finally conceded.

“Alright.”

Daryl shifted back again, looking down to the bed. The sheets were thrown back. Your legs curled up to your chest. He had this burning thought— one that had been simmering for a while now, that made him freeze up with fear of his own. Would it help to brush that one loose strand of hair behind your ear? The one you missed? Maybe then you’d hold him again. That seemed to make you feel better, somehow. All he knew was it made him feel warm and—

He stood up, somewhat abruptly.

“I still got a couple hours, if ya wanna…“

“No,” you blurted. “No, I’m not— I’m not tired anymore.”

He nodded and offered an alternative. No prying and no more nightmares. Just distractions.

That was how the pair of you ended up on the floor. Daryl eating pig's feet from a jar and you playing up your disgust, because the reality was, you’d eaten far worse than pig’s feet in the last few years.

“Some fresh game, diet soda, pig’s feet,” Daryl smirked as he wiped his hands clean. “You’d have yourself a white trash brunch.”

“A delicacy,” you teased.

“More fillin’ than your corn.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Whatever. I’ll stick to my corn, thanks.”

“Your loss.” Daryl took another bite. “Merle ‘n I used to fight over these.”

You huffed a laugh, “Seriously?”

“Mhm. He was a sneaky bastard. Used to wait till I looked away, then swipe ‘em off my plate.”

“Like a dog?”

He chuckled, “Wouldn't be the first time someone called him tha’.”

“Oh? He didn’t get along well with the ladies?”

“Merle thought he did. Don’t think no one else agreed.”

You gave him a small laugh. Though, truth be told, the talk of brothers, no matter how joking, was starting to weigh on your chest. It always boiled back down to him, and you couldn’t think about him right now— not if you wanted your eyes to stay dry and your heart to beat that steady rhythm in your chest.

So you backtracked.

“You ate a lot of white trash brunches?”

“Didn't have much else.”

“Didn’t cook?”

“Didn’t know how. Didn’t have no one to teach me, neither. Not unless ya count over a fire.”

Every meal you’d had in the last two years had been cooked over a fire.

“It counts,” you said.

“Did you cook?”

“Mhm. Loved it,” you sighed. “I was pretty good, too.”

“Better than canned soup?”

“Much better.”

“My mom used to cook. Can’t remember it much, though.”

He had a timid look in his eye, and you held your breath. Ready to share your sympathies— which felt all too frequent, these days.

“She died when I was a kid. ‘Round the same age as Carl.”

“Who’s Carl?”

It was Daryl’s turn to hold his breath.

“He, uh,” he cleared his throat. Shifted in his spot. That mention hadn’t been intentional, it seemed. A slip in memory— that you were new to him. You’d never lived at the prison, never known the people he did. That the only thing the two of you shared, beyond the old stories you shared during quiet nights, were the last two months.

“He’s Rick’s kid.”

He had another look. One that made the air smell like rushing waters and moss.

You felt the words bubble up your throat before you even knew what they were.

“The one I—?“

“Yeah.” He nodded.

The one you saved.

“Sounded like it.”

You took a deep breath of that musty motel room air.

“We didn’t have many kids who knew how to use a shotgun. Never mind kill a man.”

“Carl did?”

“He had to. Growing up on the road. The first time we fought the Governor.”

“Poor kid.”

“He’s tough.”

“Still. I can’t imagine growing up like this.”

Daryl’s eyes fell to his fingers, fiddling with his thumb. Your heart squeezed when his shoulders, as broad and strong as they were, seemed to curl in on themselves. Before you could even register your concern for whatever was running through his head, another question tumbled out of you.

“You think it might be easier?”

He shrugged. “Ya jus’ get used to it. Shit being ugly.”

“I guess,” you mumbled.

But hearing those words, that thick drawl of his tired voice, made something sting inside of you like salt rubbed into a wound. From the small bits he shared, Daryl’s upbringing never sounded easy, or particularly loving. A brother who neglected him most of his life, a mother who died when he was just a boy, and a father he’d never mention. Even if his life had prepared him to survive this sick and twisted world, it didn’t seem fair.

“It still doesn’t make it right.”

Daryl didn’t say much after that. You didn’t want to offend him— you hoped you didn’t. Maybe that comment made it obvious you’d been thinking about his past and his family… Those scars. No matter how hard you tried to forget them, to ignore the intrusive thoughts of how they might’ve come to be, the sight was ingrained in your memory.

So much for lightening the mood.

It was silent. Long enough for your words to sink into the stale air, and for the both of you to finish your snacks. The empty cans sat on the dusty nightstand to your left and your head rested against the back of the mattress. Your eyes almost closed, too.

But with that dark silence came those haunting memories again. Flashes of that nightmare. The desperation trapped in dying screams. Fire and blood.

You stood up. Back turned to the quick look Daryl threw your way, you dug through that bag you packed full after raiding the town’s general store. It was almost bare, save the three walkers you took out, but you managed to find the last of the canned food that now sat on the floor, empty, and a stray sterile pad, kicked underneath one of the vacant shelves.

“Should change your bandage.”

“Alright,” he agreed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed.

It took everything in him to keep his eyes off that pensive expression of yours. Features twisted in contemplation, and a hint of horror, maybe. You tried to hide it from him. In a way, he hid too, concerning himself with only the buttons of his flannel and the leather vest peeling off his back instead of that festering question he couldn’t seem to stop asking. Are you okay? It sat in his heart like a shard of glass, digging deeper and deeper the harder he tried to pry it away— to ignore the urge.

The fabric of his shirt hung off the side of his body. Enough room that he knew you’d be able to sneak underneath and change his bandage without bother while keeping the rest of his torso hidden.

As if you hadn’t already seen more than enough of his tanned skin to keep you up at night with unsolicited thoughts of every kind.

Heartbreak.

Desire.

The bed squeaked as you sat down behind him, feet hanging off the edge as you turned to see the exit wound. You tugged the old bandage off. It was hard to tell what it looked like with nothing but that thin peak of moonlight and the low flicker of candlelight, but with the pass of your fingertips around the wound, you could tell his skin was flat again. No inflammation, no discolouration save that hint of a healing bruise. There was a fresh layer of white tissue where the bullet had passed out of him, which was the best sign of all. You ripped open the sterile pad you found and taped half over the same spot.

Then you moved to the front to do it all over again. Doing your absolute best to keep your focus on the wound and not his watchful eyes, following you as softly as that candlelight danced across his skin.

“How’s it lookin', doc?”

As much as he was trying to distract himself from that heavy look on your face, barely relieved with his stupid quip that you spared the slightest smile for, his curiosity was getting the better of him. Weaving in like the roots of a weed. It still felt foreign to concern himself so attentively with someone without that cursed last name of his; Merle was all he gave a shit about before, and even then, his brother usually rejected that care. Called him a pussy for giving a damn. Then they ended up at the quarry, and it turned out he wasn’t entirely heartless once another Dixon wasn’t around to taunt him.

“Good. I don’t think you’ll need this for much longer.”

Truth was, Daryl didn’t give a damn about his shoulder right now. Not when your eyes were hazed like they’d been when he woke you up.

“How do you feel?” You asked.

It took him a second to remember you meant to be tending to him, right now. Not the other way around.

“Fine.”

He rolled his shoulder as if to prove it.

“How ‘bout you?”

Your eyes stilled, for a moment, then snuck back up to his. As if he’d just caught you red-handed. Another hum hadn’t even the chance to slip past your lips, but you could already tell he thought you were full of it. A slight narrow of blue, flickering over the way you'd been biting your lip and your heavy eyes. He gave you a chance to brush it off again, if you wanted.

Somehow that made your resolve crumble away. Knowing that he saw past it all, but he'd never force you to bare it to him, either. But then those walls you put up years ago were ground down to sand, running through your fingers.

“I don’t have them often. Not anymore.”

“You said a name,” Daryl mumbled. “Alex.”

Pouring free.

You gave a soft nod. Hoped that ringing in your ears would go away as fast as it came on.

“My brother.”

Just like that, his eyes were starting to burn you again, so you looked at your hands. In your lap, where you sat on your knees, just next to him. Close enough to wrap his shoulder. Close enough that you could see his own hands resting on his thighs, fingers just brushing against the frayed edges of his torn jeans.

You picked at the strands of your own, right beside that numb spot on your thigh where a scar was forming.

“I don’t remember it much, but I think it was from the start. When we were at Westwood.”

“Wha’s that?”

“It was a middle school just outside of Atlanta. Some army had set up a base there until they could find a way to move us all to Fort Benning.”

There was a brief moment when his eyes widened. He had a curious stare that forced you to look up before a flash of green sleeping bags and the silver packaging of MRE rations pulled you back into the memory.

“There weren’t a lot of us. Under a dozen soldiers. Few of us from the city. Most of the kids ran off with their parents— if they showed up.”

It hit harder than the Governor had stabbed you, right then, that you’d forgotten their faces. Their voices. Their names. Memories shadowed with ghosts who you couldn’t even tell apart anymore… The smell of burning flesh lingered better than their smiles.

“It went bad quickly.”

He didn’t ask how. Didn’t need to really, the end was all the same. One day it was gone, and so were they, and the road became your path again.

“You ever made it to Fort Benning?”

The edges of his voice had dulled, filed down until the words were nothing but a feather passing along your cheek, beckoning your attention his way instead. Sometimes you wondered how he knew you were picking up the shovel, ready to dig your way into a pit of fear and regret, before the handle ever touched your hand.

You took in a breath. “Yeah. It was nothing but ash, though.”

“We were headed there. Back at the start.”

“Fort Benning?”

“Mhm.”

“What happened?”

“Got held up on Hershel’s farm, instead. Rick ran into some guys one day— bad guys. They told him it fell. Badly.”

Another flash of the dead.

“It did.”

You looked back down.

“Did those bad guys take the farm?”

“Nah. We left ‘fore they found us. Herd ran us out. Spent the whole winter on the road after tha’, runnin’ from place to place…”

Ever so slightly, Daryl stiffened. You knew what that meant.

Until the prison.

“What was the farm like?” You asked.

There was a pleading tone to your voice, twirling up the edges of your words in a way that reminded him of the girl who couldn’t stop asking if he’d stay or leave, who would limp behind him after he silently scolded himself for helping you so much. Back when he didn’t care if your leg hurt or not, or at least, was better at pretending so.

“We weren’t there long.” He shrugged nonchalantly as if there wasn’t a string as taut as his crossbow squeezing around his heart. “Maybe a month. But, it was the nicest place we’d been. Had trees, big old ones. Runnin' water. Fields’a crops and a couple’a horses.” He added that last one even if Nelly had thrown him so hard he wasn’t eager to ride another horse again. “But we were always fighting each other. No one knew what the hell they were doin’.”

Your brow raised. “Not even you?”

“Thought I did.” He shook his head. “I tried.”

A breeze snuck through the cracked window, flickering the flames around you. He took a breath.

“Still am.”

“Me too.”

The shadows cast across your face were softer now. The sun rose on the opposite side of the motel, but he could still see that hope shimmer in your pretty smile. A softer, dusty blue lit up the sky with ribbons of amber dancing across; orange reflecting onto the colour of your eyes he knew so well. Tracing the edge of your curled lips, the curve of your cheekbones. Your hair was getting long, now loose from the toss and turn of sleep. He didn’t see it down often, but it framed your face just as kindly as the light did.

You took in a deep breath. It sounded less strained than before.

“We should head back to the car.”

Daryl nodded.

Then you smirked, and just like that, the charm that made his chest fill with warmth was back.

“It stinks like pig’s feet in here.”

—

The wind danced around you, a whirlwind of fallen leaves and that light dusting of snow, sparking like sugar in the sun. The sky was the same as it’d been the last few days. Pale grey clouds with pockets of blue peeking through. The sun’s harshest rays were always hidden away in the name of winter.

You spared a glance to Daryl who walked by your side, if not slightly behind. Hunter's eyes roamed over the edges of the railroad you passed through, ignoring that crunch of gravel under your feet while he waited for the snap of a branch or the squeak of a nearby rabbit. Crossbow in hand, bolt loaded like always. The sight of him trailing your steps almost made the cold air bite less.

That hopeless air in you felt lighter than you remembered, too.

Almost fading.

The car wasn’t far, now. Maybe twenty more minutes. The rumble of empty stomachs had sent you behind the motel instead of through the town you looted yesterday, where the train tracks cut through the forest, hoping to find some breakfast before you finally filled the empty gas tank and started on the road, again.

Ahead, a rust-coloured train car sat on the second track. A few doodles of white and black spray paint coated the sides, but half of them were covered by a hanging banner, beige and held up by four strings. The bold-blocked words SANCTUARY FOR ALL, COMMUNITY FOR ALL, THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE were painted in a similarly rusty-coloured red. Underneath the banner was a sign, wrapped in plastic but the lines of a map were as clear as a summer day. Blue, red, and green all lead to a black star in the centre-left labelled TERMINUS.

The pair of you shared a look, your eyebrows drawn together in a mixture of confusion and shock and his eyes narrowed into slits. Inspecting the poster for any kind of warning, any threat, as if a walker was about to jump from behind it.

“They were broadcastin’ this,” Daryl muttered, after a long and tense moment.

Your eyes widened. “When?”

“Before the prison,” he said, sparing you another uncomfortable look before he continued to stare at the carefully wrapped sign. “We heard it on the radio when we were lookin’ for those meds. Couldn’t make it out then, but this is it: ‘those who arrive, survive’.”

The wind tickled your skin, goosebumps rising and bangs fluttering across your face as you lingered by that sign. In the breeze, a long strap of white fabric caught around your boot, pulled from underneath the train car. You bent down to grab it, brow furrowed at the sight of a used strip of gauze.

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Someone was just here.”

The crossbow was held tighter then, as if he could be any more on edge.

“How do you know?” He asked through a clenched jaw.

“The blood.” It looked like Daryl’s had when you changed his bandages every couple of hours instead of days. “It’s fresh.”

Your eyes snapped to the map again— how big it was. It covered most of the state, by the looks of it. You could roughly pinpoint the prison in the upper left corner and could imagine lines of your own where you’d travelled these months. Between pharmacies and cabins and random sides of the road.

And whoever had left this bandage… they’d seen it, too.

“Daryl, look at how far these go.” Your hand traced the lines of railroads, sprawling across Georgia. “This can’t be the only sign. There’s the prison,” you pointed out, “If they have signs across all these tracks then… your people could’ve seen this.”

Slowly, your hand fell back to your side. The look in your eye was like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds; a glimpse of that brightness he missed so fondly. Sparked by the glimmering hope in your eye, Daryl could feel a flicker of warmth catch in his chest again, and the realization of what you meant sunk in.

“If any of them saw this map, would they go?”

He hadn’t even known he was nodding along until that slight curl of your lip lifted.

“Maybe we don't need to find them, just this place.”

Daryl chewed his lip. The lines on the map curved their way through Georgia like vines, crawling through the north, east, west, and south like the ivy he saw across every abandoned building. Who was to say this place was even there anymore? Putting signs up like that, broadcasting their whereabouts for anyone to hear. It sounded more like a last-chance pipe dream than Fort Benning, and he’d already heard how that played out.

He’d had enough of those soul-crushing losses. Enough fill for an entire life, and then some. He wasn’t sure if he could risk that again. Not when you were just about everything he had left.

“I dunno. ’S far.”

“This is our best lead— our only lead.”

He shook his head. “We dunno ‘em. Dunno if it’s even real.”

“You didn’t know me.”

There you were, with raised brows and that look in your eye that somehow reminded him of the forest’s comforts— soft brown fur of nimble squirrels jumping from branch to branch, the bright blue sky breaking through even the thickest trees, green surrounding him like a blanket.

“And really, where else do we have to go?”

A forest he’d spend his whole life exploring.

Eventually, he gave in. A habit he seemed to be picking up when it came to you.

“Guess it’s worth a try.”

And there was that smile again, blooming with new hope.

————————————————————

-> part 12

A/N: omg hi. I took a long and unplanned hiatus. I won't get into it too much but to recap, in case you care/are curious: I went to nyc for the dead city premiere and had a blast, graduated university, started weightlifting (kinda replaced my twd obsession LOL), got really into GOT, and am now back because for some reason daryl dixon being in paris (????) got me going once more. anyway. im excited to continue this series again!! even if it took every cell in my body to finish this chapter LOL. kinda hate it kinda love it. idk. WHATEVERRRR.

more to come. I promise. thank u for reading and being so patient with me <3<3<3 all the love.

if you’re reading this, thank you! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. please feel free to leave feedback, it helps so much and I love to read it. have a lovely day <3

AYG taglist: @fuseburner @itsmeatballworld @rickysgrimes @stevenknightmarc @huffledor-able541 @your-shifting-gurl @hopefulatrocity @strnqer @dreamtofus @fillechatoyante @suniloli @kiaslily @poubxlle @normanplusdaryl @sseleniaa

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guess-my-next-obsession · 1 year

Text

Breaking Up Slowly: Chapter One

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

rating: M (breakups, angst, mentions of death/loss, love triangle sort of (tess is dead in this but still), closed off!joel)

word count: 2.8k

series masterlist

Relationships are hard.

Breakups are harder.

Especially in an apocalypse.

Especially when you’re still traveling with your ex-boyfriend and his newfound teenage ward.

You and Joel had been through hell and back together in Boston over the last five or so years, and you credited yourself for getting him out of the hunter life and into the less violent, though nowhere near wholesome, life of smuggling.

You spent five years beside him, a couple of them as a distant acquaintance, one of them as a good friend, but the last two were spent in a far more complicated relationship.

Everyone in the quarantine zone knew that you and Joel had something going on, however vaguely defined it was. He was yours and you were his, and for a while that was all that mattered. But over time, his ever-growing closeness to Tess had started to get to you. Both of them swore that nothing had gone down between them, but no one could deny their unspoken connection, including you.

Not wanting to lose him and not wanting to be betrayed by him, you offered him the freedom and space to pursue her, secretly praying that he would decline your offer and finally tell you those three words that you had practically been begging to hear from him for the last year, but to your shock and horror, he agreed to the break.

So, here you found yourself a couple months later, caught up in Joel and Tess’s mess, smuggling an allegedly immune fourteen-year old out of the city with your ex-boyfriend mourning the very recent loss of the woman he left you for.

Sound like a good time, right?

“It’s dead ‘round here. Might as well sleep here tonight,” Joel announced artlessly as the three of you entered an abandoned motel on the side of the highway.

The three of you carefully inspected the tiny motel for infected or spores, most of the rooms too destroyed to sleep soundly in, but no trace of anything dangerous.

“Alright, kid,” Joel pointed at the inside of the casino themed room he’d just cleared. “You can stay there tonight. Looks like you might even have some pillows and blankets.”

“Hell yeah.” She smiled as she ran past you and into the room, her approval loud enough to hear from outside in the parking lot where you stood kicking rocks.

“Hey.” Joel’s voice was both a balm and a dagger to your heart.

“Yeah?” You turned your head to look at him. His head was tilted, brows creased with concern, thumbs tucked into his backpack straps, looking at you as though he was disappointed. “What, Joel?”

“I just…just wanted to check on ya,” his eyes dropped to the pavement beneath his feet, a clear tell of his deceit. “Make sure you’re okay.”

“Joel,” you sighed, your entire body filled with an emotion that felt closest to hatred, though you longed for him too much to hate him. “We don’t have to be friends. It doesn’t…take away from whatever it was we used to be.” He lifted his eyes to meet yours, the crease between his brows deepening. “It’s not about us anymore, it’s about Ellie. So…let’s just do what we have to do to keep her safe and not worry about whatever—“

“You keep sayin’ that damn word. Whatever. Nothin’ you and I have been through has been whatever.” You were shocked by his outrage and your face didn’t shy away from showing it. You weren’t sure you’d ever seen him visibly emote this way before—that had also been a major point of contention on your relationship.

“Okay…I’m just saying we don’t have to try and force this—“

“Right, you wanna talk about forcin’ people into things…that’s rich.” You narrowed your eyes at his scoff, wondering what on earth he was talking about. “You’re right. I won’t force you to talk to me anymore. You do what you want.”

Leaving you stunned, Joel walked off into his own room, slamming the door behind him. You had no idea what had gotten into him to make him act this way. He’d always been so level headed in your relationship, rarely giving into the little fights you liked to pick, but here he was throwing a tantrum because you didn’t want to talk to him?

Whatever was going on with him didn’t matter to you any longer. He’d made his choice the day he agreed to end your relationship so that he could pursue one with someone else.

Walking into the only half-decent room left, you let out a chuckle at the sheer irony of landing on the motel’s honeymoon suite.

The bed was shaped into a heart, the red satin sheets now tattered and dusty but still in decent enough condition to look like a paradise compared to what you’d been sleeping on before. Setting your bag down by the door, you kept your pistol in hand as you double and then triple checked the room for any signs of spores, the room clean as far as your thorough eyes could tell. Allowing yourself a moment to catch your breath, you laid down on the dusty mattress and let out a sigh.

It had been a hasty decision, deciding to join Joel and Tess’s mission. You’d bumped into them on accident while trying to find Robert for yourself, the man having owed you a hefty amount of supplies. It was an awkward meeting, your eyes unable to meet either of theirs knowing that everything you ever wanted was right in front of you but you couldn’t have him because he wanted someone else more.

Getting roped into their business was a complete misstep by you, the allure of some of their guns and ammo in return for your help too good to pass up. It wasn’t until the three of you discovered Ellie’s secret that you really started to panic, the stakes now higher than you could’ve ever prepared yourself for. But then everything at the capitol happened, and as much as you didn’t want to stay here with the man you loved who didn’t love you back, you felt an obligation to both the little girl he was tasked with protecting and the woman that gave her life for Ellie’s cause.

“Hey,” the fourteen year old interrupted your thinking, knocking on your door. “We’re heating up some beans if you want any.”

“Yeah,” you cleared your throat, sitting up and rubbing your palms over your face in an attempt to rid yourself of the stress brought on by that beautiful man a few doors down. “I’ll be right out.”

With one last moment to sulk over the yearning in your heart mixed with the resentment you held for the choice he had made, you stood up and tucked your pistol into the back of your jeans, rolling your neck before opening your door.

Ellie was leaning up against the outside of the motel, spooning a can of warmed up pinto beans into her mouth while Joel sat on a curb, hunched over an open flame heating up another can. You swallowed your feelings and approached him, sitting down on the opposite side of the fire.

“I can make my own,” you offered, hoping that the gesture would be seen as one of kindness, but the scowl on his face as he looked at you proved otherwise.

“Don’t wanna talk, don’t want me to cook your damn food…” He mumbled to himself, your eyes rolling at the sound of his gruff tone—the same one that used to part your legs and make you drip with need.

“Joel,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “I was just trying to be polite.”

“Polite?” He snapped, as though it was the most offensive thing in the world.

“Yes! Polite. Something you could strive to be every now and again.” You snapped back, instantly transported to your relationship, the constant bickering and back and forth. You suddenly felt dizzy, your mind and body split into two different moments in time and leaving you nauseous. Standing up, you decided you’d starve before continuing to put yourself through this sort of cruelty, his mere existence too much for your fragile heart to handle.

“Damn it, hold on now,” Joel stood up and left the fire, following you into your room before you had the chance to tell him to fuck off. “Why are you bein’ like this?”

“Why am I being like this? Are you kidding me?” You turned around and shouted, the door wide open with Ellie right outside listening in on the drama. “Joel, why do you think I’m being like this? I was in love with you and you left me for someone else!”

“You told me to leave!” He shouted back, his voice booming. “You were so goddamned convinced that I didn’t want you. You never even gave me the choice to stay, not when you were already pushin’ me away.”

“You…you didn’t love Tess?” You asked, your voice closer to a whisper. Joel rolled his eyes and sighed at your question.

“What the hell does that matter?” You scoffed, waving your hand at him. You could understand his loving two people at the same time, but his refusal to admit that Tess meant a lot to him was insulting to not only her, but you too.

Would he be so cavalier if you were to die in front of him? Would he struggle to admit that he loved you like he struggles to admit he loved her?

“Joel, it’s late. We’ve been running all fucking day. Can we please just try and get some rest?” You pled, knowing the chance of sleep coming easily to you tonight was slim but needing a bit of reprieve from his presence.

“Sure. Whatever you want. Always whatever you want.” He huffed, waving his hand at you as he turned to walk out of your room, Ellie not subtle in her eavesdropping. “Come on, Ellie. Go get some rest. The queen demands it.”

You rolled your eyes and shut the door, not that it offered an insane amount of privacy given the shattered windows, but still, you needed a fucking moment. Just one.

One moment of necessary seclusion turned into a few hours of good rest, your body and mind more exhausted than you realized.

You woke up in the middle of the heart shaped bed, the moon high in the sky, the night peaceful until a soft rustle outside forced your body into fight or flight, your heart racing as you reached for your pistol. You cocked the gun, holding it out as you pressed your back against the wall by the broken window, carefully turning your head to scan the dark scene around you.

Seeing nothing but a lit campfire and your ex sitting down in front of it, you allowed yourself to breathe out your panic, the safety of your pistol being switched back on before you tucked it into the back of your jeans. You took in a slow inhale as you debated whether or not to go back to bed or to join him, the quietness of the night promising a less hostile interaction. With a bit of necessary courage, you opened your door and watched as his head whipped over in the direction of the scraping sound, his hand gripping his shotgun instinctively until he locked his eyes on yours.

“Didn’t know you were awake,” he mumbled, his eyes returning to the burning orange of the fire. You said nothing as you approached it, sitting down beside him, giving the two of you a foot of space between your bodies.

A few minutes of silence washed over the two of you, the only sounds being the crackling of the fire and some faint cricket chirping in the distance. It almost felt peaceful, but one glance over to Joel’s profile reminded you that things couldn’t be further from.

You wanted to reach out, stroke his jaw like you used to, maybe rest your head on his shoulder and ask him to distract you with a song, but he wasn’t that man anymore—not to you, at least. This man…this body of ice and chill and anger…you didn’t know him. You had no right to act as though you did.

“You were the first person I ever let myself forget myself with,” he confessed as though he could read your mind. Your lips parted as you watched him clench his jaw, his head shaking and eyes pointed at the flames as though they were his enemy. “Let myself forget too much about this world when I was with you.”

“That was the part I liked best,” you added, voice small like a child. Joel turned his pointed glare to you, his eyes softening as he took in the way the shadows played upon your face.

“I did love Tess. Wanted to love her more than I loved you. She…didn’t want me soft. It was easier.” You felt your eyes welling with tears as he continued looking deep into them, as though he was trying to speak directly to your soul. “You needed me to be the kind of soft that gets people killed out here. And for a while, I let it happen. I guess I started pullin’ away because I knew how it would all end. I’ve seen it a thousand times over. People get comfortable and people die. But sometimes I think…if I could do it all over again…I think I woulda never left you. Woulda fought for you, woulda…woulda been soft like you needed me to be. Because losing Tess…that hurt ain’t nothin’ compared to sittin’ here havin’ you look at me like I’m a stranger.”

“I only look at you like that because I don’t recognize…the way you look at me. I don’t recognize it.” You gestured to him. “I was used to something so much…more tender, I guess.”

“I know,” he sighed and nodded his head, finally taking his eyes off you. “I don’t…don’t feel any different about you than I used to, but…it ain’t smart to do this all over again. Especially now that we got Ellie to look out for. I can’t—I won’t risk all our lives over me and you.”

“You’ve always been better at shutting off your feelings than me,” you let out a breathy chuckle, not amused in the slightest but needing to hide the fact that you actually wanted to sob until you couldn’t breathe anymore.

With a sharp inhale and a sigh, you stood up, swallowing the lump in your throat at you mumbled a “good night”. Before you could leave the warmth surrounding the fire, Joel stood up and grabbed your wrist with just enough force to stop you, your eyes locked on the contact before slowly lifting to his. You could see the need in them, the desire to fuck his feelings away, but it only made you sadder.

“Joel, I can’t…” Your strong exterior crumbled a bit under his dark, needy gaze. “You may be able to separate everything…to shut your feelings off, but I…” You choked on your emotions, your throat swelling so much that your voice grew deeper, raspier. “I love you.”

He froze for a moment, his hazel eyes studying the sincerity in yours until it became to much for him to take.

“Alright,” he pulled his hand away swiftly, his eyes dropping to the gravel beneath your feet. “I’ll, uh, see you in the mornin’.”

Your chest ached with the desire to have him fight for you, to rewire his brain into loving you the way you needed him to.

“Just…you don’t have to say it, you don’t need to become soft for me and risk your fucking survival, Joel, but just, please…I need to know that I’m not crazy. That I didn’t fucking make this all up in my head. I need to know that you loved me.” You pled in a broken whisper, tears streaming down your face regardless of how hard you tried to will them not to. Joel lifted his eyes back up to yours, taking a moment before parting his lips.

You could see the old Joel somewhere in the soft green of his irises, the affection he used to freely pour over you distant, but not absent. You allowed yourself to imagine things from his perspective, to lose so much so long ago, for survival to be the only thing he’s known, to have someone come along and threaten to disrupt that. For a split second, not even long enough to be considered a moment in time, you no longer ached. You understood him, understood why he couldn’t love you like you wanted him to—like you needed him to. You didn’t hate him anymore, you weren’t jealous or yearning, you simply understood.

“Course I loved you,” he finally confessed, almost angry with you. “I love you everyday. I love you…right now. But…love will only get us killed out here.”

Joel walked back to his fire after that, not bothering to offer something soft to help cushion the blow of his harsh truths. You bit your quivering lip and nodded, your eyes flickering up to the moon hanging up in the sky.

You almost felt embarrassed that it had to witness your rejection, but something about that white ball in the sky looking down at you offered you a comfort nothing else in this world could. You wished it a goodnight instead of Joel out of spite before retiring to your room, determined to get at least a few more hours of rest before the sun rose and you had to face reality again, this time in brutal daylight.

taglist: @uselsshuman @joelmillerscoffee @wildemaven @axshadows @sherala007 @browneyes-issac @kimm4710 @stxrrylunatic @sara-alonso @paulalikestuff @chxpsi @auberosier @mashomasho @harriedandharassed @trickstersp8 @trinkets01 @jlmaddinson @laureliciousdefinition @oh-no-a-whovian @buoyfriend @chorraich @extraneous-trip @oliviajdjarin @wumpsquill @love-affair-with-fandoms @graciexmarvel @amb11 @t0fudaddy @reigndropss @wondeerfull @multifand0m-gal0re @bfences @hypnoash @chronic-aly @wheresarizona @pedropascalsx @xocalliexo @myswficlist @untitledarea @lexloon @bbyanarchist @alwayslurkinginthebackground @rocketrhap3000 @fishingforpike (sorry if your tag isn’t working! and let me know if you’d like to be added!)

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller reader insert #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller #the last of us #tlou joel #joel tlou #tlou #tlou fanfiction #Spotify

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dottiedearly · 1 month

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Power and Control (p.1)

Lucifer Magne Morningstar X Reader

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Eventual Smut/NSFW (not in this part.) [Minors DNI]

Fic below the cut!

“What the hell is all that noise,” you ask, slowly coming back to consciousness. As you open your eyes, streets lined with red, both of pavement and of blood, fill your vision. People screaming in the streets around you causes your head to pound, still not entirely sure where you are. Taking in your surroundings, a deep red hue permeates through the entirety of the area.

Ah. That’s right. You died. Shit… wait, if you were dead, then by the looks of things….. awe fuck! So hell is real after all. One shitty way to figure that out, that’s for sure.

“At least I’m not burning in eternal flames..” you think to yourself. Brushing off what you can only assume to be bits of cracked pavement from your harsh landing, you stand up and take a deep breath.

Ew. Hell stinks.

As much as this sucks, you figure you might as well make the most of it. Considering you’re not bound to burn until the end of days, all in all, things could be worse. Could certainly be a lot better though. I mean, damn, you know you weren’t the greatest person out there, but hell? Come on. Surely there has to have been some mistake. You need to find someone who can give you answers, and quick. The last thing you want is to smell rotting flesh and the coppery scent of blood every time you so much as go out to get groceries until the end of time.

Looking up at the building looming over you, lights flash invitingly.

“Hazbin Hotel.”

Yeah, this is the place. A quick glance down at the flier in your hand confirms it, the address stated matching up with the location. Seems a bit dodgy, but the woman who enthusiastically handed you the paper to begin with seemed more trustworthy and friendly than anyone else you had met in this shithole the past couple of weeks. A little too enthusiastic, maybe… Oh well. You’re here now, it would be rude to turn around.

With a small push, you open the doors in front of you to reveal a uniquely decorated hotel lobby. A few people are scattered about, but all look at you expectantly. The first to speak up is the lady you met earlier. Her name was… Charlie, you believe? Her eyes light up as she notices you walking past the front entrance, and wastes no time walking up to you with a large smile plastered on her face.

“You came! I mean, I hoped you would, but I didn’t actually expect you to! You didn’t turn around after opening the front door, most people don’t bother to even walk through it, much less continue to make their way in afterwards! I’m just so excited to have a new guest, and-“ she’s cut off when she notices your wide-eyed and slightly overwhelmed expression. A few snickers from one of the guests near the bar cause her back up and calm herself down. “Sorry! Sorry… Excuse me. In case you had forgotten, I’m Charlie, Princess of Hell. Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel.” A tender smile finds its way across her face as she gives a slight bow.

Wait. Princess of Hell? That’s like… a thing? So, if she’s the princess, then…

“Can I meet your dad?” You blurt out suddenly, the only thought in your mind being on if you could talk with him and find out how you ended up here, or how to get out. Upon hearing this, Charlie’s face turns to one of bewilderment. She’s clearly not the only one shocked by your bluntness, as a loud laugh can be heard across the room where the snicker from earlier originated, followed by the sound of a fist repeatedly banging the bar table and “Who’s this chick think she is? Tha balls on that bitch! And here I thought I was tha most forward person here.” It makes you realize how utterly ridiculous you sounded.

“I- ah…” Charlie begins to come up with something to say as a response. She clears her throat. “I’m not so sure if that’s-“ She’s cut off again. But this time, by a much louder voice. One that seeped power, one that commanded everyone in the room to listen just by the sound of it.

“A chance to meet a loyal subject? And one who’s going to be staying at my daughter’s hotel to boot? I’d be crazy to not want to have a chat with this little lady!” A man in a long white tailcoat makes his way down the stairs, shiny boots clacking against the floor with every step. You try to get a good look at him, but your vision is obscured by a large white hat with a shining apple placed on it. Is that…?

The cold metal of a red apple adorned cane lightly touches the bottom of your chin, gently tilting your face upwards to look at the man in front of you.

Holy shit.

Red pupils focus themselves onto your eyes, fixated on you. You can feel a certain power about the aura eminating from him. There’s no question about it. This is, undoubtedly,

“Lucifer Magne Morningstar. At your service.”

#18+ only #hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer magne #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne morningstar #hazbin x reader #hazbin x you #hazbin x y/n #lucifer x reader

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the-fo0l · 2 years

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DBD Pyramid head x reader

Notes: this is the first fic I've ever published so hope it's okay??????? otherwise i might cry

Warnings: none, just ph being ph

Once you catch the executioner's attention it's pretty much impossible to get rid of

He never really thought much of the survivors, he didn't think much of anyone really. Just because the entity made him be there doesn't mean he'll care

Yet something about you, the newest survivor, caught his eye

He couldn't see you as sinful or worthy of punishment no matter how hard he looked

He wanted to get closer but the barrier around the survivor camp wouldn't let him through, even though for once he didn't have ill intentions

Luckily for him, one of your first trials happened to be with him

You managed to get the hang of the game pretty quickly. You'd heard a lot about the executioner, that he was a merciless killing machine, just about the last killer you'd want to cross.

Naturally hearing these rumors gave you even more pre-trial anxiety than usual.

Thus you decided to keep a low profile for this one. The whole trial you never got close enough to properly see him, you just tried to get the generators working as fast and safe as possible

He didn't seem to be bothering you though, instead, while you were doing gens by yourself, he was picking of your teammates one by one

You only had a couple gens left to go after you finished this one, only when the loud sounds of the engine stopped did you notice how eerily silent it had become

No footsteps, no screams, not even the sound of a large sword dragging across pavement

Where is everyone, they can't all be dead already can they? You become more anxious by the second as the silence somehow gets louder

You're still new to this whole thing, is this normal? No it can't be

With no better idea coming to mind you decide your best option is to hide for a bit

You begin to quietly sneak toward a building in hopes that you'll find a closet to hide in, maybe you'll find one of your teammates, you can only hope

Once in the building you find a couple of closets, as you're about to open the closet door you hear an oh so familiar sound behind you, metal dragging across the floor accompanied by heavy breathing

You freeze in place as you realize he somehow managed to sneak right behind you

As you start to make your move to run he grabs you by the waist and effortlessly hurls you over his shoulder

You try to struggle as hard as you can but it's futile against pyramid's solid grip

For pyramid head this may as well be the best day of his long and wretched life. The first time he gets to be this close to you, holding you feels better than he thought it would. He could get used to this

Your struggles pick up again when you notice you're approaching the hooks but cease when he walks straight past them

'Okay ??????' you think

"Let go asshole! Wh-where are you taking me?" you ask, as if pyramid head could answer

He simply continues to walk and eventually sets you down on the ground, being uncharacteristically gentle

You look up at him, not understanding how you're still alive, you take a look around and see that he's dropped you off right next to the hatch

Pyramid looks down at the cute confused expression on your face and feels an array of emotions he's never known before. He doesn't want to let you go, but doesn't want the entity to get you either so he chose to let you go

From here on out every trial with him is like this and every time your trust for him becomes stronger

Unfortunately, every trial can't be this easy, so 90% of the time the killer hunting you wants nothing more than to flay you alive

And poor pyramid head can't bear to hear you cry the way you do after particularly hard trials so it's time to use a bit of intimidation

Without meeding to speak he gets the point across to the other killers to not mess with you. Pyramid is by far the most feared in the realm. Obviously killers like Michael and Huntress are hard to scare so PH resorts to comforting you instead of seeking revenge

Your fellow survivors are totally jealous of these privileges

Thanks to the kindness he shows you during trials you don't feel the need to be afraid of him when he's watching you from behind the barrier around the survivor camp

He was watching you again. And much to the protest of your friends you felt daring enough to approach

The whole time you were walking closer to him you could feel him looking at you, what you didn't notice was his breathing quickening in anticipation

Maybe this time he could finally touch you?

You stand face to face(?) with him, even though you have to look up at his hulking figure

You hesitantly stick your fingers out beyond the barrier and are pulled into this chest before you even know it

For a moment he simply hugs you while you and your friends are shocked silent

But soon enough he pick you up off the grown and starts carrying you away in his tight hold

"Where are we going?" even though you hadn't expected this you weren't afraid, why would he hurt you now when he's had plenty of chances?

Once he feels far enough away from prying eyes he sets you down and sits beside you, pulling you into his lap where he'll keep you for as long as possible

It's weird, but it's also comforting

Leaning into his warm chest, having his strong arms around you, listening to his steady breathing- it's the most comfortable you've felt since arriving in this hellscape

And hey, his heartbeat is awfully fast huh?

Only for you though, dear reader, only for you

#pyramid head x reader #pyramid head x you #dbd pyramid head #yandere pyramid head x reader #fluff #pyramid head fluff #gn reader #gender neutral reader #yandere dbd x reader

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bruh-anator3000 · 10 months

Text

CAT-astrophic

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

A/n: *pushes rock I live under over and peeks out of the black abyss* Hey, have you guys seen a Car Wash Miguel fic anywhere? I don't know what happened to it but it's no longer here. Might've escaped... anyways, watch this cat for me while I look? Thanks. And don't mind the hot homeless dude who talks to him, they're bonding. *returns into the depths of the void*

Summary: A hot dude won't stop talking to your cat, it's kind of freaking you out.

WC: 1.7k, edited by google docs...

Pairing: Miguel x GN!Reader

Warnings: crack fic, Spider-cat's real name is Sir Jeffords bc i said so, clueless reader, pro outdoor cat (i'm not actually, keep ur cats safe pls), future-ish?, accidentally snuck in some world building, in Lyla we trust 🙏, Miguel in tight clothing bc I also said so, and wait wtf are you doing with a dead rat miguel, AND WTF IS THIS WHITE STUFF DUDE?!

Also no Spanish bc I've done some research and those who do speak it have asked non-native speaker to avoid it, to prevent bad google translations and maintain respect!

Okay, enjoy~

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

You were about to head in for the night when you were not tripped by your cat for his dinner. After a quick search around your apartment, you sighed upon realizing he was still outside. Shrugging on a coat, mismatched slippers, and grabbing a flashlight, you went out to look for him.

Plenty of people told you to keep your cat inside. That it was vital to their health to keep them safe indoors. There were plenty of articles stating the cons of letting a domesticated cat roam freely outside with no supervision. They were also written 80 years ago. The world has changed since then, drastically.

Sure, it would still be smart to keep Sir Jeffords inside. Less late night searches for him, no more worrying if that scratch on his right paw was from running too fast along pavement or something worse. But he came from the life of an alley cat, and no matter what you tried, he had to be out there for a few hours a day. Last time you tried to stop him, he went under your radar for three days. You had a panic attack, worried he didn't love you anymore, but he did eventually come back. Chipper and eager, and he made sure you left his cat door unlocked.

The streets were cleaner than 80 years ago. The people were kinder. The city more accommodating to everyone, even stray animals. Sir Jeffords was mirco chipped, and even if it didn't work for tracking half the time, the shelter folks could scan his neck and drop him back home.

There were no pounds or pest controls anymore, just volunteers who helped poor animals stay warm. And find whoever left them in the streets. It was a crime to leave them now, resulting in 6 months of detention if caught dumping your animal friend into the alleys.

Jeffords was a smart cat. He knew what he was doing. You trusted him. In the event of something bad happening, you made him swore he would come find you right away. Though he couldn't speak, his tail wrapping around your pinky seemed solid enough.

You called out his name, followed by a few 'pspspsps's to really seal the deal. Your flashlight shining in the darker corners of the streets he may be hiding in. Cats and their dark, unreachable corners, Sir Jeffords fell victim to any cozy spot he could barely tuck himself into.

It wasn't until a few blocks away, a little past the bank, when you heard a meow. Very similar to his, you quietly sped your pace, wanting to grab your kitty and go home. The closer you got, it seemed more like he was responding to someone else more than you.

"-and your service is always appreciated." You heard a deep voice whisper. Their voice a grumble echoing through the alley they hid in. "You're one of our best." Your brows pinching together, you turned the corner of the bank, flashlight illuminating your fluffy orange cat. Who was rubbing up against the shin of a random man.

He looked up at you, eyes darkened as he blocked your flashlight with his large hand. They almost seemed red as he stayed squatted, Sir Jeffords head butting his knee. His face pure sharp angles, with a scowl permanently in place. His black shirt a tight, compressing fit. Clinging to each muscle and vein in his arm, stopping halfway down his bicep. His calves just as impressive. His shorts doing nothing but making him look even hotter.

Wait, no. This was a random man, he wasn't hot.

You lowered the light and gave an awkward smile. Seemingly unimpressed, his hardened gaze turned back to your cat. "He's yours?" He asked, voice rumbling low in his chest. With a nod, he added, "He's... cute."

Okay, maybe he was a little hot.

"Right?" Your smile smoothed into something more natural. "He's the cutest cat to ever exist." You lowered yourself down onto your knees with a soft baby call. Sir Jeffords trotting into your lap happily, orange fur swaying with his steps.

Your hand ran through his silky fur. Tension easing from you as you held him close again. Though his three day disappearance had yet to happen again, you still worried. He was your precious baby, after all. The one you shared everything with, and he never once judged.

Your fingers caught on something sticky, stopping short of his lower back. Pulling your hand away, strings of white followed, sticking to your fingertips. The feeling moist and far too clingy for comfort. A disgusted shiver ran up your spine at the horrible sensory.

The man stood then, tossing a tissue at you as he did. His gaze stayed on your cat, never faltering. He pushed his dark hair away from his face, still scowling.

Glancing between your hand and the man that now towered over you, you almost gagged. This wasn't... his, right?

"It was the rat." Like he read your mind, the mysterious stranger held out his other hand. A dead rat laid in his palm.

"That... doesn't make me feel much better." You suppressed another full body shake, quickly wiping your hand off. This guy may be extremely attractive to look at but the longer you stayed there, the more uncomfortable you got. "How would a mouse... And what is this?" You felt yourself getting sick as you held the tissue out, the white stuff now sticking to the paper instead

"Webs. And, it's a rat." He stated with a straight face. More angry at your confusion than anything. "Chased him through some spider webs."

You let out a soft 'oh.' But that didn't explain why he was holding onto the dead rat.

And he let it stay that way. Instead of reading your mind like he had been this entire time, he just... walked off. With a dead animal in his grasp. Without a word.

Your confused gaze turned to your cat, knees beginning to ache from the pressure of concrete beneath. Sir Jeffords purred into your stomach loudly.

"You're not allowed to hang out with that guy, ever again."

...

"Christ!" Miguel tossed the rat at the wall, hearing him curse. The small animal glitched into a grown adult, body morphing sickly. "That..." The villain panted, rubbing at his neck. Bruises from how tightly he was held already forming there. "... was not what I was expecting."

Miguel squatted back down, balancing on his toes as the hologram of regular clothes shifted back into his suit. "You chose to become a rat, in a world whose Spider-Man is a cat." He slammed down a disk, red netting encasing the fool. "That was your own fault."

"It was the only way I could get into the bank!" The villain squeaked. Miguel tuned out almost immediately, eyes turning to his watch. Setting the portal to his universe, and making sure he wasn't needed elsewhere. He entertained the villain in a tacky grey suit with distant hums and 'oh, yeah, uh-huh's. It was best to just let them get it out of their system then try to shut them up.

"And I would've gotten away with it, too! If it weren't for you and your cat!" The shape shifter writhed in the nets.

"Sound like a damn Scooby-Doo villain." Miguel stood up with a huff. He would never admit it, but Hobie used the term so often, he had to look up what he was referencing. Only to end up watching the first few seasons. He had to stop around the third season, a sick sense of deja vu hitting him with a bat. The cartoons reminded him too much of the daughter he never really had.

With a sigh, "Lyla," He called.

The AI appeared before him, wearing a shit eating smirk. He opened his mouth to command something else when she beat him to it. "You should've asked for their number."

"What?" Miguel's head snapped up, eyes wide.

"They were cute, should've asked them on a date." She glitched to his side with a teasing laugh.

"Lyla, I... no." He grumbled, flicking at his watch.

"Oh, you know?" Miguel tried to smack her away, only for her to reappear on his left shoulder. "You should go back, then."

Miguel glared at her, ignoring how the tips of his ears began to burn. "I can't, its-"

"Not a canon event." They said at the same time. Lyla rolling her eyes behind her heart-shaped glasses, Miguel focusing on creating a portal. "You're such a loser, you know that?" She huffed and puffed, spawning with her back turned to him.

He tried to reach out with a heavy breath, but she moved further away. This time sitting with her arms crossed and pouting.

"They were cute." The villain nodded from his fetal position on the ground. Earning a glare from the two. Shrinking further into himself, the shape-shifter apologized.

Miguel thrust his forearms forward, his mantis blades catching on the fabric of time. Ripping them apart with a grunt. Orange and purple twisted in front of him, and he grabbed a hold of the red netting the anomaly was in.

"Meet me back at HQ," He spoke to his AI with a nod. Foot already in the portal, he turned to cast a menacing glance at Lyla. "And do not try anything."

She held up her hands in defense, watching the portal close behind him. It wasn't like she even had to do anything - not anymore. She already slipped his multiversal number into the collar of Spider-Cat. All that needed to happen was you either found it, or it fell out. Lyla just had to wait to see which option would be canon.

~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~~◇◇◇~~~♡♡♡~~

Check out my Masterlist!

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x you #miguel x reader #spiderman atsv #miguel o'hara fanfiction #bruh writes #spiderverse fanfic #x you

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soft-for-them · 1 year

Text

Dead dial - Leon Kennedy x plus size reader

Summary: You're a nursing student who lives in Raccoon City who frequently talks to an old friend, Leon Kennedy, over the phone. Just as he's about to move to the same city as you the living dead start to roam the streets. (There is some descriptions of zombie related gore.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Replaying Resident Evil games. Might not be 100% canon, I'm not really into the RE law. Also this will get a part two if people like it enough. Not proof read because I'm tired.

“You know this probably is a bad idea, Leon.”

Balancing the phone receiver between your ear and shoulder you try not to pull in the old spiral cord too much, the old in phone wall in your outdated flat is probably as old as you.

Standing in your small kitchen, the kitchen island digging into your soft flesh as your lean into it so the phone cord does not snap, you look out the old creaky wooden window past the fire escape to the dim yellow bulb street lights and rain soaked grey buildings.

Sirens loud and ear piercing can be heard, followed by the flashing of the obnoxious red and blue lights of multiple cop cars. You’ve never really trusted the police in this city, funny considering the man on the end of the phone is about to become one.

“(Y/n).” Leon says with an exhausted sigh. You can imagine his rubbing his hand through his hair whilst saying it.

“There’s something going on here-“ you step closer to the widow the phone line going straight as you look outside like an nosey old person would, “-the hospitals have been so hectic lately.”

You should know, you’re a second year nursing student, it’s the whole reason you moved to Raccoon city in the first place. (It certainly wasn’t the damp filled flats and lovely raining weather that brought you here.)

For school you work partly in the city’s hospital and for weeks now the ER has been flooded with people, you don’t know why, but many either have been sent home or have suddenly died. There’s even a rumour that patients have been taken as test subjects by Doctor Bard, though you’ve been too busy dealing with the rise of ‘cannibals’ to even care. All the nursing students have been worried, hell everyone working at the hospital has been worried, but the city’s government and press have been keeping the rising casualties hush hush.

“I know…” Leon begins his words long and worried, “Was it bad today?”

He knows your answer regardless, for the last month you conversations on the phone have been less about happy things such as seeing a fluffy dog on a walk or eating a tasty pastry and more on just about how you feel like you’re an overworked underpaid nurse already with how much you’ve been helping at the hospital whilst also studying and working a part time job.

“They say us going to the hospital is for educational purposes, at first it was but now we just go to be extra hands. They need it. I saw a doctor collapse today she was so over worked… and well at least all this overtime is going towards my grade.”

“(Y/n).” Leon echoes your name so quietly to stop you from rambling, he has known you long enough to know when your anxious rambling begin.

“Haha-“ you nervously chuckle as more sirens blare on, this time from ambulances rushing down the narrow roads lined with parked cars and thin pavements, “-I’m going to get an A with all the work I’m doing.”

“(Y/n).” his voice is louder and filled with concern.

“I hand to hold man down today whilst he screamed… he was screaming Leon-“ tears start to bubble up in your tired eyes, them threatening to drip down your face like the rain drop on your windowsill, “-I- I-“

“(Y/n)… listen to me, ok.”

“I’m listening.” You sniff as you lean back on the kitchen counter.

“You’re ok, Sundays almost here and then you can have day off, I can call if you like.”

Leon hopes you will for his relationship isn’t going well and ever since you moved away he hasn’t had a proper friend to talk to about such mundane and normal things. He likes hearing your voice even if lately you’ve been sounding worn out and a bit sad.

“I- I have work Saturday and I’ll sleep through Sunday, I- well- I don’t want to miss a call, but it’s hardly a day off Leon.”

“Ring in sick, go to that café you want to go to- what is it call- Lauren’s?”

“Lorenzo’s coffee and cake.”

“Yeah, that. You said they have a cream cake and imported coffee beans.” He remembers you talking about it on a past phone call, “Or you said that you wanted to go to that pop up art exhibit-“

“- The classics one –“

“-Yes, you said there is a Van Gogh there.”

He recalls you staying that a private collector was exciting their art collection which just so happened to have a Van Gogh sketch in it. You were so excited when you told he almost asked you to go with him to it, totally forgetting you now live in to different places and not in the same apartment complex like you did before.

“I ends Friday.” You glumly say.

“Then call in sick Friday and Saturday.”

Surly your boss would believe you more if you’d come down with say a cold on the Friday rather than suddenly getting on the Saturday, that’s what Leon thinks as he says the idea to you.

“I guess it does make it more believable to but-“

“-but?”

“…I don’t want to let anyone down Leon. This city is going to shit and I don’t want to be the asshole who fucks everything up because I don’t turn up to work or class…”

“You work in a supermarket.” His voice is filled with a fun confusion, like he’s amused and shocked at your words, as he ponders how not turning up at your cashier job will affect the city.

“So? Three shops have already closed down this month, the customers have doubled because people have to eat and- and-“

“(Y/N), you’re overthinking again. They can handle a day without you.”

“They can?”

“I can’t handle a missed phone call from you, think about it. A day off and a long phone call with me or no day off and a missed phone call because you’re too exhausted to wake up?”

“You know I’d take the phone call regardless.”

“Take the days off and call me tomorrow, it’s getting late and we both need some rest.”

It’s your cue to say goodbye, which is already drawn out and filled with cheesy jokes from Leon that make you laugh. You always did say that going to bed on a happy note makes the next day a better experience and Leon remembers it, so he always tries to cheer you up before either one of you hangs up.

“Night Leon.”

“Goodnight (Y/n).”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

You didn’t take the days off but you did stay up late long enough to speak to Leon. He was having girlfriend troubles and you talked to the sun came up.

You were on your way to a lecture but a mass email was sent out telling everyone to stay home, or arrive at the hospital to help out, you chose the former opting rather to go home and go back to sleep.

Maybe you’ll go to the hospital to help out later on.

Apparently half of the students were already at the university when the email was sent out and apparently a lot of teachers were too. Many people have been sending messages through the many university group chats and message boards to stay away from the school. On person said that the city was going t be evacuated.

The sirens have been going off for days now, public transport has been limited that morning for some odd reason, you had waited at you bus stop for a half hour before getting a text from a friend telling you about the email and walking back home.

Even now you hurry as if someone is following you.

It feels like for the last week the city has become smaller and smaller, like a video game with a map yet to unlock. More and more people have become ill and it seems the Umbrella Corporation is being shoved in your face, their advertisements playing every commercial break along with warnings to stay inside unless you need to go out to work, school, the shops or hospital.

You have no clue what’s going on but you’re glad Leon is starting work here, even if he’s a cop.

You hope that Leon will get to the city quickly. You see, it all started with a call from him last night of him crying and saying his girlfriend dumped him and ever since that call it has seemed to get worse for you both. No longer was he going to have that nice shared flat with her in Raccoon city and from what you heard he was drunk, whilst you were up all night the sound of sirens and screams keeping you up.

Last night you stayed up with him until he fell asleep and even then you couldn’t sleep. Even this morning, you were worried sick about him driving down to Raccoon hungover, so you left him a voice message.

“Hey, Leon. I’m just about to head out to class, but um just know I’m here for you if you need me, oh and drink some water and take some paracetamol... Yeah, anyway I was thinking that well if you want to you could crash here if that apartment situation is still – you know- fuck, it’s too early to think and talk coherently… Um, yeah, the offer’s there if you want, you know where the spare key is hidden, speak to you soon. Take care Leon. Bye.”

And even now as you rush home avoiding everyone out on the streets, which is odd because there hardy seems to be anyone at all, well apart from some people asleep on benches like they were drunk and apartment buildings filled with shouts of people angry and annoyed (which you don’t realise is the sounds of zombies roaming around.)

You hurry up your pace to avoid a crowded looking street that looks to have a car crash and an onslaught of on lookers on it. You don’t take one look at the reanimated corpse who stumbles out the car and bites an onlooker, you just carry on rushing back to your flat, a bad feeling taking over you.

Passing burning buildings not yet entirely engulfed in flames but getting there and all the cars normally parked on the sides of the road gone from their owners trying to escape the city you finally get your apartment complex, the big double doors barricaded shut, a cabinet pushed against the fragile glass.

You wonder up to the door to see if someone is near the metal letterboxes or if the janitor’s closet is open with the janitor taking a break. Leaning your head on the glass you look around but no one is there to help you get inside.

“Hel-“ you begin to speak, your hands clutching the straps to your backpack but you stop yourself, the odd feeling of dread making your stomach do back flips.

Stepping backwards you hear a blood curdling scream.

You whip around to see a woman coved in blood crying and crawling out of the spinning doors of the fancier apartment complex just a bit down the street, her voice screaming a croaky ‘help’ to no one in particular.

“Don’t be a coward (y/n), you’re a nursing student, go help her!” the voice in your mind urges you.

Freezing still in front of the barricaded glass doors you look on to the speck that is the screaming woman, your hands clutching at you backpack straps so much that that the plastic fabric irritates your skin.

White doctor daps step backwards and not forwards, the tarmac scuffing your shoes.

You’re too scared to help the woman.

A loud moan like growl reverberates the ground, you look to your left at the glass doors to see a person, no, a dead man walking. He tries to walk to the door the furniture blocking the door making him slump over, only his hands touch the brittle glass.

The noise of gargling blood, the sight of his glassy dead eyes, the absence of a left arm, it makes you panic. You desperately look around for anything, anyone, any opening to escape all the while the dead get closer and closer.

Finally you spot the side alley, well it’s technically a whole road that leads to another street but with all the rubbish and filth only police cars and rubbish trucks drive down it. Apparently your block of flats used to look over a nice patch of grass that was a park but a couple years before you moved in they had built more buildings grey and dull blocking out the sun light.

Passed the rubbish bins you see the fire escape, the same fire escape that leads up to your window.

You look one more look at the dead man banging his head on the cracking glass, then one more look at the now quiet woman slumped on the ground, back to one look at the dark alleyway, you know what you have to do.

You bolt.

Dodging black bags of gooey trash and a hoard of skittering rats you clamber up the frail rusted frame of the fire escape. You take two steps at a time up the stairs each step rattling and swaying the old structure. You do not look back as trampled footsteps echo out in the street nor do you dare look into the passing windows, some covered in bloodied handprints.

Soon enough you get to your window, your flat on the fifth floor a welcomed sight to see.

The old wooden windows are slowly rotting away and the locks are permanently broken. You’re thankful that you hadn’t bothered locking the make do lock you drilled and secured in the window, the blocky hinged lock looking locked deterring any burglars from coming in.

Leon had said that he’d happily fix the window for you when he was settled in the city but considering what is happening you don’t care all that much for the lock, only that your friend is ok.

With a couple of rattles and a whole load of upper arm strength you slide the window up. There is just about enough space to fit in, though you’re going to have to suck in your tummy to do so and you’re going to have to shove your backpack in first.

You do just that, the backpack falling off the counter onto the floor with a thud, then you squeeze yourself through, your hips hurting as you force yourself in, your ass landing on the draining board next to the sink.

“Fuck.” You mutter as you bang your body on the hard surface, your feet hitting the ground as you push off the counter.

As soon as you are stable you lock the window the fastest you’ve ever done, closing the blinds along with it, doing that partly so no one can see you inside but also partly so you don’t have to see the outside world.

You’re finally home but you’re scared as hell.

Automatically you go to your rotary phone hanging on the wall.

You pick up the receiver, your fingers automatically dialling Leon’s home phone.

There is no ringing or waiting sound.

The phone line is dead.

A/N: If you want a part two please send in an ask rather than commenting for another part, this is just because asks are an easier way for me to track requests. Comments are still welcomed and requests are open!

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #plus size reader #x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader

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lunas-nargle · 9 months

Text

↳eleven

chapter nine of "meddle about" series brian o'connor x reader

xi. guilt

"Straight ahead." Y/n said softly as both her and Dom got out of the car. Y/n tried hard to convince Dom not to go but his persistence said otherwise.

Dom didn't say a word, he just walked forwards onto the road, and stood there silently. He imagined what had happened during that tragic night.

He looked down tracing the tire marks with his eyes. He then walked over to a spot on the ground and crouched, touching the pavement. He stood back up straight and stared for a moment.

He still said nothing as he turned and walked back towards the car.

"You found something back there, didn't you?" Y/n asked as Dom stopped alongside the road.

"There were burn marks on the ground." Dom informed her, gripping the wheel. "The kind that could only be caused by nitrometh. There's only one guy in all of LA that sells that."

"Nothing is gonna bring her back, Dom." Y/n said, looking over at him, sadly. "If I were Letty, I would ask you--No, I would beg you, please, let this go. I've already lost two people, Dom, I can't lose another. Don't even think about me, think about Mia. Can you imagine what she'd feel if she lost one of the only people she has left? Just please let it go, before it's too late."

Dom looked at her and then said, "It's already too late."

"I love you, Dominic." Y/n gave him a small smile. She gave him a kiss on the cheek before she finally exited the car. As she walked away, Dom made a u-turn and sped down the road.

When she finally made it to her house, she was greeted by two agents getting out of their car.

"Miss. Torretto. I'm Michael Stasiak, FBI." the shorter man greeted, pulling out his badge and holding it up for her to see. "Let's you and I have a little chat."

Y/n, not wanting to have any problems, agreed.

"I already told you, I haven't seen him in years." she said as calmly as possible. She was tired, hungry and most of all annoyed.

"Bullshit. Where's Toretto?" Stasiak spat, getting more angry by the second. Over the past few hours, he'd gotten the same answer and, by the Toretto stubbornness and persistence running through her veins, she wasn't going to change her answer.

"You're gonna have to be a little more specific." Y/n said, smartly. "I mean there are three of us, man."

"Don't act dumb. Dominic Toretto. Where is he?"

"Like I said before, I don't know. He could quite literally could be dead in a ditch and I wouldn't know." Y/n shrugged, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed.

"I need something." Stasiak said, getting frustrated. "You oughta go out with Penning, 'cause right now you're making me look like a fool. Okay?"

"Why are you saying that like you didn't look like a fool to begin with?" Y/n said, blankly.

"What is gonna be?" the officer continued, trying to ignore the comment, but by the redness of his face, Y/n knew it was really hard for him. "Is Dom in town?"

"Dude, do I gotta spell it out for you?" Y/n said, getting more angry by the second. "I. Don't. Know. I haven't seen him in years."

All of a sudden, the phone rang. And before Y/n knew it, Stasiak was walking out of the room, adjusting his tie along the way, leaving Y/n and another officer that didn't really talk much.

"Hey, Tyler, we got a transfer." Y/n heard a voice that made her feel even more angry. She just continued to look out of the wall of windows, digging her nails into her arms to prevent her from lashing out. "You wanna come with me?"

"What if I said no?" Y/n said, looking at him with her eyes squinted in irritation. It was hard for her to not let her eyes rank his suited body. It look incredibly hot, though he could be wearing a sheet and he'd still look sexy.

"You seriously wanna stay here with Stasiak." Brian raised his eyebrow.

That was the one that could've broken Y/n's stubbornness, so she went.

"I'm almost done." Y/n said, glancing down at her tea cup, as her and Brian sat in silence. After Y/n agreed to go with him, he driven her a local diner, claiming he needed to speak with her. He, however, had said absolutely nothing. "Are you gonna speak or are you just gonna waste more of my time?"

Brian glanced away from her for a hot second. "You know they're gonna capture Dom." he said, his face blank. "Maybe worse."

Y/n huffed out an unbelieving chuckle, "Of course you just dragged me here to try and get me to squeal."

"I'm not just talking about Dom, Y/n." Brian denied. "I don't want you gettin' tangled up in this, so stay away from him."

"The last time I checked my dad was six feet under, so why are you acting like him?" Y/n said, squinting her eyes at him. "And that's seriously, what you have to say to me after five god damn years? All of a sudden to care?"

"I never stopped." Brian mumbled, not being able to look at her. "What I did was wrong. I'm sorry. It was--It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, believe me."

Y/n let out a breathy scoff, "I'm sorry too, Brian. I'm so sorry that you had to come into my home and pretend to love me. I'm so sorry that you ripped my family apart. I'm very sorry that was hard for you."

"I lied to you." Brian said, blankly. "I lied to Dom. I lied to everybody. That's what I do best. That's why the feds recruited me."

Y/n's eyes started to water, but she refused to let him see her sweat. It was so hard seeing him, looking at his handsome face that betrayed her so many years ago. She felt a sense of guilt rise in her. Guilt that was formed by the love she still had for him. Though he betrayed her and her family, she never stopped loving him.

"Maybe you're lying to yourself." Y/n said, after a moment. "Maybe you're not the good guy pretending to be a bad guy. Maybe you're a bad guy pretending to be the good guy. Ever think about that?"

"Everyday." Brian answered. Y/n got out of the booth and started for the door, but before she could reach it, she turned and walked back to the table.

"I always wondered..." she said to him. "Why'd you let him go that day? Why did you let Dom go?"

Brian looked at her with furrowed eyebrows and said, "I don't know." Y/n didn't answer, just turned and walked out the door silently. Brian sighed to himself, feeling the exact same feelings as Y/n. "Shit."

#brian o'conner #brian oconner x reader #fast and furious #fast and furious x reader

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moonmoolight · 1 year

Text

Dumb (Part One)

Kenny McCormick × AFAB! Reader

Part Two: Coming Soon

Request Open! -> About Requests

TW: They killed Kenny, you bastards! (Non permanent character death), descriptions of blood and Gore. Angst with a happy ending; hurt/comfort

Synopsis: y/n watches Kenny die right in front of her. The next day, she goes to school in shambles, only to see a familiar face beside her at her locker. Needless to say, she's pretty sure she is losing her mind.

Inspo: Dumb by Nirvana

Y/N found herself standing in the parking lot of South Park High on her first day of senior year, staring at her best friend.

Her dead best friend.

She watches in horror as Clyde Donovan rushes out from his brand-new convertible in a panic. The front end was dented in from the impact, and the once shiny yellow paint job was splattered in a dark crimson red.

Y/N wasn't sure what had happened. It seemed as though they were hopping out of Stan's car just a moment ago, excited for the first day of their last year in this hell hole.

Now, Kenny lay sprawled out against the pavement, surrounded by a pool of blood.

"I told you to put your goddamn phone down, Clyde!" Shouts Bebe from the passenger seat in between sobs.

Y/N sees Clyde running his hands through his hair, pulling at the strands as tears well in his eyes, "I, I didn't see him!" He screamed, looking around at the crowd gathering around the gruesome scene.

Stan, rushing over to Y/N, was quick to try and shield her from the sight, but she had already soaked it in—every last detail down to his torn-up shoes.

"You," she pushes out, hot tears beginning to streak down her face, "You fucking bastard!"

Y/N attempts to launch herself past Stan, though he holds her back as she claws at the air around her as though it would help push her forward. "Was it worth it, Clyde? You killed him, and all you can say is, 'I didn't see him'?! What kind of lame fucking apology is that?!"

She could feel the strain in her vocal cords as she raged on, and somehow, she had broke free of Stan's grasp. Running at full speed towards Clyde, she quickly punches him square in the jaw.

"Y/N, stop!" Shouts Kyle as he, Stan, and a few other seniors sprint to restrain her as Clyde recoils to try and protect himself from Y/N's aggression. She rips the leather sleeve of Clyde's letterman jacket in a rage at the seam.

"I hope you're fucking happy! You ruined senior year, you braindead prick!"

Ambulance and police sirens sound off in the distance as Y/N's friends force her to sit on the sidewalk, holding onto her as she wails out in heartbreak.

"I'm not going." Y/N protests as her mother sets down a bowl of oatmeal in front of her at the dining room table.

How was she supposed to live in a world without Kenny McCormick by her side?

-> <-

Her mother sighs in response, taking a seat beside the gloomy girl. "Honey, you're going to school. What's gotten into you?"

Furrowing her eyebrow, Y/N lifts her head from its place on the edge of the table. Her face was puffy, and her eyes were still swollen from the nonstop crying.

"What's gotten into me? Are you kidding?"

Her mom cocks her head, placing a loving hand on her daughter's shoulder, "Oh dear, is it that time of the month already?"

Scoffing in disbelief, more tears began to collect in her eyes. How could her mother forget that her friend had just been brutally slaughtered?

"You know what, maybe I will go to school. I can't be around you right now."

Mrs. Y/L/N watches her daughter jolt from her chair and scurry towards the door, throwing on a pair of shoes and haphazardly slinging her school bag across her shoulder.

"Don't forget your car keys!" Shouts the confused woman from the kitchen.

"I'm walking!" Screams a very upset Y/N as the front door slams shut behind her.

Cold autumn air gushed against her as she made the rather long trek to school on foot. She'd needed the time alone to collect herself. Yet, for some reason, every familiar car that passed by harbored her classmates, who all dawned smiles or tired looks. It seemed she was the only one who cared that Kenny was dead.

A horn honks in the distance, and she turns to see the familiar sight of Stan's car behind her as he pulls off to the side of the road. Rolling down his window, he pokes his head out with a perplexed look plastered on his face. "You want a ride?"

Y/N waits a moment before shrugging, walking over slowly, and lazily flopping herself into the car.

The drive was mostly filled with comfortable silence as Stan drove them to school. His head bobbed along to the stereo as he seemed to be in high spirits.

This baffled Y/N, as she had been talking to a disheveled Stan just yesterday. "How are you in such a good mood?"

"What do you mean? We got a whole extra day off of school. Of course, I'm in a good mood! Aren't you?"

Y/N scoffs in astonishment as she looks at him with disdain.

"No, Stan, I'm not in a good mood."

He frowns at her words, peering over at her momentarily as they pull into the school's student parking lot, "Oh, I'm sorry, Y/N. Maybe Ken can make you feel better. He's pretty good at that."

She freezes, questioning if she has heard him correctly.

"What the fuck did you just say to me?"

Stan laughs nervously as he watches her expression fall further into anger. "Oh, that's why you're upset. Look, whatever Kenny did, I'm sure he didn't mean it-"

Stan is left speechless after she sends a hand flying into his cheek. As he holds his stinging face, Y/N swings the passenger door open as she glares back at him through blurred vision.

"What is wrong with you, Marsh? It's only been a day, and you think it's okay to joke about him? Have some decency, would you?"

And with that, she storms through the parking lot. Once inside, she looked around to see everyone going about their day like everything was fine. Like nothing had ever happened.

The most infuriating thing she saw was Clyde Donovan leaning against a stairwell, flirting with some sophomore.

A low growl rose in her chest, but she knew she couldn't start a fight with him after yesterday. She had narrowly avoided assault charges in the first place. Speed walking through the halls, she ignores the warm greetings of her friends she passed while she was on a mission to make it to her locker without completely breaking down.

Shoving a couple of books into her bag, she lingers when she sees the inside of the locker door. A few Polaroid pictures hung sloppily taped onto the metal. One caught her eye in particular: she posed with Kenny on a snowy February. She held a middle finger to the camera as Kenny leaned against her, keeping two fingers behind Y/N's head to resemble devil horns.

And once again, she becomes a blubbering mess. Using her sweatshirt sleeve, she covers her wet face and gently shuts the locker.

"G'mornin, Y/N."

Those words and that voice made her spiral into full-on bawling.

"Angel, why are you crying?" Kenny's familiar voice speaks up from behind her.

It seemed so natural. She convinced herself it must be her grieving subconscious filling that empty void. That warm greeting she looked forward to every day, those sickeningly sweet nicknames, had been ripped away.

Chalking it up to the slow descent into madness, Y/N looks down and continues walking toward her first-period class as the first bell sounds.

Someone grabs her by the waist, stopping her dead in her tracks.

Hot breath against her ear as that honey-like voice whispers gently.

"Hey, don't ignore me. Who made you cry?"

#kenny mccormick #kenny mccormick x reader #kenny mccormick x y/n #kenny x reader #south park x reader #south park requests #south park oneshots #south park fanfiction #stan marsh #kyle broflovski #eric cartman #clyde donovan #craig tucker #tweek tweak #tolkien black #bebe stevens #wendy testaburger #umospace #moomoonlight

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hangmansgbaby · 3 months

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Gunpowder & Lead P R O L O G U E

Masterlist

Emory's POV is written by @mamachasesmayhem and Jake's POV is written by me.

Banners are POV changers.

"I can't do this anymore, Matt. I'm leaving." The words leave my mouth with only a slight tremble.

Matt barks out a laugh. "What was that, baby?"

I take a deep breath and steel my nerves. "I'm leaving."

"The fuck you are!"

Matt's statement is punctuated with a fierce blow to my cheek, knocking me sideways.

I thought that his recent lack of interest in me would have made this easier. I thought that maybe he was finally tired of me, that maybe he wouldn't care as much when I tried to leave. Clearly, I was wrong.

A kick lands on my ribs after I land on the floor, followed by a few more. I try to no avail to block them, only earning bruises and likely more fractures to my arms. He grips my hair to pull me up only to slam my head into the floor. My head spins as I feel blood pool beneath me. I'm barely conscious when he finally decides to stop, probably thinking I'm down for the count. I hear him grab hiskeys from their hook by the door but when I catch a glimpse of the hooks I realize it wasn't just his that he took, but mine too. Shit, that makes this more difficult. His stupid ass Camero revs in the driveway and the sound of his tires peeling fills the small house. I fight to stay conscious because I can do this.

I don't know how much time has passed when I pull every ounce of will and strength in my body and finally crawl onto my hands and knees.

I can do this.

It could have been minutes or hours since Matt left, so I don't waste a second.

I can do this.

I stumble out of the door and adrenaline floods my nervous system.

I can do this.

My bare feet carry me across the pavement and then through the woods across from the house. It'll hurt like hell later, but it's much shorter to cut through them to get to Birdie's house. This is a route I've memorized, having to sneak out to see my best friend when Matt eventually stopped allowing it. I can get there with my eyes closed, and it's entirely possible I do.

I eventually break through the tree line and push past the pain that's threatening to overwhelm my body. The light to the back porch is on, drawing me near like a lighthouse to the coast, and I stumble the last few steps to the door. I fall against the cool wood in a heap, frantically pounding my fist against it as darkness clouds my vision. The door opens underneath me and I let it take over, finally able to rest.

It's warm when I come to, a gentle voice rousing me. "Sweets, can you hear me? Shit, Jav! She's breathing and has a pulse but she's not responding to me."

I groan and try to peel my eyes open. That voice definitely does not belong to Birdie. It's not her husband Bob either, and that's what startled me enough to fully return my brain to my body. My eyes land on a face surely carved by Aphrodite herself.

"Am I dead?" I mutter out. With a chiseled jaw and concern swimming in mossy green eyes staring down at me, I must be. Especially if I'm not scrambling to get away from a man that isn't Bob Floyd. But a tiny voice in my head tells me that he's safe and that he won't hurt me, so I let myself listen to it.

A small smile pulls at the lips of the man above me. "No, sweets. You're alive, it looks like you fought real hard to be too. How'd you end up here?"

The realization I didn't make it to Birdie's makes me gasp and try to sit up. "I was trying to get to Birdie's house, where I am?!"

I notice I'm cradled in his lap when his arms tighten around me in an attempt to keep me from jostling the multiple injuries I'm sure I have. "Easy, I got you. Birdie Floyd? She's right next door, you almost made it. Just a hundred feet short."

A voice crackles through his phone, clearly on speaker given that I can hear it so clearly. "I'm about 3 minutes out, Jake. What's going on?"

"She's awake, Javy. I think I can manage until you get here, but I'll keep you on the phone just in case."

He turns to me and I can hear sirens in the background of the call. "I'm Officer Jake Seresin and on the phone is my best friend Javy Machado, he's a paramedic. He's working tonight and I called him the second I opened the door, he and his partner are on the way to come look at ya, ok?" My nod prompts him to continue. "I can go get Bob and Birdie if you want?"

"No!" I yelp. "Please don't leave me alone! H-he might show up..."

"It's ok, pretty girl. I got you, I won't leave you alone. You're safe with me." His voice is calm, soothing. "Even though I'm off duty, I called in some backup. I don't want ya worryin' when you hear the sirens and see the lights here shortly."

His thumb rubs small circles on my upper arm as red and blue fill the night sky.

Jake carries me outside to meet the paramedics and I can hear Birdie from across the yard.

“What’s going on?” Her eyes scan the scene and finally land on me and she immediately runs to me."Emory! Oh, honey! What did he do to you this time?" She starts sobbing as her hand gently traces my swollen cheek. "How'd you find her, Jake?"

"She found me. She knocked on my door thinking it was yours." His chin tips up in acknowledgment when Bob joins his wife. "Hey, Floyd. Javy just rolled up and called in some backup."

No sooner than the words leave his mouth, a tall man with a mocha complexion hops out of the ambulance and rushes over. Jake reluctantly lets me go and nods at me as Javy takes over and lays me on a stretcher. As he's taking inventory of my injuries and rolling me to the ambulance, I hear Jake talking to Bob.

"Where's the fucker that did this to her?"

"If he's not at home, he's at The Den." Bob replies, anger clear in his voice.

Jake climbs up the step into the ambulance, just beside Birdie and reaches out and gently squeezes my hand. "Javy's the best there is, you're in good hands. I'm gonna go get the sad excuse of a man that did this to you and he's gonna go rot in a cell."

Tears well in my eyes as relief washes over me. "Thank you, Jake."

Jake did as he promised, immediately arresting Matt and tossing him in jail. After confirming I did, in fact, end up with new fractures in my arm, a concussion, and severely bruised ribs I returned to work about a week after I may have been sporting a neon pink cast, fading bruises on my face, and stitches in my lip, but I'd never been happier.

The trial officially concluded and Jake was there by my side through the entire thing, volunteering to be my personal protection detail.

6 months later

Jake had walked through the door of Cora's, the bakery Birdie and I have been working at since we were undergraduates at UT Austin. Once the recognition hit me, I gasped. "It's you."

His smile was soft, almost shy, as he blushed. "It's me."

"You saved me, l-I don't have enough words for how thankful I am for you."

Thankfully, he dropped in during a slower time so my rambling isn't holding up other customers.

Jake reaches up and rubs the back of his neck as he looks down. "I'd like to think it's what anyone would do, having sworn an oath to protect and serve and all."

I take the time to finally observe what he's wearing, and he looks damn good in his uniform, before smiling up at him. "Well, take your pick officer. Anything you want is on the house. For as long as I work here."

After that day, he made it a habit to stop in at some point during his shift for coffee and a pastry if he was feeling particularly cheeky. "The coffee's always been free to the boys in blue, I can't take advantage of your kindness all the time, Sweets." He'd told me.

And eventually Jake asked me out. "I know you were in a terrible relationship before, so if this is too forward, stop me. But now that it's not a conflict of interest, how do you feel about dinner with me?"

"Dinner sounds amazing." I'd told him with a wide smile and his quickly matched my own.

From that day forward, we'd been nearly inseparable. With his support, I'd finally caught up with Birdie and finished my MBA. While in school, I met the little spitfire named Adalaide Blake. She had been in her final semester of law school and studying to pass the BAR exam. She quickly became close to Birdie and I and we've been thick as thieves since.

Honoring the promise she made to a couple of 19 year old kids, Cora, the owner of the bakery, turned it over into our capable hands and retired. Cora was the grandma I had always wanted. She took me in when I had nothing and loved Birdie and I as her own. Not long after we took over, Matt was released from prison. Jake had delivered the unfortunate news after plying me with ice cream and tequila a few days before our one year anniversary. He promised to keep me safe and asked me to move in with him. We'd discussed it more the next morning when I was sober and he assured me his reasoning was more than just keeping me safe, he wanted me as part of his every day routine.

Within a few months of my moving in, I helped Jake study for and pass his detective's test. He soon promoted and we celebrated by christening the new home for the bakery. The new location included a large, secure basement with the intention of housing abused women and children. Thanks to Jake, the rest of his squadron at the department, and connections they've made through the years, the changes weren't made public knowledge.

There was a caveat that Jake wasn't aware of: Birdie, Addie, and I had been planning something. While we were absolutely making the new construction a safe haven, we also wanted to find a way to make sure men like Matt didn't ruin any more lives. We realized we could make that happen thanks to the combined knowledge of my studying with Jake for the detective test, Birdie hearing all the stories from Bob about work, and Addie having spent a few years as a defense attorney, we could do it. Birdie had the idea to open a secret speakeasy that would be a way for us to meet with potential women who needed help. The brave souls who sought our help were instructed to ask for a pomegranate scone, which was not sold in the bakery. They were instead provided with a time to meet back here at the speakeasy that we named "The Underworld."

Over the next 2 years, we caught cheaters, helped mothers get sole custody of their children, returned money stolen by swindling slimeballs, and rescued women and children from abusive homes. Along the way, we'd made some new friends and became known as The Furies. The Furies consisted of a team of powerful, badass women who shared the same mindset as us. We also made some new enemies...one of them being the Austin PD. A task force was born to stop the ring of vigilantes, and the most ironic part of it all is that many of the Furies have a personal connection to a member of the task force. For me it was Jake. The man of my dreams and love of my life, had taken on the lead. He had risen through the ranks quickly, finding himself on many cases involving the work of the Furies. With his extensive knowledge, it was a no brainer for the department that he be the commanding officer. Even Birdie’s husband volunteered to be the CSI Specialist for the task force.

Jake and I were almost 4 years into our relationship when my ruse was finally up. I had successfully kept the two facets of my life separate until that fateful night.

We had been running a sting on a local biker gang known for human trafficking, Demeter and I had been at The Den while trying to sneak our way into the back by posing as "entertainment" for the club. Apparently, one of the guys there that night had known Matt and therefore knew who I was. That's when shit hit the fan. While I'd been training extensively with Jake in MMA classes and with our ex-military friend learning to evade capture, one me against five men was no match. I'd learned how to take a hit with minimal damage and that was my saving grace. With my ass thoroughly beaten, I once again found myself stumbling through the dense woods that lead to Bob and Birdie's house. Leaning against the doorframe, my knuckles rap against the wood for her to come usher me inside and help me get patched up.

If my right eye wasn't swollen shut, I might have noticed that the door was a deep blue I'd personally picked out instead of the dark maroon I was expecting. The door opens and I don't even look up before I start talking.

"I'm an idiot, I know. Might need to call someone though, I think one of those fuckers broke my nose," I whine.

"Emory? What the fuck?!" A deep voice bellows from the open door.

I look up and my eyes make contact with very angry looking green ones. "Aw shit, wrong door again."

"What the actual fuck, Em? Get inside." I try to usher her in but she takes a step back.

"No, I'm gonna pretend this didn't happen and walk over to Birdie's." Emory tried to walk away but I reached out and snatched her hand. "Jake what are you -? Ow ow, fine, I'll go, just let go of me."

I let go and she pulled on her hand to get rid of the feeling. I could see the war in her one good eye as she reluctantly followed me inside. I led her into the kitchen, lifting her up onto the island before moving to grab the first aid kit from under the sink. I silently began working on cleaning up the blood on her face before moving down to see if there are other wounds to treat.

"It's just my nose." She mutters and I release the breath I didn't know I was holding as I check on her nose. It wasn't broken thankfully and it didn't look like she was going to have a concussion either so I was able to relax a little.

"Well it doesn't look broken." I sigh as I move to grab an ice pack from the freezer. "Just need some ice and you'll keep your gorgeous face in perfect condition." She gives me an unimpressed glance as I hold out the ice pack to show her how serious I am about fixing her nose. She grabs it and gingerly presses it against the bridge of her nose.

The air around us was thick as we sat in silence. I took the time to really take her in: the way her hair is still messy and her eyes are still slightly swollen, the bridge of her nose was red and she was sure to have bruising around her eyes tomorrow. I could tell by the way she stared at the tiled floor of our kitchen that she was in her mind. She was supposed to be at the bakery all night, and now she's showing up at my door bloody, again. I'm just about to say something when she speaks up.

"So I guess I gotta explain why we're having a deja vu episode."

"That would be nice." I say with a deep sigh. "But I'd rather make sure you are okay."

"I'm fine. I'd like to explain it all now, rather than later." Her voice sounded strained and for someone who was usually so confident, that was saying something. "Okay, shoot."

She takes a deep breath before she starts. "I would like to state that if you never wanna see or speak to me again after you hear all this I completely understand, because it's a lot and you're probably gonna hate me afterwards and—"

"Em, please, stop." I cut her off, unable to deal with any more of her self deprecating rambling. "We're gonna have to get married before you continue so I can claim marital privilege."

"Wait, really?" She drops the ice pack to the counter as her eyes widen at my words. We've only just recently started talking about marriage being an option because I wanted to wait for her to be ready for it. "Seriously? You wanna marry me before I tell you all this?"

"Really, sweets." I smile, reaching out to cup her cheeks. "I love you and nothing could ever make me hate you! Shit, you could be the fucking leader of the Furies and I would still only see my Emory. I even have a ring upstairs."

"No you don't." She chuckles nervously.

"Oh, I do, trust me." I lean towards her and place a small kiss on her lips. They're chapped but warm. She leans forward as well, tilting her head slightly. We pull apart with a soft chuckle.

"So should we get you that ring and then go tell Bob and Birdie?" I smile.

"Yeah. Yeah I think we should." She nods before looking back at me. "You wanna help me clean up?" I laugh as I grab a washcloth to clean up the rest of the blood.

Once she was cleaned up and changed into some new clothes, we made our way across the shared yard to the Floyd household.

"I doubt they're even still up." Emory mutters as I knock on the door. "I mean seriously, it's 4 am. They wouldn't still be up, would they?"

"Not that I can tell." I frown and look back toward Em. "Let's see." We both peer inside the house through a window and we both see that the lights are still on, albeit dimly. Suddenly, the door opens to reveal Bob, his eyes already tired and his glasses fogged up from sleep. His hair was rumpled as if he had been running his hands through as his vision focused on us.

"Hey, what are you guys doing here so late?"

"We need to talk to you guys." I answer as Emory nods.

"About what?" The tone in his voice indicates that he isn't buying into anything. He's definitely suspicious of us.

"Nothing important." I lie and Emory quickly steps in.

"But you should go get Birdie."

"If it's enough for the both of you to interrupt mine and Birdie's sleep schedules, then it is important." Bob sighs, "Come on in." He gestures us in before locking the door and heading towards his bedroom where Birdie was surely sound asleep.

It's a few minutes before we hear the tell tale signs of Emory's best friend running down the hallway.

"Em! Are you okay?" The brunette girl drops beside her friend, checking her over for injuries. "Should I call…?"

"I'm fine Bird, everything is okay now." Em assures her and I could see Birdie's shoulders visibly relax before she reaches for a pillow.

"Then where the hell have you been?!" The brunette exclaims as she pulls away from her friend, hitting her with the decorative pillow. "I thought you were dead! There was always a chance you were in deep but what the hell?!"

"I'll explain everything later, but we need you to do something for us first." Emory smiles softly, pulling the pillow from Birdie's hands. Both Birdie and Bob look at us confused as I move to the seat next to Em.

"We're getting married tomorrow." I say.

"Oh." Bob answers shocked.

"Oh? Oh my god! Finally!" Birdie jumps up cheering. "Wait! Why tomorrow?"

"I might've fucked up on which door I knocked on again." Emory giggles. I laugh with her, Birdie just stares blankly at us before she speaks.

"So you're gonna...?"

"After the wedding, he wants marital privilege." Em answers.

"Oh well then by all means Mr. Seresin, dive in head first!" Birdie replies, laughing. "Break her heart after this, they won't find your body."

"I'm gonna kill you someday Birdie." Emory mumbles.

"No you won't." Birdie blows her a kiss. "Now you get the guest room." She says, pulling Emory from the couch and pushing her down the hall. "And you get to go home and sleep alone!" She says, looking at me.

"But..."

"It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding. Now get out of my house." Birdie ushers me towards the door.

"Ya know we could've done it in secret." I tell her.

"Then you'd be dead. Night Jake!" She smiles before closing her front door and locking it.

With that I turned, headed towards home. I felt slightly lightheaded and giddy; I couldn't believe it actually happened. I didn't feel scared or worried, but I guess I should have. I knew I loved Emory and nothing could change that, why would she even think that anything would? As I thought about these things walking through my front door, I glanced at the clock, noting the brightly shining 4:36 am. The courthouse opens at 8, sleeping now would only make us late so I walked to the living room and threw on the morning news.

Our wedding, although a simple one at the courthouse with only Bob and Birdie present was perfect. I never needed the fancy suit, the white gown, and the big wedding to prove that I loved her. Seeing her stand before me with the ring I've been holding onto for a year was more than enough. Bob and Birdie treated us to breakfast before heading back to their house. And then Emory tells me everything. And I mean everything.

I sit in shock on the loveseat as Em paces across the living room from me. Birdie's in the kitchen making drinks and Bob speaks up from his seat on the other couch.

"Well thank fuck someone else knows." He sighs, relaxing into his chair.

"I'm sorry, WHAT?!" I shouted, turning to who I thought was my best friend. "You knew they were doing this?"

"Why else do you think there was never any definite trail linking them to any of the crimes? I've been busting my ass around the clock out here!" Bob defends. "Nat and I can't take it anymore!" Bob immediately slaps a hand over his mouth. My eyes widen, if possible, more than they already were.

"Nat knows?!"

"BOB!" Both Emory and Birdie shout.

"Am I the only one who didn't know?" I question, my eyes trailing between the girls.

"Uhhh, Jake. Let's talk more tomorrow after we've consummated our marriage and can't have it annulled." Em chuckles softly and I already know the answer. Everyone, everyone knew before me.

"Did everyone know before me?"

"At least Cyclone doesn't know. Especially about—" Bob is cut off again by his wife who's abandoned the drinks.

"Robert!"

"The dam is broken, Birdie. There's no turning back now!"

"I knew we should've let Psyche make him sign the NDA." Emory sighs, groaning as she drops into a seat.

"Well I figured he feared his wife more." Birdie shrugs.

"And I do!" Bob jumps up, trying to defend himself. "I don't fear jail because I know what you bunch are capable of."

"Robert Floyd! Did you only marry me cause you thought I'd kill you?!" Birdie shouts, turning to glare at her husband.

"No! I love you! I do!" Bob panics, trying to dig out of the hole he got himself in. "But I definitely don't wanna be on the receiving end of one of Em's special recipes."

"BOB!!!" Em, Birdie, and hell even I shouted at him, knowing that was definitely something he was not supposed to tell me.

"I'm gonna go shower now." Bob mutters, walking towards the master bedroom.

"I swear I'm gonna—"

"Let us leave before you go all Hera on his ass." Em laughs as she pulls me to the front door. I'm still processing everything she told me as we enter our home.

My girlfriend—my wife— is THE Persephone, the leader of the Furies. The woman who has been avoiding capture at my hand for years now. The love of my life is who I've been chasing this entire time. Holy shit.

"You okay over there?" Her voice drags me from my thoughts. I look up to see her staring at me expectantly.

"I'm okay, I think?"

"Are you asking me if you are okay?" She laughs, stepping up to me. Her hazel eyes still sparkle the way they always have, but especially since she now has the diamond ring I got paired with her now. This is still my Emory, not the known vigilante that I've been hunting for years.

"No. I'm okay." I smile at her.

"So... the handcuffs are still for in the bedroom and not for arresting me right?" She asks, smiling as she slowly pulls me towards our room. It's only then that I realize how painfully hard I am.

"Please stop talking. My dick is hard and I'm so confused as to why." Emory laughs at my statement, stopping in her tracks as she snorts, doubling over from her laughter. "This isn't funny Em! I'm conflicted!"

As she calms down she looks up at me with lust filled eyes. "At least you know that I don't entirely hate you for all the times you shot at me." She shrugs casually and walks into the room leaving me standing there in shock, her hips swaying a little more.

Then it hits me. Some of the nights that we had the greatest sex— it was right after I had a shootout with the Furies. She would jump me the minute we were both home and my god—

"Don't you dare start without me, sweets!"

Taglist: (tagging those who might interested, join the taglist to keep being tagged or to be tagged next time) @mamachasesmayhem @eternalsams @sarahsmi13s @hookslove1592 @sailor-aviator @callsign-magnolia @goldenseresinretriever @callsigns-haze @some-lovely-day @buckysteveloki-me @bradleybeachbabe @lovinglyeternal @footprintsinthesxnd @ohtobeaspettyasleah @untoldshortsofthefandoms

Mama may's Everything tags: @aviatorobsessed @callsigncurse @teacupsandtopgun @trickphotography2 @thedroneranger @sweetwhispersofchaos @capoteera @hardballoonlove @buckysdollforlife @kmc1989 @seresinhangmanjake @shanimallina87 @dizzybee03 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @lynnevanss @jynxmirage @na-ta-sh-aa @whatislovevavy @dingochef @dempy @dckweed @just-in-case-iloveyou @tgmreader @djs8891 @marvelousnightjengale @soulmates8 @sorchathered

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hh0320 · 2 years

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YOU BELONG TO ME, BABY.

— lonely star, part one of the trilogy series. pairing. street racer! chris x fem! reader. (+ hyunjin, minho) genre. past lovers, angst, heartbreak, hurt/comfort, stripper!(y/n), interlocked stories. warnings. profanity, jealousy, smut, public sex, unprotected intercourse, alcohol abuse, mentioned violence, name calling, blowjob, rage fuck. tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @hyuneater, @lix-ables, @byskzfilms, @danyxthirstae01, @enluc, @skz317cb97. word count. 7.5k

OCT. 2019 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Very early in your life it was too late.

You stare at the text message, watercolor tears blurring your vision. The stranger’s hands are numb, her legs heavy.

She needs to go. Away—from him. She loves him very much, but there has to be life after him. She loves him very much, but God, it is unbearable, it is all consuming, it is a coffin six feet down, buried alive, hands never again to touch his.

If it’s not happening to you, you think you can get through with it. It is not your hands, it is hers; it is not your heart bleeding, it’s someone else’s, the stranger’s. The one that’s never met Chris. The one that will board the plane, the one that will survive, live on, away away away—

You look at the words on the screen, and there’s heavy rain, thunderstorm warning—your phone is wet. The watercolor bled, Hyunjin would be mad.

02:38AM chris— you’re the only good thing in my life.

02:41AM chris— if you go i’m dead.

03:02AM chris— YOU ARE BREAKING MY FUCKING HEART ANGEL. REPLY TO ME.

Very early in your life it was too late.

You will your body to move.

JAN. 2022 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Chris was drunk.

It had been a long inebriation, settled deep between his bones, holding him there, over the edge. It had a name, but Chris refused to give into it just yet. Soon, but not yet.

There was a rage in him. It’d built a house in his rib cage, and there’d been no stopping it from growing. And it was growing; had been growing for a while—eight hundred and fifty two days, to be exact.

Chris had counted every.single.one of them.

Sitting on top of his black 2015 Chevrolet Camaro, he threw another empty bottle of beer on the dull pavement, with all the little fucking cracks, and bumps, and mistakes—

Yes, there was rage, and it was sizzling white, blinding him. There was rage, because there was grief. And God knows you’re not coming back, so anger is all he has now.

The bottle smashed, as the engines roared. Jisung was getting ready for another race. It hadn’t been but a couple hours since they got there, and they’d already made more than three thousand dollars. Chris had won the first round, and drank himself oblivious after that.

To celebrate, was tonight’s excuse.

If he closed his eyes, he could picture you. Beautiful, astute, waiting, hand extended for him to grab. There—always there with his eyes closed.

Nowhere to be found when he opened them.

“Hey, Bang!”

Chris barely turned to the sound of his surname. The voice was familiar, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

He took another swing of his new beer, watching as Yeji brought the scarf down, indicating for the racers to start. Jisung’s Nissan growled and he was gone, people cheering all around. Chris followed the cars with his eyes, up until the Devil’s turn and then tilted his head up at the night sky, leaning back on the hood.

“Bang!” The voice was closer, now. Seo Changbin.

“What the fuck do you want?” Chris replied, indifferently, not even bothering to address him.

“Race me. I’ll give you a thousand.”

“Fuck no.”

Changbin groaned, but didn’t give up.

“Upfront.”

Chris peeked at him at that, studying his face. His excited expression betrayed naivety, and Chris wasn’t in the mood to steal money from a rookie. Not only that, but Changbin’s car wasn’t anywhere near race ready, and well, that would probably be classified cheating, wouldn’t it?

“Hard pass, Seo,” he said, and stuck his hand out. Changbin clapped it, obviously disappointed. “But hey, I’ll come help you replace that stock down pipe. Saturday, yeah?”

The man nodded, smile back on his face. “Fuck yeah, bro! Take care of yourself, no? You look like shit.”

Chris chuckled, gaze back to the stars. “Fuck off, Changbin.”

“Say less.”

Changbin had been a high school friend, but after graduation the two drifted apart, Chris sticking with Jisung and Hyunjin, while Bin went off to university and joined a fraternity. Their love for cars remained, and even now, they would sometimes get together and work on Changbin’s Supra, but it would never be like before.

Something broke between them, and it could never be fixed. Maybe it was after he met you.

His murderer—cold case.

Chris chugged the beer, getting off his car. He needed to go for a drive, before he started a fight again. No one could call the cops on a street race, and he was sure—if he started, there was no stopping.

He threw the empty bottle harder this time, getting in. Turning the key, the engine roared—Chris pressed on the gas, car still in park. People close to him turned their heads, admired the smoothness of the sound, the sleek black of the exterior.

Chris ignored their stares, focused on his killing.

The glass smashed, shattering into a million, tiny fucking pieces. He smiled, bitterly.

So, that’s how it looked. His heart.

FEB. 2022 — SYDNEY, AUSTRALIA.

Hyunjin was reading Henry Miller, waiting at Arrivals, gate A2.

A regret was in process, but he swallowed it entire. You had asked, you had no one else. A favor to you—his sweet, precious friend—it couldn’t be wrong. And it wouldn’t be.

At last, you appeared. A myth taking shape; all these years passed, they all thought they dreamt you up. Had she ever been real, Chris had wondered one particular night, crying over a bottle of liquor, always Lark, always whiskey; Chris never drank before you, not the hard stuff. But frequenting at your bar had changed him, watching you dance in front of tens of men, undressing for their eyes—it cracked him. Fucked with his head.

‘Only but a shadow lifted,’ Hyunjin had replied.

‘A dream, then,’ he’d mourned. ‘A dream.’

Now, you were back, corporeal, and there were no words. When your eyes met, your own were glossy, sad with longing.

Hyunjin closed his book, and smiled softly at your figure, slowing down, taking him in. He opened his arms, overcome with relief.

No more of this knife turning, this terrible fucking horror of watching his best friend kill himself bit by bit. The angel had arrived, to breathe life back into him, to stop the torturing pain, the never ending punishment.

What were you, if not part of the Bible, returning to save them all. A salvation.

“Welcome back, sweetheart.”

You nuzzled into him, tears running hot, staining. Your arms squeezed tighter around his torso, missing the clean scent, the softness of his clothes.

Hyunjin had been like a brother to you, in a time where you had no one. He’d been patient, and kind, offering up his life, expecting nothing in return. He gave you Jisung, and eventually Chris, and the three of them filled you up in ways you’ve never before known possible.

You were back at the scene of the crime. Why? Because love is an anchor that settles over home, it is a resurrection, an open door that you leave, a candle that you light—

Because, despite you leaving, you never truly went anywhere if he was here all along. Love unmoving, terrifyingly still.

The both of you walked to Hyunjin’s car, your hand in his. He opened the passenger door for you to get in.

“You know you could’ve stayed with me,” he said, pulling out of the parking spot.

It was already evening in Sydney, the sky in flames. You had missed your city; Perth was wonderful, open, the people friendly enough, but Sydney is your soul. There was something about growing up there, being familiar with the streets, your friends…your club.

You’d missed dancing. You’d sworn off it the minute you decided to leave—Perth had been a standstill, a necessary pause from the rest of your life, completely separate. There you were the girl from before, naive and innocent, a stranger that had no memories, no recollection of fast cars, stripping, money, so fucking much of it—him.

Was it wrong of you to miss eating your own heart? Perth had been nice, it had been lovely, but it wasn’t real. It didn’t exist. The you that tried to escape—she’d failed, and now she was back. Starting from zero.

“No, Hyun. I have to do this on my own this time.”

He glanced at you, red light bringing him to a stop. “Who’s going to give you rides to the bar? Make sure you’re eating?”

You sighed, taking his hand, your thumb rubbing soothing circles on his palm.

“I was by myself for two years. Alone—do you know what it means, Hyunjin?”

Your friend didn’t look convinced, but humored you anyway. “I understand very well, (Y/N). It was a choice we all had to live with, whether we liked it or not.”

His words hurt you. You had no right to play victim when you had up and left, abandoning the only people in your life that loved you unconditionally. Hyunjin had been your roommate for four years, and you hadn’t even bothered to leave a note on your way out.

He had to come home and find half of your clothes gone, your toothbrush missing. He had to wait six hours before his calls could go through, his messages delivered. And then he had to wait two months before you showed him any signs of your being alive.

So yes, Hyunjin knew aloneness. He felt it everyday seeing your furniture intact, still in his guest room, he felt it every time he visited his friend, every time he had to carry him out his car, make sure he wasn’t dead. Every time Chris would hide his face, asking him to leave, embarrassed, devastated.

Being alone felt a lot like a girl boarding a plane and ruining a perfectly fine man.

“I’m sorry. I’ve hurt you irrevocably, and you should never forgive me,” you choked out, tears burning unshed. “But Hyunjin, if nothing else, please know I love you with everything in me.”

He nodded to that, swallowing hard, both hands on the wheel, knuckles white from his deathly grip on it.

“He still goes,” he revealed in a voice barely above a whisper. “To Lonely Star. He looks for you.”

You sobbed, then. Silently, hand over mouth, gaze locked out the window, buildings passing you by, the last bits of sun scorching your skin. You squeezed your eyes shut, and let it all spill out over the dashboard—emotions bouncing on the windshield, no escape for them now.

Now you had to deal with them. No more running away, no more pretending they weren’t there.

If running, why not go towards the things you love?

Hyunjin’s own eyes were wet, too. A regret was in process, and this time he’d let it take over. Because he felt it, the love annihilating, the time destroying. The heart that won’t do the beating, the words that won’t speak.

He hoped for this. If you were regretting, that means it’d hurt you just as much as it had them. So then, the hurting would’ve been for something.

“Will you tell him?” You asked, trying to will your tears to stop.

But your body will betray you, and your will won’t save you. You did this, it whispered, echoing inside of you. You caused it. Deal with it. Set it right.

“No. It’s not my place anymore,” he replied. “Either way, he’s been hanging out with Jisung lately. They’ve been racing a lot, making good money.”

What was racing to Chris Bang—an extension of him. Like an arm, or a lung, vital for his existence. You used to think he could survive without the adrenaline; the gas pedal, the stick shift, his tire grazed streets. All these things were fun, but they weren’t necessary, you’d thought. And it was true—to an extent, you could live without your arm, or one of your lungs, or your leg—but it wouldn’t ever be quite the same again, would it? It’d always feel like something’s missing.

Only then had you understood the nature of him. He breathed cars, he thrived off the thrill of a good race. He was incomplete without those things.

‘You think you have limits, yeah? Until you get out there, and you try this limit, and you think ‘okay, this is it, I can only go this far.’ But then you press down a little bit more…suddenly you’re limitless. A line that has no fucking end.’

God, how you missed him. The sound of his voice, the sight of him. The way he used to fuck you into the steering wheel, those arms that you remember so vividly holding you tight against him while you pieced yourself back together.

His patience with you. His autumn eyes, the way you fell and kept falling in them. This man had been carved of the same soul as you, you felt him entirely your own.

Which is why you let him go. It had gone too far, you had to pull the trigger first. God knows he could never hurt you.

“And you?” You asked, taking a good look at your friend. His hair was longer, covering the nape of his neck, dyed midnight black. His features carved, beautiful as always.

“Renowned artist, Hwang Hyunjin, at your service. I have a gallery now,” he smirked, sensing your need to change the subject.

You were nearing your destination—your new home.

“Of course you do. I saw all about it,” you smiled proudly at him. “You really deserve it, Hyun. You were born to paint.”

At that, he snorted, getting shy. “Perhaps.”

You tried not to think about yourself. What were you doing with your life again? Taking your clothes off for fast money. And yet you couldn’t seem to feel sorry for yourself—this world doesn’t spin the same for everyone.

Money was money, at the end of the day. Lonely Star always provided.

The club was drenched in blue light.

A solid crowd, all eagerly awaiting your first show back. A dark stage, and a spinning pole; low, hypnotizing music, bass heavy. It was all calling to you.

The owner sat at the bar, scanning the scene. You had been his favorite dancer, his most popular employee. When you left, you’d taken a lot of money with you. There was no way he’d lose you again. Not with a full house like this.

Chris got out of his car, locking it behind him. It was after hours, and the Lonely Star seemed an oasis amidst the driest desert for him. He’d gotten a call from Minho to pass by.

‘It’ll be worth your while,’ he’d promised. Something in his voice had convinced Chris to go.

Maybe it was instinct, his gut leading him. Maybe it’d been you, and your red string of fucking fate.

Because nothing was worthwhile for Lee Minho and his club, unless you were there.

God his witness, if he passed through those doors and saw you on that stage, he’d fucking lose it.

How long had you been hiding from him? Who knew and hadn’t told him? He was seething, jaw locking and unlocking, fingers fidgeting with the keys in his hand, trying very hard not to punch the first thing he saw.

Oh, he’d burn the fucking place to the ground. Take you with him and fuck you senseless, drill you to his fucking bed frame so you could never fucking run again.

The neon blue light encased him whole, invading his eyes. The bass of the music bounced in his chest, as he headed straight for the bar.

The stage was empty still, but it looked set up, like someone was about to perform.

“Whiskey. Straight,” he said to the bartender, clapping Minho’s back.

The man in question turned around, a cryptic look on his face. “How’ve you been, Chris?”

Chris scoffed, a quick thank you for the drink, before he kicked it back. The burn in his throat was nothing compared to what he felt throughout his entire body.

Every hair on him was on full alert. The idea of you being backstage, getting ready in one of your ridiculous little outfits that covered nothing but your cunt—two and a half years.

Two and a half fucking years and the first person that got to see you naked was Lee goddamn Minho. Did you really hate him that much?

Had he not given you every fiber of his being?

“Another one,” he ordered, hands clenched into fists on top of the counter.

Chris hang his head, gritting his teeth. All this time, he was dying a thousand deaths, every day, for you to just—

“You’d be wise to calm down,” Minho advised, calmly.

“You’d be wise to shut the fuck up,” he snapped, glaring at the grey haired man. “She’s here, isn’t she?”

“Yes.”

Chris’ hand came down on the counter. The sound got drowned by the music, but the bartender jumped nonetheless, eyes wide staring at him.

The second drink was gone as soon as it came.

“You’ve been hiding her from me,” he growled, getting in Minho’s face.

The man remained unfazed. When drunk, Chris would usually get like this. If he wasn’t his friend, Minho would’ve thrown him out countless times.

He supposed there was good enough reason for his behavior today, and he couldn’t fault him. You and Chris had a tumultuous affair—something very intense, and dark, that Minho couldn’t quite understand.

When you left, everything crumpled. Entirely.

“Not exactly,” he said. “But in a sense. She’s staying at one of my apartments.”

Chris furrowed his eyebrows, swallowing needles. His mouth was dry. Pain shot through his chest. So it was true—you really were back.

Only feet away from him.

“You don’t deserve her. I can take care of her now. I swear, Lee, if you touch a hair on her goddamn head—” he fumed, grabbing him by the shirt.

Minho looked down at his now wrinkled shirt, smirking. “You do know I own this place, right? There’s people way bigger than you that don’t like you very much right now.”

Chris chuckled darkly, bringing him closer. “You think I give a fuck about your fucking bodyguards?” he spat.

“You will, if you don’t let go of me.”

The two men measured each other in the swimming lights, before Chris caved, taking a deep breath, and moving away from him.

He drank that third glass slowly, his anger barely contained. It was there, though, waiting, lurking to be set free. Chris would not find peace until he exploded.

“I am not interested in your girl. Business wise, yeah, she’s the best I got. I’m planning on keeping her around for a long time. But that’s it.”

The song changed to something sultry, with heavier bass. Lights dimming, whispers erupted through the crowd. Minho smiled, turning his attention to the stage.

Chris had never looked away.

And it would always be like the first time he ever saw you; walking out from behind the curtains, your hips swaying seductively, you grabbed onto the pole, twirling slowly. Everyone seemed to be hanging from your next move, leaning closer, holding their breath.

You were a vision. A dream his mind conjured up, stained in pretty pinks and blues, the lace on your body made of the finest nightmare—he’d finally gone mad. It couldn’t be you, real, there, right there, so close he could touch you?

Surely not. Surely you wouldn’t mercy him so generously.

Nothing else mattered. You, up on that stage, spinning like a fucking goddess on that pole, your smooth skin sparkling, your angelic, beautiful face—his fucking hell on earth.

He moved towards you in a trance, his love and hate for you having a bar fight. You had made it so incredibly clear—he was not worthy of you, did not deserve you. You left him for dead, and disappeared for what felt like an unbearable eternity.

Now you’re in front of him, his cruel, beautiful girl, a graceful ballerina upside down on that pole, doing the splits, and all he can think about is—you don’t give a shit about him.

You never fucking did. He loved you, loves you, so entirely, would give his soul, whatever there was left, sacrifice himself to the fucking Devil if it meant you’d be his again, and you just—

Felt nothing. You punished him like this?

Oh, he’d show you pain. He’d make it hurt so good.

Chris stood right under your feet. He could hear the other men around him curse at him, call out for him to get out the way, but he dared them to do something about it. He had to make you see—he was there, he knew.

Your eyes recognized him as you fell to your knees, discarding your top. He stared you down, his eyes glistening, his face set, hard lines around his mouth. His luscious, full mouth.

Chris. Real, mad at you. Clad in black jeans and a white shirt, hair styled away from his sharp face. Your heart, looking at you like a stranger.

A gasp escaped your lips, frozen in place. ‘He still goes. He looks for you,’ Hyunjin’s voice echoed in your head.

Bills flying all around you, life played out in slow motion as you saw the stack of money on his hands. You blinked at it, tears stuck to your eyelids.

“Dance,” he demanded, squinting down at you. “That’s how you get these, right?” He shook the bills at you, his hands shaking for another reason entirely.

You saw it, the hate in his eyes. From his perspective, you were a terrible woman, a woman that played him like a fool, and disappeared on him afterwards, once the fun was over. He was dirt poor back then, had nothing to offer. Why would you entertain a loser like him, right?

He couldn’t be further from the truth. But there was no way to show him. And you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You had no control of your body.

To disappear. To disappear completely.

You looked for Minho, who was sitting at the bar, watching the scene play out. You looked a lot like a fallen angel, to him. He was interested to see the ending of this.

He lifted a hand to his bodyguard. Stay put.

The lights were blinding you, there was nothing beyond the man standing in front of you. In your chest, panic. There was no way you could do this. No way in Hell.

“I said fucking dance,” he leaned down to grab your chin, roughly. “That’s all you’re good for, yeah?”

What it took for you to not curl into yourself, then. He had hurt you with your biggest insecurity. You couldn’t escape the club, knowing your dancing always brought you a lot of money. He knew this—he used it against you.

“Don’t look at me like I’ve hurt you,” he said, close to your mouth, gaze scorching.

“What the fuck, man! You’re not supposed to touch the girl,” one of the customers said, getting up from his seat.

More retaliated, but got drowned out by the music. Chris turned around, a deadly calmness settling over him.

“That’s my fucking girl. I can do whatever the fuck I want with her.”

You used his anger as fuel to get up from the ground, and grab the pole once again. Falling into it, you used your momentum to jump and latch your legs around the cool silver, twirling while extending your arms, your hips moving slowly to the beat of the music you’d chosen for the night.

He wanted a show, you’d give him one. For old times sake.

Letting your head fall back, you saw his face change, pain morphing back into unadulterated anger, as he started throwing dollar bills your way.

You closed your eyes, tears finally escaping you, as you came all the way down, knees hitting the floor. You were disgusted with yourself, with the way his money fell on you, so you escaped to the top of the pole, your entire body hurting.

Most of all your own soul. A betrayal. He’d thought you betrayed him, all this time. And wasn’t he right to assume?

But it wasn’t the truth. And would he listen to you now? Did you deserve his time, after everything?

Chris had seen enough. He was fucking done. He dumped the rest of the money on you, watching it lick all over your skin, your back on the stage floor, your hand running over the crevice of your breast.

He was sick to his stomach with want, his own hands aching with yearning. His cock had never stopped getting rock hard just with the thought of you, but having you naked under him like this, and not being able to hide inside you was pure fucking torture.

He’d rather the poison. He’d rather the clean kill.

He turned to walk away, when fingers closed around his own, the touch faint, but there. Enough to stop him dead on his tracks.

Chris looked at your panicked face. He furrowed his brows at you, and shook your touch off. You were playing tricks, fucking with his head.

You wanted nothing to do with him. One thing he never gave you, he showered you with whole. And there was so much more where that had come from—Chris was fucking drowning in money. He had so much of it, he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

Four thousand was on the floor behind you. All hundreds. And yet you didn’t seem to care about it at all, instead trying to grab onto him again. This time it was his shirt.

He wished for death, then, truly, genuinely. What were you doing with him? Had you no mercy? Couldn’t you see you had him on his knees, gun to his mouth?

Let me die. Let me die, now, as she’s holding on to me. This will never happen again.

“Please,” he heard you say. Those weren’t crystals on your cheeks, they were tears.

You, crying for him. What fresh Hell, what godforsaken dream was this—

“Chris.” His name on your lips.

Oh, fuck him straight to the depths of the darkest fucking pit. Bury him alive. He wasn’t wasting this. If it hurt him again, so be it.

You were calling out his name. He was drunk, but that had been real. As real as his heart bursting into flames, a forest fire spreading to the rest of his organs, tearing him down from the inside.

“Curse the fucking pull you have on me—”

He took his shirt off, covering you up, and slid his hands under you, picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his torso, arms circling around his neck.

Home. Home, at long last. You sobbed from joy, as he walked both of you out of the club, everything else becoming static noise, background music.

There would never be anything more important than having you in his arms. You completed him in every possible way. He loved you in death, would follow you hands tied, eyes blind.

There will never be anyone else for him. Never.

You didn’t make it far. His lips had devoured yours as soon as the doors had closed behind you. Taking a turn into the club’s alleyway, he slammed you against the wall, his hands protecting your back, grazing against the rough wall—he breathed you in, lips never once leaving your mouth.

Your naked chests touching, your nails scratched over his toned arms, fingers wrapping around the nape of his neck. He’d filled in so deliciously, though his face had been full of edges.

You never wanted to stop kissing him. You wanted him to take you right there, fuck you raw. No one could possibly understand—this need inside you, it was raging against your very skin.

You needed him to fuck you. Needed him inside you to put out, to silence, to release. Please, please, please—

“Use me, baby. Take it,” he whispered fiercely against your mouth, staring deep in your eyes. “Whatever you need.”

You grabbed ahold of his wide shoulders, just as his fingers moved the thin material of your lingerie. He cupped your cunt, and you moved against him, lips falling open, a moan escaping you.

“Goddamnit, (Y/N). You’re killing me,” his fingers slipped inside you, taking, annihilating.

His touch, blazing against your cold skin, resurrecting you from the grave, goosebumps rising all over. This is how it felt, your body told him. This is what I feel for you, this is how I react to your touch alone—hide inside me. Come home now.

He was relentless, fucking into you with his digits, mouth attacking your mouth, your neck, your ears—his breath was hot, panting. You dug your nails on his shoulders, screams weak and raspy.

Then he stopped. “Open your mouth for me,” he ordered, sticking his fingers in, swirling them around.

You licked them, sucked them dry, tasting yourself on him. He watched you with hungry eyes, trapped against him, naked for him. You had returned—to him. He was going to ruin you until there was nothing left.

Until all you knew was him. He was fucking obsessed with your body, furious you’d refused him yourself for this long.

“My good fucking girl,” he removed his fingers with a ‘pop’, your hands already unbuttoning his jeans, getting lost under the waistband of his underwear.

You rubbed him a couple times, but it just wasn’t enough. You needed him in your mouth, you needed— fuck, all you really needed—

“Let me down,” you said, unwrapping your legs from him. He let you, dazed, and you quickly got on your knees.

When you took him in your mouth, both of you groaned simultaneously, overwhelmed. Chris put one arm against the wall, holding himself up, eyes watching his cock disappear between your lips. Heaven—pure fucking bliss to be like this with you.

“My girl. Mine, mine, mine,” he repeated, over and over, like a mantra. “Made for me.”

It felt a lot like racing, you blowing him. Adrenaline pumping through his veins, heart bursting. His two favorite things. Nothing else mattered, nothing else could fucking compare.

He bucked his hips, his other hand grabbing ahold of your head, his stomach muscles flexing. You felt fucking incredible. He wanted to go on forever, but your tongue was working him loose, your palm rubbing him just right. He’d blow, and he didn’t wanna do in your mouth.

He wanted to get lost inside you.

He tapped on your mouth, releasing himself, pulling you up. “Get up, my beautiful girl. Let me feel you,” his breathing was labored, his eyes ablaze.

Hands on your ass, he picked you up again with no difficulty at all. You kissed him hard, and his hand got lost in your hair, bringing you closer. Moving your panties aside, you positioned his hard cock on your entrance, rocking against him, moaning, panting, tears running down your face, mixing with sweat.

He pressed his forehead against yours, shushing you. “I know, baby girl,” he mumbled, eyes closed.

Then he pushed. You cried out, wrapping your arms around his neck. He slammed into you, bottoming out, and paused, taking a sharp breath. He was violently shaking; not because of exhaustion, but because he’d dreamt of this exact moment a million times, and every time he would wake up alone, realizing he was crying in his sleep.

That terrible half life away from you—and now you were there, and he was touching you, was inside you—his dream come true.

“Goddamn you for taking this away from me,” he choked out, visibly in pain, tears falling miserably from his beautiful, autumn eyes.

You wiped them away, your own still burning, and cried with him, as he fucked into you, slow in the beginning, getting used to you again, holding back in case you wanted to run again, giving you that time to obliterate him once and for all, but—after a point he was just too fucking gone.

There was no more holding back. He drilled you into the wall, all the while his knuckles raw and bloody against your back, his chest your chest, his breath your breath. He was fucking you like a starved man, arms enveloping you, mouth colonizing. Your voice was hoarse, your release near.

“Fuck me, fuck, Chris… God! Please, please, I need to, I need to, please,” you begged, scratching his back, drawing blood. He let you.

He let you have it all. His hands guided your hips on his cock, keeping you steady, allowing you your pace.

“I got you, angel. Fuck on me, baby.”

“Please, I’m so close,” you moaned, head falling back into brick.

He needn’t be told twice. He resumed pounding into you, taking your lips for his. His tongue fighting for dominance, open mouthed—he won. He would win every time, because he could have everything.

You didn’t care anymore. He could swallow you whole.

“Fuck,” he growled, death grip on your hips. “Baby girl, look at me.”

You did. You searched his eyes, nodding to yourself. It was too much, it was so much, he was so wonderful, so beautiful, ruined, sweaty, his smell, just his smell was enough, and you—

You came hard, all over his cock. As if he sensed it, he followed after you, walls painted white. He fisted your hair, pulling you into a sloppy, possessive kiss.

“No one will ever fuck you like I do,” he muttered, his lips dragging over your cheek. “No one will ever love you as much as I fucking do, baby.”

You breathed hard, coming down from your high, ashamed to look at him. He was suffocatingly close, promising you things that you didn’t deserve in the slightest.

“Look at me,” he whispered softly, his index finger guiding your face towards him.

You kept your gaze to his chest; his chiseled muscles, his strong arms, his swimmer shoulders, that thin chain around his neck glistening under the street lights, his big Adam’s apple, the way it bopped as he swallowed.

Chris put you down gently, zipping his pants up, and proceeding to pass his shirt over your head, hiding your breasts from view. You’d given enough of a show—the rest was for his eyes only.

“You’re regretting it,” he said, voice devoid of emotion.

“No,” you replied, sharply. “That’s not it. Chris, I’ve hurt you so much…” you trailed off.

“How can you still love me?” you asked, helplessly, hugging your arms.

He took a step forward, your back getting pressed against the wall once again. Both arms over your head, there was no one more beautiful, more enticing than him at that moment.

But you had been selfish. You’d taken and taken, and you’d dried him out. Back in the club, his image haunting you—he looked a dead man walking.

Absolutely devoid of life. And it had all been your fault.

“Because you’re mine,” he answered, tone deep, raspy. “I never stopped believing you’d come back to me.”

He grabbed your hand, put it over his heart. A sob wretched out of your throat, and you hang your head. He covered your fingers with his, squeezing.

“This goddamn thing—it’s only ever beat for you. There is nothing you can do to me now, that I haven’t already gone through, angel.”

You bit your lips, devastated, defeated. Here he was, offering himself up, to use and abuse him, and you were refusing him, again, because of your own weaknesses.

Oh, you didn’t deserve this man one bit. And yet, you’d be greedy, anyway.

One last time.

“Take me home, Chris.”

He sped through the empty streets, one hand on the steering wheel, the other over yours on the gearbox.

Looking at him now, handling his car so expertly, as easy as breathing to him, you wondered how many hours he’d dedicated to learning this vehicle so intimately.

Hyunjin told you he was racing more now. And all that money he’d thrown on you earlier…just how involved was he in illegal racing?

Before you left, he’d almost gotten arrested for it, and excessive speeding. He’d barely lost the cops, maneuvering through avenues and ending up on the highway, high on adrenaline, Jisung on speakerphone telling him how messed up he was.

Ever since you met him, Chris had been working on cars. Junk cars, cars that no one would give a second thought about. He took them in to his garage, and brought them back to life. That had been his job, when you two got together—he’d get scrap vehicles, make them race able, and sell them.

It didn’t pay much, but his eyes held so much passion doing it, that you could never bring yourself to mention anything to him. He was wasting himself, his talent. Regardless of what you thought, his knowledge and skills only got better because of that dead end job.

When he started racing himself—that’s when he realized his true calling. At first he sucked ass. But with trial and error, he studied the cars that beat him, their motors, and slowly started ordering the parts needed for the ultimate race car.

He bought his Camaro with Jisung’s help. Jisung had been a racer since before they’d graduated high school. He was one of the best in Sydney, but he also happened to be Chris’ best friend.

So with that extra push, Chris came to be what he was. Then you left, and everything else went to shit, except this. His car. The meet ups—his streets. It was the only thing that kept him from fucking shooting his brains out.

He was so focused, when driving. He loved going fast, it was evident in his face every time he stepped on the gas. You couldn’t help but admire him, the way he’d dedicated himself to this one thing, loved it so utterly.

You loved him. You loved him in a way that could raise the dead from their graves.

“Pull over,” you told him, as if waking up from a dream. “Please.”

He did, barely getting to pull the e-brake, before you straddled him. Chris adjusted under you, hands on your waist, gaze dark, watching your every move.

“Do you still hate me?” you asked, bracing your heart.

His eyes moved, trying to discern your expression, wishing he could read your thoughts. Your hips started grinding on his thighs, your mouth falling open.

“Yes,” he confessed, holding you in place, taken aback.

“Why?” You moved one of his hands underneath the fabric of your shirt, over your breast.

He growled, low, wanting to get in your head—what the fuck were you playing at? He was mad with desire.

“Because you can leave me.” His other hand went to your throat, squeezing, pushing your back against the steering wheel.

“Show me,” you whispered.

He attacked your neck, licking, biting, teeth grazing behind your ear. You wrapped around him like a vine, taking it all, your cunt getting wet just with the thought of him filling you up in his car, just like all those times before.

“Fuck me,” you moaned on his lips. “I need you.”

Your hands unzipped his jeans, pulling his fully erect cock out. You salivated at the sight of it, wanted to take him deep in your mouth. But you needed him inside you more, needed to feel him as part of you, to convince yourself that he was real, that everything would be okay now.

“Chris, please, please—”

“Shut up, be quiet.”

Chris lifted you by the waist, slamming you down on his dick, hissing as you clenched around him. Your eyes met, his cruel gaze dropping to your mouth, reaching and taking your bottom lip between his lips, biting down on it. You whined, fucking yourself on him, his hands guiding your pace.

“Goddamn you, (Y/N). Fuck,” he cursed, his head falling, resting against your sternum, forehead pressing on your collarbone.

And then he started pistoling into you. You screamed, death grip on his shoulders, as you felt the steering wheel dig into your lower back.

His hips moved incessantly, without rest, reaching into the deepest parts of you, taking, devouring, stealing. You could cry with the closeness of him. It was divine—your cunt was on fire, his cock pure gasoline.

“Fucking slut,” he growled in your ear, his mouth everywhere, his voice ricocheting on your skin. “You craved cock this much?”

“Yours,” you breathed, shaking. “Only yours.”

He laughed humorlessly, arms tightening around you, thrusting, killing you. “Yet she’s so willing to undress in front of other men.”

“Fuck you,” you spat, finding his eyes.

They were looking to wound. “Truth hurts, baby?” He asked, voice laced with poison.

You couldn’t breathe. His cock was ramming into you so hard, so fast, tears were stuck on your eyelids—it hurt. It hurt more because it was meant to.

“Tell me, baby girl,” he panted, bringing you flush against him, his hands moving your ass on him.

“I’m so close, oh my God—”

Your thighs were burning with exhaustion.

“Fucking tell me—don’t you dare fucking cum—has anyone else fucked this cunt?”

You scrunched your face, pain erupting in your chest, at the thought of this question replaying over and over inside his head. You’d ruined this beautiful shell of a man.

Now you had to glue him back together.

“Answer me, (Y/N)!” He seized moving, now shaking you violently. “You’re not cumming until you fucking tell me.”

“No! Fuck you, Chris, no, goddamnit.” You collapsed on him, overcome with grief. “Stop fucking acting like you were the only one hurting!”

He made no attempt to console you, his fingers still digging into your ribs. “Don’t you fucking dare turn this around—you chose to leave. I had no fucking choice.”

“Please…” you sobbed, brokenly. “I’m yours. No one’s touched me, Chris.”

His anger hit you in waves. You felt him physically restraining himself from doing anything too harsh, instead pushing you off of him, and onto the passenger seat, on your hands and knees.

You went to speak, before he slammed into you again. This time he was absolutely ruthless, searching only for one thing. Release.

His hand coming down on your ass, again and again, he fucked you hard until you came apart.

“You fucking whore, is this what you wanted? Atonement?”

You shook your head, unable to reply, unable to move. He loved you enough to let you finish, but he still didn’t trust you. You couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t blame him at all.

He pulled out of you roughly, leaving you naked and used. You’d asked for it; you’d been sure that’s what he’d needed. But you couldn’t help regretting ever asking for his honest feelings.

They burned holes through you.

You heard him fumbling with his jeans, and then the door slammed. Slowly turning to sit down, your back sore, you watched as he lit a cigarette, the way his body curved towards the lighter, how it hang from his full lips, as he rose his arms, put them on top of his head.

What a fucking man you loved. Shirtless, a God—if only you weren’t so toxic for each other. Oh, how your heart broke, watching him in conflict with his own self.

But that’s why you’d come back every time, for the rest of time. Because it’s him, because it’s you—together. Because this feeling is intoxicating.

You knew you shouldn’t—you got out.

He pierced you with black eyes. “Get the fuck back in the car.”

You didn’t dare move towards him. “We should break up.”

Chris looked at you bewildered. He huffed out a laugh, hitting his head with his hands, furious, drunk, out of it. What else? What fucking else?

“(Y/N), God my fucking witness, get back in the goddamn car, before I fucking do something I regret.”

“Chris, look at you,” you said, softly, sad.

Cigarette between his fingers, you saw his heavy boots move towards you, now standing before you. His chest was falling and rising, his hair a mess.

Handsome. Handsome as ever. You met his enraged gaze.

“This is what you did to me!” He yelled at you. You flinched, taking a step back. He paused upon seeing your reaction, turning his head away, licking his lips, collecting himself. “Who I am, it’s because of you. So, no,” he chuckled humorlessly, “we’re not breaking up. You’re stuck with me, baby. You’re going nowhere,” he finished, voice dangerous, but gentle.

“Now get inside, before I kill some motherfuckers,” he glared at the cars beeping, catcalling you.

“You’re staying with me.”

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