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toxicanonymity · 8 months

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EVERY INCH 3.

4.4k words, m!ghostface x f!reader

Every inch 🔪 Every inch 2

SUMMARY: Ghostface watches you and calls you. He gets bored, and one of your friends gets killed. You try to swear ghostface off, but he stalks you. You want revenge. A/N: THANK YOU for all the love. Masked Ghostface, inspired by canon gfs & night walks. HC who you want. Enough recap in the first paragraph to read as a one shot. WARNINGS: I8+ noncon p in v, exhibitionism, voyeurism, gun play, choking, degradation, slut shaming, drugs, creampie, noncon breeding, phone sex, masturbation, knife play, a modicum of canon-typical plot/violence. Gf calls himself daddy. DEAD DOVE. NO USE OF Y/N. Starts in GHOSTFACE POV.

You aren't doing yourself any favors by thinking about him every time you get off. You should get on tinder. Go on another date. Get a boyfriend. But there's too much now. You've got a video of him whimpering with his cock out after you had your way with him, and a picture of him with cum all over his robe a minute later. And then there's the mirror pic he took in your bathroom. He's behind you, holding you naked in front of him. There's a look of arousal on your face, and you must be so ashamed, but you keep coming back to look at it every night. . .and you're not the only one.

Ghostface air dropped it to himself right after he took the pic. You should really be more careful with your settings. And your blinds, and your curtains. But you don't wanna be more careful, do you? You've got everything the cops could need to put him away. You even had his DNA, and you kept it to yourself. Allll to yourself. And you’d like to have more of it, wouldn't you? It's fascinating, really, how bad you want his cock.

You haven't heard from him in weeks, but he still comes by every once in a while. He sees your neighbor check in on you, and you keep looking at the time on your apple watch until he leaves. He sees you try on your slutty Halloween costumes– your backside looks best in that tight ass nurse dress, but god damn, your tits in that pleather. What a pretty pussy you are. Meow. He sees you get dressed for bed, and just in time.

You check your phone and glance out your bedroom window before you take out your vibrator. Ghostface takes out his cock and lifts his mask to spit on it. This is his season, you know. You must think about him all the time. Every time you see one of those phony Stab costumes. Every time you carve a pumpkin. He lets you get a head start building to your climax. God damn, you want that cock, and you do an awful job hiding it when you see the call from a restricted number. You look at your phone, biting your lip, and let it ring for a few seconds before you wet your lips and answer it. But you don't say anything. Ohh, playin’ hard to get, are ya?

Ghostface admires the stiffness of his cock in his hand and strokes it while he watches you try not to speak first. It's quite the game of chicken–at least a full minute of silence. He breathes heavier as he strokes himself, and then he hears the buzz of your toy.

"Mmm, good kitty."

"What do you want?" Your breathing is heavy, too.

"Wanna know how bad ya want this cock."

"Is your cock all you think about?"

He breathes a laugh. "That'd make two of us, wouldn't it?"

You scoff, still touching yourself, teasing your clit with your vibrator.

"Yeah that's it," he pants, and you arch your back. "Come for daddy." You come so fast it's pitiful.

You're easy. Too easy. He's getting bored.

You're a bad, bad girl, and he wants to find out how bad. You know, he's never much cared for your "friend" Marla. He suspects you don't either, based on the way you tense at her hug in the bookstore.

—-----you-------

A DILF cop comes by your house. Must be new to the force since you've never seen him. You're used to them checking on you. The COP asks if he can come in, probably trying to be thorough, you think. But he asks you to take a seat, and he sits down next to you on your sofa. When he has trouble meeting your eyes, your pulse quickens.

He knows. He must know somehow. He knows you're a sick fuck who has phone sex with ghostface and gets off to his dick pics every night. Maybe he even knows you fucked him. He might even know you forced him. You're blanking on excuses if they find the photos in your phone. The cop leans forward and his biceps strain the short sleeves of his tan uniform. He wrings his large, veiny hands as he turns his head to look at you. Finally, his big brown eyes meet your gaze, and he tells you, "He's back. Got a crime scene down the block"

The relief lasts about ten seconds, and then you don't have to feign your horror. The blood rushes from your head to your pounding heart. You foolishly thought his killing days might be behind him.

"Officer. . ."

"Call me Javi."

"How do you know it's him, Javi?" You challenge him.

"You really wanna know?" He raises his eyebrows at you.

"It's him, sweetheart." He puts a big, warm hand on your upper back, then slides it up to squeeze your shoulder. "Got someone who can stay with ya?"

You take a few seconds to answer, then whisper, “yeah.”

"Well, if not . . . " he sighs and leans way back on the sofa to reach into his uniform pants for his wallet. "Got a pen?"

He writes his personal number on a business card and leaves it with you. As you let him out the front door, sirens are wailing.

Later, you see the crime scene online. Marla isn't just dead, she's stabbed, slit, and bled dry. The water runs red in the fountain you pass every day on the way out of your neighborhood. A needed reminder of the sicko you’re dealing with.

Over the next few days, you delete the ghostface photos and the video. You get a call from a restricted number and don’t answer it. You get a text from an unsaved number: don’t tell me you thought I changed.

You delete it. When you’re leaving the neighborhood one day, you spot Javi in an unmarked car. When you get to your destination, you text him “why are you following me?”

Like a boomer, he calls you instead of texting back. You don’t answer. Then he replies, “Why don’t you have company? You shouldn’t be alone.”

You send back, “If I have company, will you leave me alone?”

“I can give you some space, sure. But I have a job to do.”

“And what’s that?”

“Keeping you safe.”

—--

You’re not going to let ghostface control your life. You don’t know what would happen if you ran into him now, and you try not to think about it, although you do find yourself going into the trash folder on your phone to look at what you deleted. You make plans to go out with friends. It’s the first weekend of October, and there’s a huge Halloween festival. You put on your nurse costume.

An hour before your friends arrive, your doorbell rings. You look at your app and it’s Javi. Well, this is awkward, you think as you finish pulling up your black, thigh-high fishnets. You answer the door and let Javi in, trying not to let your eyes linger on the way his arms stretch his sleeves. You decline to sit down.

“Look, if you’re gonna go out, you should carry this,” he says, then looks you up and down and his gaze lingers on your cleavage. You clear your throat. He swallows and gives a subtle smile like yeah so what? “Gonna wear a purse?” he asks.

“Wasn’t planning on it.” You roll your eyes.

You reluctantly change into the cat costume and wear a bat purse. You go out with your friends and everyone gets way too drunk. Your friend Sam gets in an altercation after a frat party, and your other friends have to restrain her and walk her home. You’re tired and you don’t want to deal with it. You insist you’ll be fine since you’re armed. You decide to walk a couple blocks before you order your ride home so you can wait somewhere with more people around.

—--ghostface—-

You filthy little slut. Are you enjoying yourself? Ignoring him, playing hard to get, acting like you’re not flattered, then teasing him, prancing around Woodsboro looking like a handjob costs $20. Walking alone through an alley – you really are a dumb bitch, aren’t you?

Ghostface knows where you’re headed. He’s seen you take this route before, so he gets ahead of you and waits. He’s vaping in the shadows behind a fire escape in the alley. When he hears the click of your slutty boots, he hits send: a dark alley? lmao. He hears the ding on your phone and the click of your heels slows down right before you reach the fire escape. no point running, he sends. Then he brings the vape pen under his mask and sucks in a mouth full of smoke, and your phone illuminates your face and your eyes widen.

—--you—--

The alley smells like weed. You’re reading the texts when ghostace appears from behind the fire escape, coming at you with his robe flowing behind him. He only has one glove on. His gloved hand grabs your throat and he pins you to the wall. You choke and gasp for air. He tilts his mask and a small amount of smoke billows out of the dark mesh at the top of his long, black mouth. He eases up on your throat only to move his hand to your jaw and tighten his grip, squeezing your cheeks to keep your mouth open as the smoke billows thicker and closer. His mask is only an inch from your mouth. You close your eyes and breathe in, and as he releases the smoke into your mouth, your clit throbs. You've got butterflies in your chest, being close to him again. You cough.

"Good girl," he says as he relaxes his grip on your jaw. Then his knee nudges your purse out of the way and wedges your thighs open.

“Bet ya miss me more than Marla, don’t ya?”

If only he wasn’t right. There’s a fire burning in the pit of your stomach just being close to him. But Javi will probably be here any minute, and you need to put up a fight so they won't be onto you. You abruptly knee ghostface in the groin. He grunts and falls backward only slightly.

"Bad kitty." He takes you by the throat again as you try to fight back. “Bad, bad girl.” He hasn't brandished his knife, but you know he has it. You can't get your gun out quickly enough. You look at your phone and it flies out of your hand as Ghostface grabs your wrist.

He lets go of you and picks your phone up off the ground, then walks away, robe trailing behind him as he disappears into the night.

You try to follow him, but he loses you. The audacity–he shotguns you, gets you all riled up, takes your phone, and leaves you, just assuming you won’t do anything about it. Assuming you’ll chase him. You think about the fountain scene. You think about him leaving you. Rage eclipses your desire. If you see him, you might actually shoot him. Now all you have is your metro card to get home, and luckily you’re close enough to the train station.

–-

Scattered groups of drunk college students stumble around, bicker, and laugh.

The train doors are open and you jog to make it in time, just barely squeezing in before the door closes behind you. The car is full, but not packed. A Freddy Kruger makes room for you, and you stand with your hand braced on the pole. You get a message on your apple watch, meaning ghostface must be in bluetooth distance.

always wanted to see you on the pole.

You look behind you, and there he is, sitting at the back of the car. You should run, but you’re gonna get your phone back at the very least. There’s too much damage he could do with what’s on it. As the passengers finish unloading, you discreetly open your purse and put your hand on your gun, then set your sights on ghostface, who’s manspreading and sitting back. The only other company in the back of the train car is a Michael Myers who looks to be passed out drunk.

You take out the gun and turn the safety off as you approach ghostface in your slutty cat costume. He pulls back his head and cowers in an exaggerated oh, i’m scared move. He stays quiet, for once.

“My phone,” you tell him.

He looks around, pretending like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

“Now,” you order and put your finger on the trigger. He takes a phone out of his pocket, but it’s not yours.

“What the hell’s wrong with you,” you ask. The train jolts and you’re propelled onto him. You brace yourself with your free hand on his strong shoulder, and when you feel his hard muscle, butterflies swarm to your core. If he isn’t going to offer up your phone, you’ll have to find it yourself. You press the muzzle of the gun into his neck, through the fabric of his mask. He freezes. You reach under his robe and pat him down, finding nothing in the front pockets of his jeans. You should check his back pockets, but first you grab his crotch while you’re at it and laugh when he’s semi-hard.

“Cock’s the only thing you’re good for, and this is what you’ve got for me?” His mask tilts down, watching you grope him. You savor the feeling of control. “Worthless,” you spit. Desire bubbles between your thighs as you feel him harden in your grip. Fuck it, you’re gonna take him one last time. You don’t want the last memory of all this to be him dominating you in your bathroom. You wanna go out on top. You fumble with his button and zipper with your free hand, then command, “Take it out.”

He tilts his mask at you, then looks behind you as though seeing who’s around.

“No one’s looking,” you mutter. “Stop fucking around.” You hold the gun to his neck and he urgently takes his hard cock out. You reach down for it. It’s thick and warm in your hand. “Don’t feel half as big as ya look on camera,” you tell him. “Pretty sad.” You spit in your hand and reach for his cock again. “So desperate for my attention,” you mock him. “You’ll do anything, wont ya?”

This is fine, you tell yourself, You’ll tell the cops he forced you, and then you’ll even have his DNA, and they can catch him, and this can all be over. . .after one last ride.

You put your knees on the seat on either side of him. You hover over his cock and use your free hand to run the head through your dripping folds, then you sink onto him and bottom out with ease. His cock twitches against your walls, and a shiver races down your spine. Your nipples harden, visible even through your pleather top. The sheer arousal pisses you off. He feels too good. A man like this doesn't deserve to be so good at dicking you down, without even trying. Without doing anything. You move up and down him, and he does exactly nothing. He knows it gets you off. You hate how full he makes you feel. You resent the incomparable pleasure that will linger in your mind, in your whole body, for days. Maybe forever.

He moans soft enough that the voice changer doesn't pick it up. You wince at the sound of his humanity.

Something comes over you. “Shut the fuck up,” you tell him as you bring yourself down on his cock again. . “I don't wanna hear your voice." You raise yourself up. "I don’t wanna know who you are." You roll your hips into him. "I don’t fucking care. I don’t care about you at all," you bite, fucking yourself on his cock, dripping wetter and wetter. You keep degrading him as you fuck him. "You’re nothing to me." In your lower belly, a climax is building. "You’re a faceless cock. Always have been.” He sits motionless as you ride him harder. Maybe it was the weed, but you can’t get enough.

When the train reaches the next stop, you tug down your dress as much as you can and sit still on his cock. You hide the gun between your bodies.

Your watch dings with a notification–an unsaved number.

how's the 🍆

A shadow eclipses you from behind, and you hear the snap of a picture. Your face goes ice cold.

"Oh you're a reeeeeal bad girl, aren't ya?" The real ghostface says behind you. All the hair on your body stands up, and your heart pounds as you look at the costume in front of you. The lack of gloves, the quality of fabric, the jeans under it. The cock of a stranger twitches inside you and the gun shakes in your hand. "What the fuck," you mutter. You start to get off the man, but the real ghostface slams you back down on him.

"Oh don't stop now, kitty. "

He holds you down on the man's cock. "Lovin’ this Halloween special. sure he is, too. Ain't ya, buddy?"

"What the hell’s goin' on," the man mutters in a regular voice.

You’re about to berate the man for deceiving you. "You let me," then you feel the heavy weight of the gun in your hand and stop short, shame rushing into every blood vessel of your body.

"Better finish what ya started," the real Ghostface says. "A happy customer won't snitch, right brother?"

When you don't move, Ghostface says, "god damnit," then squats down and wraps his arm around you. "Do I have to do everything?" He lifts you up a little, so the man's cock almost falls out, then drops you back down. He lifts you up and down the man's hard cock, and it's horrifically erotic having Ghostface fuck you on another man's dick. The real Ghostface cock is hard against your back.

Ghostface adjusts his grip and grabs a tit as he forces you up and down. The man’s Stab mask tilts down, watching his cock disappear into you again and again. Your lips part, and a moan slips out.

"Oh, you filthy, filthy girl," Ghostface chides.

"Shut up," you snap as Ghostface sheaths the man’s cock with you again.

"Gonna cum for him, pumpkin? Milk his cock?"

No, God no, this random guy can't cum inside you. Your body stiffens and you shake your head no.

"Oh, c'mon, kitty."

"No," you whimper.

Ghostface sighs in exasperation and one of his arms leaves your torso for a moment. Then he points his knife at the man you're riding. "Ten seconds."

Ghostface holds the knife to your throat as he keeps manhandling you on the guy's cock, counting down, "ten," he lifts and lowers you, "nine," stuffing you with the man's cock, "eight," and he's only at "seven," when the man flattens his back and arms against the subway seats and shudders as he lifts his hips into you. Ghostface forces you down, and you cry, "no," drowned out by the man's groan as he cums. You moan at his pulsations. It's sick, disgustingly hot, getting pumped full of this stranger's cum on a subway car with Ghostface holding a knife to your throat. Your spine arches and you begin to convulse, milking the stranger’s cock just like Ghostface told you to.

"Hellll yeahhh." Ghostface gropes your tit. His cock twitches against your back. He addresses the stranger, "She's hot for a serial rapist, right?" as he lets your weight fully down onto the man. He lets you push yourself off the man, and ghostface holds you by your neck so you won't run. As the man's cock flops sloppily onto his open jeans, Ghostface tells him, "now get the fuck outta here." The man in the ghostface mask is still zipping up his pants when Ghostface adds, "this one needs a real big cock." Then Ghostface asks you, "don't ya, pumpkin?" And takes the man's seat.

The train comes to a stop and as the man scurries out of the subway car, he warns other riders not to board the car. He’s removing his mask as the train pulls away, but you don’t get to see him. Ghostface takes the man's seat and hikes up his robe, revealing his pj pants. He takes his cock out and manhandles you onto his lap. You hover. You're not about to hop on his dick, but let’s face it, you’re not gonna put up a fight, either. You're tired. You're confused. You're horny as hell. There must be something in that weed.

Out the window, everyone is staring as the train slowly pulls away.

Ghostface hikes your dress all the way up and stares between your legs with the stranger's cum seeping out of you.

"Look at this mess," he catches the cum with the flat of the knife, cool against your folds. He slowly drags the knife toward himself, then angles it up toward your mound. Then he takes the knife off you. He wraps his hand around your ass and the handle of the knife rests against your skin. “Now sit on daddy’s cock.”

He lifts you onto his cock. He hesitates with his tip notched at your entrance, and you twitch with need. Then he pulls you down, and his thick cock stretches you – a pleasant, easy stretch – as you sink onto him. He's bigger than the cock you just had.

"What's my favorite movie?" He asks, then begins to move you on his cock. He holds you still. You're dying for friction. "Strangers on a train," he answers for you, and you ignore him. "Hitchcock's overrated,” Ghostface says. “Now I've got my *own*.” Great, he took a video, too. This is bad for you, really bad, but all you can think about is the big, hard cock inside you. He's still not moving, and neither are you. Your clit is throbbing. You begin to rock your hips as the train slows down .

Ghostface slaps your ass with his bare hand. "Made for the screen, baby." His hips begin to move under you, finally. You close your eyes, feeling his thick shaft pump in and out of you, sliding with ease through the other man's cum. "Sure can take a cock." He feels so fucking good. Why did he have to kill again? Why can't he just fuck you? God his cock feels good. "Bet ya coulda taken us both," ghostface says and his cock twitches inside you. "Ohh, fuck." The train stops. He puts down his knife and takes the gun from you. "Yeah, this hole could take two, no problem." His crude words are making you throb more. You feel people watching from the train window, and your face is hot, but you can't get enough of this cock. "Maybe that's what this filthy cunt needs. Two cocks." Your walls twitch around him. "Ooohhh, like the sound'a that, don't ya?" You feel an orgasm building in your gut. "Hell yeah, dirty girl."

The train leaves the station again. “Maybe next time I’ll bring a friend.” he brings the gun to your face. He prods your cheek with the muzzle. Then nudges your lips open and you groan in protest.

"Give it a kiss, pumpkin'" You pull your head back and turn your cheek. Your heart is beating out of your chest. Your vision is blurry. Your body is dizzy with pleasure and adrenaline. Ghostface gives up on putting the gun in your mouth. He drags the cool metal down your face, around your neck, to your back, then keeps dragging it down. Then he slouches down in the seat and adjusts your angle on top of him, pulling you tighter against his chest.

His massive, ungloved hand lifts your ass cheeks out of the way and spreads you wide. He brings you upward, letting most of his cock out, then you feel the cool metal at your dripping entrance. He wedges the cold muzzle of the gun into your pussy right alongside his cock. "Yeah, take it, kitty."

You groan as he pulls you down on his cock and the gun. What has he done to you? Why is this so hot? "Yeah, knew ya could take two cocks." To your horror, you find your hips rocking. "Fuck yeah," he growls. The barrel of the gun is cool against the back wall of your cunt, and your hole is squeezing his cock tighter now. He wriggles the gun around in a circular motion against his cock. "Ohh yeah." The train speeds up. "Hold on tight," he warns. He begins to manhandle you on his cock and the gun. You're on the edge. Your asshole tightens and tension swells in your core.

"Fuck," you whisper.

He feels it. "Yeah, that's right." You hold your breath. "Cum for me, pumpkin, or I'll make you into pie." Your climax overtakes you and you wince as you clench around the gun and his cock.

"Goooood giirl," he says with your body jerking around his. "There's daddy's little slut." Wave after wave hits you and your cunt squeezes him and the gun. He holds you tighter against him and lifts you enough to slide the gun out, leaving your exhausted cunt looser around him. “Yeah, plenty’a room for two.” You're still having aftershocks. They're not fading, like another one could build. You reach for your clit. "Needy, needy cunt." You rub yourself and he rocks you on his cock until you cum again.

"Hell yeah," he moans when you clench around him. Then he erupts inside you with a groan. His cock pulses against your walls as his warm spend mixes with the other man's. "Yeahhh." His cum goes on and on. "Fuck, yeahh."

As soon as he's finished coming, he pulls you off his lap. He tucks his cock back in his PJs. The train rolls to a stop.

He pats your lower belly. “Won’t know who's the father," he chides, "but at least ya know who's daddy."

—

May 2024 update - I have 3 more parts outlined for this summer.

-------------------

THANK YOU FOR READING. If you want more parts, reblogs and comments make all the difference.

Now that you know what happens, it's a solid re-read. Especially when reader is degrading him 😭 lmk your thoughts when you come back to reread lol.

if you liked this smut, you could check out raider Joel meanwhile.

Also BTW gasolinerainbowpuddles is responsible for giving me the kink of degradation about unknown paternity starting with the fic liquid gold which is amazing.

#ghostface x reader #ghostface smut #ghostface x you #slasher smut #slasher fanfiction #cw noncon #tw noncon #night walks #ghostface #slasher fucker #billy loomis x reader #ethan landry x reader #toxicanonymity ☠️#mickey altieri #dead dove #danny johnson x reader #love2cuck #ghostface ☠️

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teabutmakeitazure · 23 days

Text

Dissimulation - Continued Again

>Yan! Mafia! Childe x Fem! Student! Reader (Modern au)

>Word Count: 9.2k

>a/n: word vomit. i love him sm and i love having him do mental gymnastics just to get the girl (to get laid) also I wrote this in numerous pieces and by the writing changes you can tell lol. copium during finals. can't believe it's almost been a whole year since this fic was first published. also, I've had the same injury described later on. it bled a lot i thought i was gonna die.

Warnings: firearms, hidden blood kink, licking (I will not elaborate) childe doesn't like pillows, read at your own discretion

Part 1 | Continuation | reason why Childe #1 husband

Childe is waiting in the car.

That’s the thought that keeps repeating in your head. Honestly, it’s your fault. You insisted he not come with you inside, even going as far as getting mad at him when he initially refused. It’s only fair that you suffer the consequences of your actions.

You can still feel the muzzle of the revolver despite the layer of cloth separating it from your spine. How do you know it’s a revolver? Well, the bastard spun it before pressing it to your lower back. You’ve played enough video games to know what that sound belongs to.

“Stop walking so slow. Move it.”

You internally scoff at his words. If you move any faster, it’ll just be more suspicious. Well, good for you. If it’s suspicious then there’s a higher chance someone might intervene.

“To the right, right there.”

You do as he says. It’s not very tempting to disobey when there’s a loaded gun on your back. The man leads you down a small alleyway away from the hustle of the outdoor market. It’s dark, and there’s a pipe leaking somewhere. This is when dread really settles in, but you put on a brave face despite your trembling lip.

You hear the man click his tongue before ordering you to stop walking. The muzzle is still pressed to your spine, and he pulls out his phone with his free hand to call someone. “I got the girl here, so now you do your part.” Someone speaks on the other side, angering him. “You’re being delusional! This is the perfect chance,” he whisper-yells. “I got the girl here, so if things go bad, I shoot. We’ll at least do some damage.”

Shoot…? What the fuck did you get yourself into?

“The next time you call me back, it better be because the bastard’s dead or he’s given up.” With that, he angrily hangs up and shoves the phone in his pocket. You’re left facing the dead end of the alleyway, your captor behind you with his back to the only exit and entrance. “So,” he starts, “where did you first meet him?”

You decide to test the waters. From what you gathered so far, you are valuable until the other guy fails in what he’s supposed to do (which you have no clue of). “Me?” You feign innocence. “Meet who?”

He presses the muzzle even harder into you, making you stumble a step forward. “Don’t play dumb with me. Even if I kill you right now, it won’t affect anything. So tell me, where did you first meet him?”

You gulp nervously, heart beating in your throat. “T-the convenience store. It was a random occurrence.”

“And you knew who he was?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Hah. Stupid girl. Do you not know you’re the one usually targeted when he makes enemies? That you’re the face that comes up when he pisses someone off?”

Gaze dropping to the ground, you can’t help but think of all the kind things he’s done for you so far as you answer. “I had no choice.”

He clicks his tongue. “What, so he forced you to be his girlfriend?”

“I’m not his girlfriend…”

“So you’re just a pretty lady he keeps around?” Amusement is evident in his tone. He’s messing with you before he kills you. “Considering how expensive it was to find out about you, you’re damn special. If there’s one thing I know about Tartaglia, it’s that he’s not the type to keep a girl around for nothing or just her body. And that’s precisely why you’re in this situation.”

If you’re going to die anyway, you might as well say it. Ah, sorry mama. Couldn’t help it. “You think I’m pretty?”

Surprisingly, he takes it well. “I won’t deny you have a pretty face. I can see why he’d go to lengths to keep you a secret, but nothing can be hidden forever. Don’t worry. I won’t hurt your face when I kill you.”

Great. Now there’s stinging behind your eyes. This really is it. Maybe you should’ve told your parents you love them last night. Shit, is this really the end? So much for wanting to buy a birthday present from the market. Now you won’t live to see your next birthday.

The man groans out of annoyance, hand diving into his pocket to fish out his phone. “How long is he going to take…” You can hear him aggressively tapping at the device, and you wait for him to start whisper-yelling on the phone again but all that comes is the muzzle being removed from your back as something loudly whizzes through the air, and he lets out a silent cry of pain.

Something behind you falls to the ground with a thud, and judging how his voice seems to come from elsewhere, he’s the one who fell. “No, don’t come closer. I’ll shoot! I swear I will!”

You stay still, unknowing of what’s going on. Panic overtakes your senses, and your hands start trembling as you start feeling sick. Your body is going into fight or flight, and you really want it to choose flight. As you bring your trembling hands up into your view, a familiar voice calls out from behind.

“[Name], darling. Stay as you are. Don’t turn around.”

You freeze at Childe's words, immediately pressing your palms to your ears to block out some sound only to end up making it slightly muffled. The man is spewing profanities at him, trying to get on his nerves. “You scared of your toy dying? Is that why you’re here? Or maybe you were scared we’d take your little toy away from you? Do all the things to her you do but worse?”

Footsteps lightly grow closer, likely stopping by the man writhing on the ground, clutching his leg. Something clatters to the side, presumably the revolver he may have been pointing at Childe. When Childe speaks, his voice is laced with venom. “The girl is mine.” The man grunts, and Childe continues. “You have no idea how badly you’ve set me off. You better start praying to whatever you believe in.”

You cringe when you hear Childe kick him, heart beating even faster than before. Nausea tugs at you, making your eyes lose focus as you resist the urge to throw up or fall to your knees. Hands are still pressed to your ears when a body comes to stand behind you, yet it’s when arms wrap around you that you horribly flinch and move to elbow whoever it is, hyperventilating as you struggle to be freed.

However, Childe’s voice whispers in your ear, instantly making you relax. “It’s me.”

You are way too panicked to say anything useful. “Yes. Alright. It’s you. Not anyone else. Okay. Okay.”

One of his hands moves to cover your eyes, and he instructs you to keep them closed as he leads you out. The other hand is on your shoulder, and when you are away from the alley, he uncovers your eyes. Childe leads you to the market, stopping when you both enter its busy environment. He pulls out his phone, presses it to his ear without even dialling or accepting any call and hastily spews out the location of where you were earlier, firmly telling whoever it is on the other side to ‘deal with it’.

Nausea still stirs inside you, making you sick. You can feel the ghost of the muzzle pressing against you, and although you weren’t so horrified by it when it was actually happening, you are now.

Once again, Childe’s attention is back on you. His eyes focus on you solely, forgetting the busy environment around him and forgetting the issue he was addressing on the phone. He looks… concerned. Like a mother hovering over her child, he grabs your face with both hands, turning it side to side and carefully eyeing your features. He then pulls you into a hug, but you are too busy hearing your heartbeat in your ears to reciprocate and simply hide your face in his jacket instead.

“I’m so relieved,” he whispers. “Did he say anything to you? Hurt you? Touch you?”

After a shaky inhale, you focus your gaze on a random light source, willing away the sickness in your stomach. “No. Just a gun to my back. That’s it.”

“I am so sorry.”

Unfortunately, the nausea does not relent. “It’s fine.”

He holds you tighter. “It’s not fine. You were in danger.”

Though his warmth is comforting, you cannot move to hold him back. You can taste bile in your mouth, and you start profusely swallowing, yet Childe continues voicing his regrets. “I should have come with you. I shouldn’t have listened to you-”

Your voice shakes when you interject, the fear of what else might go wrong in public. “Quiet, please. I’ll throw up.” Your request is met with him gently rubbing your back, ignoring any glances from onlookers. When he feels that you are somewhat calm, you are led back to the car, the air conditioning turned on and your seat reclined as you cover your eyes with your forearm.

You don’t know why you feel sick and you don’t know why you keep thinking of a bleeding wound, infected and deep enough to show muscle and sinew. Worst of all, you don’t know what you should do now. Should you just ask to go home? Should you go back in? Get what you came here for?

Maybe you’ll come back later, with Childe. There’s still some time in your friend’s birthday and you can get her something later or make something instead. Yeah. That sounds right.

“Feeling any better?”

Your companion’s question makes you grumble. There are so many things that go wrong these days. Your relationship with him seems to loom over you like a raincloud wherever you go. Always accompanying you like a blight on your existence. It also does not help that information about you had initially come to light because he bought the house you both currently live in a week before you made that deal with him.

You still remember that conversation in great detail. When you had finally got to the airport, what waited for you when you came back haunted you throughout the journey. This arrangement isn’t something you were looking forward to. Remaining a student on a tight budget who eats instant ramen half the time for dinner would have been more preferable.

“Is there any way I can help? Do you need anything?” Childe voices more questions, but this time you don’t feel annoyed at him. If anything, you should be thankful. Sure, that occurred because of him, but he did save you.

Hand reaching to set the seat upright, you mentally go over the words you want to say. Now facing him, Childe gives you a curious look before you speak, the edges of your lips already stuck together. “I’m sorry.” He looks taken aback, but you continue. “I’ll… I’ll listen to you next time. And thank you for saving me. I had already said my prayers and apologised to my parents in my head, so thank you for letting that go to waste. I would rather it not be useful.”

Childe blinks. With a chuckle, he smiles, giving you that typical lovestruck expression he has when you do something he finds endearing. “And I personally wouldn’t know how to break it to your parents. Not after your mom asked me to look out for you.” The reminder leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, yet Childe still has something to say. “Of course. You don’t ever need to thank me. As long as you’re mine, alive and healthy, I don’t need anything else.”

The confession makes your eyes widen, and when you open your mouth to question his words, he cuts you off. “Do you want to get what you came here for or do you want to go home?”

“Home,” you reply immediately.

He nods, a hand reaching over to grab your seat belt. The action makes your heart skip a beat - “out of surprise,” you tell yourself - yet Childe does not mind. He fastens his own seat belt after yours and promptly moves to reverse the car out of the parking lot.

It is halfway through the way that you voice your thoughts, and Childe seems to hesitate.

“We have snacks at home,” he says.

Him and his healthy habits be damned. “You mean fruits. I don’t want fruits.”

“They’re healthy. You need nourishment.”

“What am I? A plant?”

Childe holds in a laugh with an awkward cough, a smile still there. “No, but you are a very dear person. I’ll cut some apples into bunny shapes, and we can eat the oranges I got yesterday. I’ll peel them for you, like always.”

Unfortunately for him, you do not yield, even going as far as to use his name since it usually makes him more submissive. “Ajax, I almost died tonight. I would like to be able to binge eat a bag of chips as I ease my worries.”

He negotiates again, albeit weakly. “Darling, you have a habit of stress eating. I know you can’t help it, but I just want to make sure you’re at least eating things that are good for you.”

“A bag of chips just this once wouldn’t hurt.”

You can see the gears turning in his head, and with a sigh, he concedes. “Fine. But only because you want to and have been eating well without complaints these past few weeks.”

The words seem like a parent pointing out a child on their diet, gentle yet still delivering the message. Despite everything, you would never admit that ever since he started butting into what you eat, your skin doesn’t break out as much and you’re almost always hydrated. He doesn’t need to hear the positive effects his presence has on your life from your own mouth. And he sure as hell doesn’t need to know that his hydration checks throughout the day are the reason why you drink water.

Yesterday, Chil- Ajax asked you something you could not say no to.

You keep justifying your acceptance with it being a sort of payback for him saving your life the other day even though you know you’re scared of saying no to him. Or maybe you just wanted to repay his kindness. It’s not like you asked for his kindness, but he is giving it to you. Goodness, the way he looks at you sometimes when you talk is just… if you didn’t know any better, you’d describe it as creepy.

But it isn’t. It isn’t creepy because the amount of genuine love in his eyes is just ridiculous. How can someone look at a person with so much love knowing they don’t reciprocate to that intensity? How can they be okay with that? You know Ajax is absolutely, positively in love with you. There’s no doubt about it.

You know so much about his family, and he’s always finding an excuse to talk to you. He asks you to talk to him because he likes your voice, and he sometimes stays in the room while you talk to your parents because he wants to see you be carefree in conversation.

He always gets you what you want without you knowing. Heck, he even gave you a credit card linked to his account! You don’t use it, but he gave it to you.

Back to the topic. You’re going out for dinner with him tonight as a date. You both leave at 7: 15 pm on the dot, and it is currently 6. You are freaking out currently too because what did you willingly agree to?

You know that bastard has been locked away in his room for over an hour now. You know he was giddy ever since he got home way too early today because of your evening plans. He’s way too obvious. And desperate. He’s also getting desperate.

There haven't been any romantic advancements in your relationship. You’ve just fallen into a casual routine at this point, and you aren’t bothered when he is there on your bed at any time you turn to look at it, even if you left the door closed. He cooks for you most of the time, and sometimes you mend his clothes so that he doesn’t buy new ones while completely ignoring the magical appearance of a shit load of sewing materials after the first time you did it.

It’s all gotten normal at this point. Seeing his credit card in your wallet every single time you open it, having to look at his mask sitting on a side table in the living room, watching him remove the dual pistols strapped to his body when he gets home, and much more. It’s all normal now. You’re used to it.

Yet your nerves are about to burst because you’re going out for dinner with him in an hour.

Honestly, after the dinner where he licked blood off your finger, you haven’t gone out for food with him since. You mostly eat at home, but the most you guys have done is takeout.

Anyway, what do you do? You don’t want to try hard lest unforeseen and unwanted developments occur, yet you also don’t want to not try at all because it might sour his mood. The latter is unpreferable simply because you can’t bear to see him sad. Maybe you’ll put in a little effort. Not too much but a little.

Had Ajax not been in the mafia, you would have already accepted him. You know you’re delaying the inevitable, that he will get what he wants, but you still can’t help it. Your conscience weighs you down. His identity ties you close to hesitance and denial.

Nevertheless, here you are, a cream coloured maxi skirt flowing till your ankles and a dusty pink blouse with bishop sleeves. You can’t believe you actually wore this. Ajax was the one who gifted the blouse to you, saying something like the colour being nice and wanting to see you wear it.

Well. He’ll get his wish now.

After at least five consecutive minutes of staring into the mirror, you finally decide to put on some makeup. Nothing too much. A simple mascara, blush, and lipstick after whatever you ended up putting on your skin first.

Great! Now, shoes. Shoes…

You fish out a pair of nude sandals with a pointed tip and a one inch heel. Perfect. Seems like your mother giving you her old sandals came in handy. After checking if they fit, you take a look at the clock. There’s still twenty minutes till the clock strikes 7.

Twenty minutes of agony as nerves eat you from the inside.

Right at 7:02 pm, there’s a knock on your bedroom door. Shaking hands unlock the door, opening it to nervously meet eyes with your lovely housemate. He stands on the other side, hair parted in the middle as best it could be. One side is tucked behind his ear while the other hangs on his face, framing his jawline perfectly.

You take note of the black dress shirt and black pants. The sleeves are rolled up and his earring is still there. Also, why is his shirt so fitted? You know he’s ripped. He doesn’t have to rub it in.

“You wore the shirt,” he breathes out.

“It’s a blouse,” you correct.

“Beautiful.”

The way his eyes seem to look you over in awe makes your cheeks heat up. With an awkward clear of your throat, you snap his attention back to your face. “Didn’t you say you made a reservation?”

Ajax perks up at that. “Right! We should leave soon.”

You are then left to grab your bag and sandals while he goes to fish out his car keys and wallet. When you’re seated in the living room, trying to fasten the little buckle on the sandals, Ajax is wistfully staring at you from the kitchen, cheek resting in his palm.

“We would make a cute couple.” A sigh and he looks at your feet, silently wishing you’d ask for his help with it instead. “Do you… need help with that?”

To his not so very surprise, you brush him off. “I’m fine.”

“Huh.” He asks again. “Are you sure?”

“Yup.”

He still wishes you would ask for his help instead. Do you not realise that he would do anything you asked him to? He would willingly get on his knees for you, hands gingerly trailing up your legs before he decides to rest one on his shoulder, the other pulling him towards you as his hand travels upwards and-

“Ajax? It’s almost 7: 15.”

He snaps out of his thoughts instantly. You’re standing near the door now, head tilted in that cute way he adores as you curiously look at him. A hand quickly flicks the kitchen light off as he walks towards the door. This is going to be another test of his patience. He knows it. He just hopes you don’t blame him for anything he might end up doing tonight.

“I don’t get it.”

Childe looks at you curiously only to find you glaring at the open menu. “I don’t know what to get,” you say. “Can you order for me? Whatever you think is good here. You know the stuff I like and don’t like, so I trust you.”

The explicit trust makes him smile. As per your request, Childe orders for you, but it’s something different than his own so that you can try both things. If you like the food, he might even take you out more often. Eating out once in a while shouldn’t hurt. Not if he’s with you.

As he leans back in his seat, he finds you playing with the buttons on your sleeve. Childe hastily utilises the opportunity to scan the indoors, eyes quickly flitting over every single person present. None have noticed either of you, and none seem to be looking at you. Good.

A quiet ding sounds from your phone, the screen turning on for a few moments. You reach for it instantly, but Childe is quicker, his hand covering the device before you could grab it. You obviously look nervous because of the action, but he gives you a small smile.

“No phone while we’re out eating.” The expression on your face doesn’t change, so he adds in something else. “Please?”

You capitulate instantly, and he pulls the device closer to himself with a playful smile. He now has all your attention for this evening dinner. If Childe plays his cards right, he could monopolise this opportunity and possibly convince you more to actually go out with him. Or let him put a ring on your finger. Whichever you’d prefer.

But first…

“I wish we could’ve stayed home instead,” he sighs.

You raise a brow at his expression, simultaneously wondering why he’s looking at you so wistfully here of all places. “Why? Didn’t you want to go out for dinner? You were looking forward to this.”

“Yes but-” He bites his lip for a moment. He isn’t lying. He’s being completely honest, but it still feels a bit weird to be admitting it directly to you. “But… you look so pretty and I don’t like knowing that other people can see you when you look so beautiful.”

It’s the truth. He doesn’t like knowing that anyone and everyone here has access to your existence. That they can simply turn their head and look at you in that skirt. He doesn’t care if it’s till your ankles. You look absolutely enchanting. Childe hates it that anyone can see your collar bones and your curious expression and the way you’re tilting your head at him and the way you’ve started fidgeting with your sleeve already.

All these lovely things about you are supposed to be for him only.

But they aren’t.

And he hates that.

“Hey. Eyes up here.”

He didn’t realise he started staring at your collar bones. God, he hopes you don’t think he was staring at your chest.

“Now that you’re looking into my eyes,” you groan, “I want you to calm down.” Almost instinctively, Childe crosses his arms out of displeasure, but you are quick to cool him down. “No one is looking at me. Nothing even happened and you’re acting all jealous. Calm down.”

“I’m not acting.”

“Then stop overreacting.”

“I am definitely not overreacting.”

You give him a look, the one you usually give him when you know he is keeping something from you, but you would rather not put the effort into digging it out of him. “Right.”

Childe is quick to defend, to put out the bait in hopes you’ll take it. “Sweetheart, you’re beautiful. Of course I’m going to be pressed if other people look at you and think the same.”

You sigh. “We’re only out for dinner.”

“Yes, but I just… I don’t know.” He traces the handle of the cutlery on the table, all the while ignoring how you’re still fidgeting with your sleeves. He’s making you nervous. He shouldn’t be making you nervous.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to burden you with my feelings.” Though you look like you want to say something, Childe beats you to it. “I love you, and I hope you know that I mean that word when I say it. I’m not afraid of saying the bigger word. I never will be.”

Both your hands have disappeared under the table. From the looks of it, you’re clenching them. How nervous are you? But wait. If he helps, if he shows you he can take care of you, then you might just…

Childe gently calls out your name, and you look at him with wide, innocent eyes. Poor thing. He asks you to show him your hands, and you comply. What you do not see coming is him gently grabbing the two before bringing them to cup his face. Childe especially presses the cold fingertips to his warm cheeks, effectively warming them up.

He’s thankful for reserving this relatively small table tucked away in a corner. No one can see your widened eyes and the look of adorable surprise on your face. No one.

Upon receiving no explicit refusal from your end, Childe grows bolder. The palms cupping his cheeks are each delivered a gentle kiss, and when there is no rejection, he moves lower, lips trailing to your wrists. This is when he feels the tug, the panic in the withdrawal. Your left wrist is in his mercy, soft lips tenderly pressed against your pulse, yet you tug your arm in retreat like a wounded animal.

Though it pains him, Childe lets go but only after making eye contact with you for a moment.

The face you give him is akin to one of a mixture of surprise and betrayal, and it dawns on him. This is the first time he’s touched you like this. Childe thinks he may have mixed his fantasies with reality because he did not ask for your permission for doing so. Now that he thinks about it, for a moment, he returns to the dreams and thoughts where he touches you as he pleases, and where you ask him to touch you. Where you climb onto his lap at random times of day and tell him how you are only his. How you want nothing to do with the rest of the world because he is your everything.

The only thing he wants is for those fantasies to become reality. Is that too much to ask for? Is it too selfish for him to ask that of someone so beautiful, so… heavenly?

Despite the shock on your face, you do not verbally express your thoughts. The silence is deafening. Your hands are clutched to your chest, and as the noise of the background fades into nothing but a quiet and continuous rumble, Childe’s thoughts start wandering. The first thing he wonders about is where he has to keep his eyes from straying. Your hands and your chest.

He can’t stop feeling the softness of your skin under his calloused palms. How your pulse felt under his lips. How it might taste if it bled. How warm the red might be. How red it might be.

Childe feels dirty for those thoughts, but he doesn’t care. He would gladly embrace such farcicalities if it meant you being the centre of his attention, your entire being on his mind more than his own existence. Then again, you are his life, no? Then why should he stop himself from thinking about you? Is it not wrong for a believer to not think about their worshipped deity? Likewise, it is wrong of him to forcibly shut your existence out of his wandering and lost thoughts.

Besides, the thought of you is where all his unruly and chaotic thoughts come together and finally make sense. So why should he not look at you like you were made from a piece of his ribs, fragile and the closest to his heart than anything can ever be?

“Ajax,” the name tumbles out of your mouth, and Childe feels like he can hear again. “Please stop staring like that. It’s getting creepy.”

An apology is quickly on his tongue, but you are quick to cut his words off before they can be uttered. “You’re acting a little weird.” He notices the worry on your face and the hands under the table. Childe thinks he doesn’t deserve you, but he’s selfish. Horridly so. “Are you feeling okay? We could go home right after eating if you’re not feeling too good, Ajax.”

You’re soothing him. Like how an owner soothes an unruly pet, you’re soothing him. How indulgent of you. Well, as long as you are thinking of him, he doesn’t mind playing like he’s putting the muzzle back on. You were never the one holding the leash anyway.

“I’m fine,” he replies. “Sorry. I just lost myself for a minute there. Were you saying something earlier?”

“Ah. No. Just… I was just asking if you were okay. I wasn’t saying anything earlier. Before that, I mean.”

Though tension has risen and it clearly shows in how your shoulders have stiffened, Childe cannot bring himself to mind. As long as your eyes are on him and him only, and as long as your voice graces his ears with his name, he won’t mind the discomfort in your countenance. It’s only a matter of time before you completely set aside denial.

It was halfway through dinner that you confessed telling your parents you’ll be home late tonight. This gave birth to an opportunity, and being the man that he is, Childe grabbed onto it like a desperate man. Questions were hushed and trust was exploited as Childe did what he could, what he wanted to do for so long.

The evening sea breeze never felt so good as it does now.

He stands with his arms resting on the railing, yet it feels different this time. It feels less lonely, more fulfilling, even if you both are in a secluded corner of the pier.

The lights from the opposite end of land reflects onto the water, and the smell of salt is in the air. Wind directly hits his face, hair flying back with it, but he’ll deal with the aftermath of it later. Right now, he’s waiting for you to be done with setting your hair so that he can talk to you.

You take a few more minutes to ensure hair doesn’t blow into your mouth or his face before joining his side, albeit at a distance large enough to fit another person which he promptly shamelessly closes. Yet when he turns to look at you, he is met with a raised brow.

“What?”

You’re quick to voice your observation, Childe’s eyes briefly focusing on the half-faded lipstick as he gives you his full attention. “Your hairline is a little uneven.” The sentence makes him chuckle, but you have more to add. “I didn’t think it’d be like that. It’s cute.”

“You’ve seen my forehead plenty of times.”

“I haven’t.”

He tilts his head. “Whenever I get out of the shower, my hair is slicked back. You’ve seen me get out of the shower.”

“Well,” you scrunch up your nose, “you’re shirtless and with only a towel. Why would I look at you then?”

“...” So all the times Childe has purposely walked by you in the living room or dropped off fruit when you’re studying while being fresh out of the shower was in vain. Why is he even surprised? Of course you wouldn’t look. It was daft of him to even consider that you would look. You avoid him like the plague whenever he tries to make a move. That does beg a question. Why have you been surprisingly cooperative tonight?

Are you planning something?

It can’t be. He keeps an eye on you. You go nowhere except class, occasional outings with friends, and shopping. Childe knows where you are at all times and with who and for what, with being the one taking you there. He even had you join that group project meeting online instead of in-person because it was in the evening and your group mates were all guys.

Considering those factors, there is no way you are planning something. He’s made sure of it. Besides, you are perfectly aware that you cannot try anything. Not only do you live with him, but he’s in the mafia. Were you to be missing or run away, you’d be back home before midnight.

There has to be another reason. Maybe you’ve grown more comfortable with him. Yes. That’s it. Perhaps it’s the delusion accompanying the compunction of all that he has done to you, but he believes you’re slowly laying down your defences. All that’s done is to wait till the wall is broken down too.

“Ajax,” you call, lips parting hypnotizingly, lipstick making them stick to the corners, “you’re staring again.” A pause, then you point something out. “You’ve been staring a lot tonight.”

He smiles, face resting on top of his arms crossed over the railing. “I can’t help it. You’re just so pretty.” You make a weird noise at that, but he chuckles. “I’m honoured to be breathing the same air as you. To be so close to you and see you with my own two eyes. I could never have said I’ve seen the world’s beauty before I saw you sitting behind that cash register in the store.”

You seem clearly taken aback at the sudden words. To be honest, Childe is too. He didn’t expect to say all that together. Still, if it conveys even a fraction of the intensity of his emotions, he’d say more.

A strand of hair falls into his eye when the wind calms, and he tries to blink it away. It’s disturbing his view of you. The way you’re looking at him as you think over your words feeds his proprietorial nature, for your words are all his to hear and your being all his to keep. Childe would keep you even if it means he has to hide you from the rest of the world lest you slip from his grasp.

Yet you are so good to him that he always melts at your unexpected surrenders. The time when you sewed up his shirt when he got a long, narrow cut at his side. The time when you made dinner and left some for him before going to bed when he texted you he’ll be home very late. The time you willingly came to him with your worries and let him console you.

And the way you remove the strand of hair that’s in his eye and allow him to look at you without obstructions.

If he could, he’d merge your beings into one so that no one else could ever have you, and you’d be his forever. He isn’t willing to break you to have you, but he is willing to hurt you just a little bit.

But before all that, he needs to figure out a way to make you all his. If it means putting a ring on your finger or faking your death or hiding you away from the world, he doesn’t care. You have to be all his.

From your body to your soul to your thoughts to your feelings to your touch to your very being. All. His.

“Ajax, you’re staring again.”

He stands up straight at that, one hand still grabbing the railing as he takes a step closer to you. This time, he does not smile. “Why don’t you love me?”

You question his sudden change in demeanour, but he presses further. “Why don’t you love me? What’s wrong? Tell me. I’ll fix it. I’ll fix us. Tell me how I can make you love me.”

Childe moves closer, and you instinctively move back, making him frown, but he soon cages you between the railing and his body. There’s not much space between you both, and you’re certain he would be able to hear your heart beat wildly if he moved just a tad bit closer. Nevermind the fact that your skirt is blowing with the wind and his legs are obstructing its path.

“I’m doing everything I know. Just tell me. All I want is your heart. All I want is you.”

You are quick to defend. “I already live with you. What more is there?”

“You,” he replies, breathless. “You don’t love me. You only live with me.”

“Because agreeing to that is why you let me go back home for the summer,” you remind him. “Well, I suppose either way I would have been here. If I said no, you would’ve taken me there earlier.”

“Do you feel trapped?”

“What do you think?”

Childe chuckles at that. Though he is culpable for this predicament, he also holds the power to change it to his favour. “Tell me then,” he whispers, wind once more blowing in his hair, “what do you want?”

Unfortunately for him, you play his game on equal footing. “Would you grant it?”

“No.” The look in your eyes is something smug, but he humours you anyway. “I can’t guarantee I won’t, but I guess it depends on what you ask me.”

A scoff accompanies your words now, the nervousness apparent in the way you grip the railing behind you for dear life. “You’ve told me numerous times you’d give me anything I want. Why are you so hesitant now?”

“Because I know what you are about to ask, and I’m afraid I can’t give you that.”

“And what am I about to ask?”

“To be able to leave me for good,” he spits out.

You simply shake your head. “No. Not at this moment at least.” Confusion laces his features, but you press your body impossibly closer to the railing. “I wanted to ask for some space. It’s… it’s uncomfortable like this. Please take a step back.”

Childe obliges instantly. Blue eyes watch your once white knuckles have colour return to them, and suddenly he feels a little childish for cornering you like that. A quiet sigh from your end steals his attention, yet he remains standing where he is, another demand on the tip of his tongue.

“Move in with me,” he says. “Move into my room. It’s been too long in the guest room already. You don’t need to stay there anymore.”

Frankly, you’re surprised. You thought he forgot about that by now considering that he never brought it up again.

“You’ve seen it. My room is bigger. I got this place because the master bedroom was big and it’ll easily fit both our things. You can make the guest room your study room if you want, but just move in already.”

He gives you that look again, the demanding one that makes you painfully aware of how dull and lifeless his eyes are. Although you have grown used to it and it doesn’t bother you as much, it still reminds you that if he wished, he could have done worse things to you. But he hasn’t. He waits and waits and waits till he’s about to bubble over. Till his feelings threaten to boil and spill out of the pot and even then he somehow calms it down enough to be coherent. Al because he promised to think about you before his own selfish feelings.

“We can start tomorrow,” Childe suggests, “or even tonight, there’s still time. You’ve been living with me for long enough. It’s time you actually moved in.”

Even while you are quiet, Childe has a million thoughts running through his head. Bed, lonely, empty, cold sheets, cold pillows, empty dressing table, empty nightstand. He recalls the room you’ve turned into your personal haven, the cluttered dressing table, the nightstand with a ton of wires, the eraser dust that’s almost always on the ground near your table, and the warm feeling that envelopes him whenever he enters this little haven of yours.

He needs to have you more or else he doesn’t know what he’d do. And he doesn’t want to know what he’d do to you.

“I hear you,” you speak up, successfully interjecting his thoughts, “but we’re not in a relationship. We can’t just start doing married couple things.” You make a face, scrunching up your nose like you always do. “Living in different rooms is appropriate because we’re still-”

“Marry me then.”

You shut your mouth immediately.

“Your problem is our relationship right?” Childe takes a step closer, eyes focused on yours. “Then marry me. Problem solved.”

“Wait. Ajax, that’s too fast. Calm down.”

“That’s not ‘too fast’. We’ve been living together for almost a year now. We’ve known each other for over a whole year. This isn’t fast.”

Regardless, you try to de-escalate it. De-escalate his rashness. “Okay. I understand. But we’re too young and my parents wouldn’t allow something like this so suddenly-”

“Leave them to me. I’ll handle getting their approval. They seem to like me anyway. That’s all you’re worried about right? And we’re not young. We’re adults.”

The apprehension grows. You do not know how this idea popped into his head, but you blame yourself for mentioning ‘married couple’ earlier. Why is he so obsessed? Is having you in his home constantly under his vision not sufficient?

“So what’s your answer? Or do you want to wait while I get a ring and you speak to your parents?”

The anxiety starts eating you from the inside. You know you can’t escape him. You’re too deep into his clutches to even consider escape, but you still hold onto feeble hope that you can delay the inevitable just a little longer. “Fine. You’re ready and okay for such a thing, but I’m not ready for such a big step.”

Contrary to your expectations, Childe’s mood further sours. “That’s what you always say.” As soon as the words are uttered, Childe remembers thinking to himself how he hoped you won’t blame him for anything he might end up doing tonight. Well. If it allows him to have you, he’d do anything. “The only difference would be that we’d be closer. Nothing else.”

“We’re close enough,” you meekly comment.

“So you don’t want to marry me?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t, but…”

“But?”

You think over the time you’ve lived under his roof. He has been controlling, sure, but he has been more accommodating and understanding. If you were to bet your life on one thing, it would be that Ajax would always unequivocally love and care for you. Besides, this is inevitable. The moment he locked eyes with you at your job, it had been decided that this would happen. That you would be his.

Delaying and denying all this simply makes you miserable. Who are you to deny such affection? Such love that suffocates you, surrounds you constantly with eyes in the shadows watching your every breath. Who are you to deny a man who has countless times told and showed you that he’d drop to his knees for you on a moment’s notice?

He may control your life and future, but you control him as well. Or you do to an extent at least. What his words cannot express, his hands and eyes do, and those things are precisely what have kept you going on the hope that the inevitable is not as horrifying as you delude yourself into thinking of it.

Ajax loves you, and you’d be damned if you refuse his love. Not only is there no way out, but you think you do not want out anymore. You’re too deep in his web.

Besides, you know that if you were to refuse him, he’d try again and again before eventually forcing it upon you. It’s better to accept. You can’t delay the inevitable.

Warm hands cup your face, thumbs rubbing the corners of your eyes. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, and you blink away tears you did not know you were shedding.

Minutes pass on the secluded corner of the pier, and when he is satisfied with how much you have calmed down, he lets you go. Hands hang by his sides as he waits for an answer, but you don’t keep him waiting. With a gentle pat to his cheek, you give him your answer.

“I’ll start moving my things in the morning.”

His celebratory smile only grows when you continue speaking.

“And… I’ll start talking to my parents. I’ll let you know the updates.”

You were in the middle of organising your things when the realisation dawned on you. You’re moving into his room. All of your things will go there. All of your things. Does this mean you both are officially in a relationship? That means he’s going to wake up next to you, go to sleep next to you, and you’re going to share a wardrobe with him. Even a bathroom.

This might just make his possessive nature worse. But it’s alright. You can talk sense into him. He usually does listen to you.

Nevertheless, you can’t help but wonder… Why are you accepting of this? Somehow the idea of being so close doesn’t bother you as much as you think it should. Do you really like him that way? Are you in denial?

Ajax’s voice calls out to you, asking if you need any help. You’re currently in the middle of going through your clothes, and you would rather he not bear witness to seeing your undergarments and clothes thrown haphazardly across the bed. Thus, you tell him no and continue organising, putting home clothes separate and classifying the rest accordingly.

When those are done, you let the piles be on the bed and move to your dressing table. Expired and empty containers are chucked into the bin, and you grab the rest and move outside, passing by a curious Ajax in the living room and making yourself home in his room. The bottles are carefully placed amongst his things, and soon the dressing table looks cluttered.

Well, to be used is to be messy. It’s okay.

You return to the piles of clothes and transport each pile one by one onto his bed. When all have been gathered, you place them in the space he’s apparently kept empty for you ever since he moved here in an orderly fashion, making sure all your undergarments are in the locked drawer instead of the regular one. There are no fingers or accusations pointed, but there is also no complete trust in this matter.

Ajax trails behind you this time, curiously watching you take your toiletries and place them in his bathroom. He eyes the addition of a new shampoo and conditioner and other bottles he doesn’t care to classify but is happy to simply see them there. You make the journey back to your ex-room and gather all your chargers and wires only to find yourself untangling them first.

“Do you need help?”

You’re quick to refuse, but he still stands there watching. Gathering them all in your hands, Ajax is tempted to offer his help again but closes his mouth when he remembers you telling him to “not butt in” while you move your things. So, he watches you and trails behind you. He follows you around and watches you as you bump into the sofa’s edge when he calls your name and stumble forward only to lose your footing and fall straight onto the floor.

It did not help that your arm had slid against the edge of the centre table and you horribly skinned the back of your arm.

Ajax stands there, horrified for a moment, before he ignores the cluttered mess of chargers and wires and crouches down beside you, immediately checking your injuries and helping you sit up. But it does not help him when he sees blood slowly starting to ooze from the mess of broken skin and you wince when he gently grabs your hand to look at the wound.

Regardless, he cups your face with the other hand while simultaneously looking you over for other injuries. When you assure him and his repeated questions that it’s just your arm, he relaxes a bit. However, he cannot help it. There’s more blood now, not a lot but enough to completely cover the broken skin, and if he leaves it be, it might start trickling down your arm before the wounds close.

So, Ajax does what his mind wants him to do. He kisses the skin near the wound at first, completely ignoring your questioning look, and slowly moves towards the injury. Soft lips glide over the skin, inching closer towards the desired target. Then, when he can feel your gentle tugs to be let free, he tightens his grip and licks.

Ajax licks some of the blood, the texture of broken skin welcomed by his tongue. You sit there horrified and extremely confused while he licks it again before freezing and letting go.

Awkward eye contact ensues, and your face clearly shows how utterly puzzled and alarmed you are. Nevermind the fact that those were wet licks and your arm has his saliva on it and the broken skin he lapped up is on his tongue which he is sneakily trying to swallow.

Minutes pass, and you finally gather the composure to speak. “Ajax. What the fuck?”

He is quick to be defensive, knowing full well you’ve been so good to him these days and he can’t afford to scare you off. “I just… I let my intrusive thoughts win. Sorry.”

Your terror only grows. “I don’t even want to know what your intrusive thoughts are anymore. Well. At least your licking distracted me from the pain. It doesn’t hurt anymore with your spit on it. Gross. Wash your mouth after this.”

Somehow, a smile stretches on his face. “Wash my mouth? After getting to have a piece of you? Sweetheart, a little bit of you is in me. Why would I ever not want that?” You open your mouth to interject but are cut off. “If I could, I’d make us become one. That way, I don’t have to worry about you thinking of anything else except me.”

You’re quite… speechless. Did he really just indirectly admit he wants to eat you? What the hell??

“Speaking of which,” Ajax whispers, “forgive me but another intrusive thought won.” With that, he moves closer. Close enough in your face to have your noses brushing. To his surprise, you do not create distance, allowing him to fan his breath over your lips as he slowly turns his head.

The only thing stopping his lips from kissing yours directly is his hand on your lips.

When he pulls away, Ajax’s blue eyes meet your widened ones, your face flushed and clearly flustered. Unfortunately for you, a grin is on his face. “I’ll kiss you for real when you say yes to the ring. Then, I'll make your body mine too.”

With that, he gets up and grabs the first aid box while you sit with his spit drying on your arm. You are sometimes genuinely terrified of him. This is one of those times.

“Don’t lick me ever again.”

Ajax frowns at that. “If you forbid me, then how am I supposed to go dow-”

“Stop! That’s enough!” You successfully shut him up, and he continues disinfecting your injury in silence. “Do not spew such mindless words ever again.”

Unfortunately, he catches onto your words, smiling mischievously. “I’ll do it if you do one thing.” When asked for his conditions, Ajax shamelessly gives his request. “Tell me you’re mine. That I’m the person you want.”

When you show hesitation, he is quick to remind you that you’ve agreed to completely move in with him and agreed to sleeping with him. Thus, you acquiesce.

“I’m… Ugh, I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He chuckles, but you continue humouring him. “I’m yours, Ajax.”

He pushes further. “And?”

Your cheeks heat up, and you meekly let out the second part. “And… you’re the person I want.”

As soon as the desired words leave your mouth, Ajax is soothed. Soon, he’s disinfected the mess of broken skin and tied a bandage around your arm for the time being so that you don’t accidentally hurt yourself again. When asked about his payment, you simply pat his cheek like you do, but decide to scratch the skin behind his ear before travelling upwards into his hair.

With a last pat to his head, you leave him a blushing mess with messy hair as you return to the wires scattered on the ground, picking them up before continuing what you were doing. It doesn’t serve him right that you casually rendered him paralysed and just got up and left. But then again, that is the least you should do against him after what he has done to you.

Flustering someone does not compare to putting them in a fancy cage. Well, Ajax’s deceit makes it hurt more. If you knew the full extent of his desires, you would never let him breathe the same air as you. But you do not. And that is precisely why he plans to slowly let them surface, to allow you time to accept him. He just hopes he doesn’t grow impatient with how good you’ve been.

(Bonus scene)

“What do you mean you want a pillow wall between us?”

You don’t mind Ajax’s childish whines, instead busying yourself with moisturising your face. But when he moves to remove a pillow, you are quick to turn and give him a glare. “I agreed to sleeping next to you and moving into your room. The least you can do is give me time to settle in and let me have a damn pillow wall.”

Ajax slowly puts the pillow back down quietly, and you turn around to close the moisturiser bottle. Though you catch a glimpse of him glaring daggers into the pillow wall, you continue cleaning the clutter of your things on the dressing table.

You’ll take it away in a few days. Let him suffer for a few nights.

#childe x reader #yandere childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #yandere tartaglia x reader #yandere childe #yandere tartaglia #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact #genshin impact x reader

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russett-pots · 10 months

Text

Frat Boy

Kim Minju

Tags: Too lazy to put tags. Just read if you wanna know ;)

Words: 3.6k

Sorry it took a while. It was supposed to be uploaded yesterday. But thanks to Finals approaching I got busy.

It is already the end of class, and you get down the elevator and head to your dorm. But before you can get home. You see one of your frat mates come over to you.

“Dude!” You shout.

Your friend comes over and brofists you.

“You coming to the frat party tonight?”

“Bro, I got a big test next week.”

“So? Your smart ass already studied for that.”

“I just don’t want to fail. I’m still gunning for Dean’s Lister.”

“Come on, man. A sorority is coming over. Time to find some chicks, you know.”

You’re reluctant. Even if you are in a fraternity, you have been hands-off. It is mainly for you to make connections. You have met a couple of interesting figures but nothing much that is interesting.

“You coming?”

“Fine.” You groan.

“It is later tonight. Just come to the house.”

“Yeah. Yeah.” You wave your hand. “I have to go.”

“Hehe. See ya tonight.”

“Yeah.”

You knock on the door. One of your fraternity brothers opens the door.

“Hey.”

“Everyone! Mireu is here!”

You hear cheers for your name.

“Welcome. Sorry for forcing you to not stay in the frat house.”

“Don’t worry. I got my own room anyway.”

“Nice! By the way, do you have the assignment for our physics class?”

“I’ll send you the answers tomorrow.”

“Great! I need them by Monday.”

“No problem.”

You enter the room. There are typical things happening in the house, drinking, playing games, and other roughhousing. But there is one thing new with the place. A set of new sorority girls have arrived. They are the talk of the town with how beautiful they are. But one of them catches your eye.

With all your confidence, you march up to one of them.

“Hey, my name is…”

“Mireu!” She completes your sentence.

“Yeah. I guess you heard.”

“Hi, my name is Chaewon. You must be pretty popular.”

“Nah, it’s mostly because I do their homework.”

“Wow. Can you do mine?”

“Depends. What is it?”

“I don’t know if you can help me. It’s some math assignment.”

“Hand it over to me. I’m sure I can help you with something. Just ring me up. We can have a private tutor session.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” She giggles

Then suddenly someone pulls your arm. “Mireu, let’s play a game.”

“What the heck?!”

He plops you down in a circle with half boys and half girls.

One of the girls grabs a bottle and places it in the center. She spins in and it lands on you.

“What’s this?” You question.

But all the girls giggle and whisper to each other. You can discern that there is someone they want to partner with.

“It’s seven minutes in heaven.”

“What the fuck?!”

You try to stand up but you can’t. The guys around you are already pushing you down back to your seat.

“You got picked. There is no turning back.”

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and spin the bottle to pick your partner.

It spins. It goes around and points are different people in the circle. You pray and hope that you didn’t get a guy. Then it lands on this one girl. She is quiet and seems like she doesn’t talk much.

Without much hesitation, all of your frat brothers carry you to the bedroom while the girls are bringing the girl you picked to follow you.

They toss you to the bed, then leave you. The girls brought the girl that picked you up and lock the door as they leave.

The girl smiles and introduces herself.

“Hi, my name is Minju.”

“Ugh! Whatever. I’m Mireu.”

“Aren’t we supposed to have sex?”

“Don’t bother. I didn’t want to play this game anyway. So don’t get any ideas.”

“Oh…” Minju sits down on the floor with her back to the wall.”

“You alright?”

“Is…Is… is it because I’m ugly? I saw you talking to Chaewon-unnie. Don’t you want to play with her?”

You get up from the bed and kneel down in front of Minju. “No, I’m not in the mood for sex. Just be quiet or something.”

“Okay…”

She sounds disheartened and quiet for the next thirty seconds.

“Did you want to have sex?” You ask.

“Well, the girls said it is a good idea and a great way for me to lose my virginity.”

“You’re a virgin?”

She affirms with a very slight nod.

“Is this how you wanted to lose your virginity? With a random guy?”

“Maybe…maybe it’s just the pressure. All of the other girls already had sex.”

“Don’t worry about it. Do it with a guy you trust or love. It’s going to feel much better than something like this.”

“You sure?”

“Trust me.”

Then there is a series of loud knocks. “You guys done?”

You shout back. “Yup, we’re just about to finish.”

You stand up and head to the door. But before you can touch the handle, Minju tries to hug you. It is a big surprise from Minju.

“Thanks”. She says as she buries her head into your chest.

You are shocked to see such a gesture from some you just met.

“Uhh…. What are you doing?”

“Oh..sorry.” She lets go of the grip on you. Instead, she turns around and heads out of the door. You can peek thru and see her run into the crowd.

Chaewon comes over and checks you out. “You done I guess?”

“Sure…” You reply. Minju is stuck in your head all night. She is shy and quiet, something you found cute. But with her? She seems like an outsider compared to everyone in the room.

The night goes on. You are done with playing seven minutes of Heaven. Good thing that they didn’t invite you to play again. Instead, you are with Chaewon, talking to her. You found her fun to be around. Just asking random questions and things seems to click.

“So, Mireu, what’s your major?”

“Me? Actuarial Science.”

“Oh, What’s that?”

“Just think Statistics.”

“Oh! You must be smart then?”

“You can say.”

“What’s your GPA?”

“3.95”

“Oh…. let me use the restroom.”

She leaves you to be on the couch. You wait there while she does her business. You wait ten minutes. Then fifteen. It becomes thirty. You check your watch and see it is already almost midnight. At this point you give up, you head out of the house and into your car.

But before you can step on the sidewalk you turn to your right. It’s Minju.

“Ya!”

Minju is jumps since she was startled.

You look around and see no one else then you put your attention to her. “Need a lift?”

“Uhhhh…. Chaewon-unnie told me that she is going to pick me up.”

“She’s long gone.”

“You sure?”

“Has your text even been delivered?”

“No….”

“She’s probably hooking up with another guy. Come on, you can ride with me.”

“You sure?”

“Do you want to be left alone here?” You almost scold her.

She follows you to your car. You head for the driver’s seat while she goes for shotgun.

The car ride was mostly silent. She just gives you her address as your head to her place. You observe her. She is very timid, leaning at the window but then you see a shed of tears coming out of her ducts.

“Are… are you crying?”

She sits up straight and wipes the tears off her cheek. “No.” She says while she sniffles.

“Don’t make a mess on my seat.”

“Sorry….”

“There is some tissue on the glove box.”

She takes some out and wipes her tears.

“Ugh fine…. What’s wrong?”

“It’s….. it…just you didn’t want to have sex with me.”

“You really think that having sex with a random guy is going to fix your problems?”

“No….”

“So why did you join?”

“Same as you, I guess….my friends pressured me. Chaewon-unnie always describes how good it is. But I never experience something like that.”

“Don’t fall for that peer pressure. You find the guy when you find the guy.”

This cheers her up a bit but she still continues to cry. Soon as you reach her house, she is already cleaned up.

Minju exits your vehicle with a smile. She waves at you before she gets in her door. As soon as you know she is safe you back up to the road and go home. But suddenly a small smile forms. You feel happy a bit. You haven’t felt like this since your last girlfriend who cheated on you before you left for college.

That girl Minju lingers in your mind for the rest of the semester. You go thru classes. Everything that happens, you can see Minju doing it. Her face is plastered to all the girls in the room. You can’t get that girl out of your mind. All you see is her. She is the only thing on your mind.

Now it is the start of a new school year. You already became an inactive member of your fraternity. Finally, you feel a bit free from your old responsibilities. But you still try to keep a connection with them but now you gave your pin to the president.

Finally, you can give one hundred percent of your attention to your schooling. But then you can see that face again, that mysterious face. You see it then it is gone. Like she is following you but you can’t really tell who it is.

You go to one of your classes. When you get in, there aren’t a lot of people yet. It is early, what do you expect?

As the good student you are, you take a seat where you can get a good view of the class. As you take out your notebook, you see her. It’s Minju. It has been a while since you last saw her. But now you can see her every week.

She looks around for a seat. It didn’t seem like she noticed you. She just goes around finding a decent seat. Then she sees one beside you. It still doesn’t seem like she knows you. But as she comes closer, a sense of embarrassment ruins her.

The first thing she does is to do a ninety-degree bow to you and walks away.

“Wait! You can sit here.”

She looks at you and goes back to the seat that she originally wanted.

“Hello.” She mumbles.

“It’s Minju, right?”

“How do you want me to address you?”

“Just…Oppa, I guess?”

“Okay….Oppa.”

“You okay?”

“Sorry, I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Just relax. I know the prof. He is chill.”

“Really?”

Then the door opens. It is the professor that you told Minju about. He comes in front and introduces himself. He is a chill prof unlike the many that you wish could change him. As the class is about to end, he gives out an assignment for everyone.

You turn to Minju. “Wanna work together ?”

“Sure.” She happily agrees.

It’s the first time that she has been relaxed with you. But when she smiles. It hits you. You noticed how beautiful she is despite her dorky appearance. When he wasn’t very confident with her looks, you can see past that. You are starstruck.

“Do you need my number?” Minju asks.

You snap out of the trance the nod. She hands her phone to you and you type down your number.

“Sorry, Oppa. Let’s do the assignement later. I have a class.”

“Just text me or call. Whatever works for you.”

She chuckles. “I’ll just text you.” She waves bye as you sit on your sit, smitten. That one moment when you look at her, you wish that she is your girlfriend.

The day goes on. You keep on staring at your phone to check to see if Minju has responded to you. Hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second. Each moment is filled with your thoughts of Minju. Then suddenly, during one of your classes, your phone vibrates.

“Hi, Oppa. Sorry for being so forward. Wanna do the assignment together?”

You quickly grab your phone. “Sure. When are you free?”

“I’m thinking after school. Umm….. I’m busy until then.”

You ponder for a moment. It shouldn’t be this easy to get a date. “You sure? I don’t want to keep you busy.”

Bubbles pop up on the bottom of the screen. Then it disappears.

Is this too much?

Then it pops up and a message is sent. “It’s no problem. Can we meet at your place? My place is a mess thanks to my roommate.”

You get nervous. This isn’t like you. The feeling inside your gut isn’t something you are used to, especially for a girl.

“Sure. I’ll meet you at 7?”

You wait near the exit of your school. You check your watch and see it is almost seven. She is still not there. You check your watch again, barely anytime has passed. Then you see a group of girls passing by. You can see there is less than a handful of them. In the back is Minju. She comes closer and greets you, still wearing those nerdy glasses she had when you first met.

“Hi…oppa…” She is still nervous like you are meeting for the first time.

“Hey, Minju.”

The pack of girls behind are now giggling. Minju’s hands are shaking. “Sorry about them. They’re my sorority sisters.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah….”

“Don’t worry about them.”

“Okay.” Her voice is now more stable.

Then one of the girls shouts as you leave. “Treat her well.”

You can remember that voice as Chaewon’s. The girl you are supposed to meet that night before you met Minju.

Your attention is now on Minju as you bring her home.

Minju asks you about your dinner. “Have you eaten?”

“Oh, not yet.” Your mind has been nothing but Minju that you forgot to eat.

“Where do you want to get food?”

You check around the area and you see nothing but a convenience store.

“You…want 711?”

“Sure.”

You head inside and see what’s being served. There are some packed meals, sandwiches, and other quick and easy goodies. You look around and see the options. Minju is looking around as well and picks up something while you grab something more filling,

“You sure that’s enough, Minju?”

“It’s fine. I had a late lunch.”

You shrug your shoulder and head to the counter.

The clerk asks. “Want me to heat this up?”

“Sure.” You say. “Minju can you get me something to drink.”

She nods and waddles to the drinks section and turns behind the shelves.

“You dating her?” The clerk asks.

“I wish.”

“She seems nice.”

“Really?”

“Not my type but I’m sure. She’ll be fine for you.”

“Thanks. She’s cute.”

Minju returns with two cans of soda. “Here, I hope you like Coke.”

“It’s alright.” You look at her with a smile.

“Okay, is that all?”

You nod to the clerk as he packs up your food and drinks.

You and Minju leave the place but she is a bit clumsy but you pick her up before she falls to the ground.

“Are you okay?” You carefully ask Minju.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Then you both head up to your apartment.

“Let’s eat first. I’m hungry.”

“Sure…”

Dinner is quiet. You eating and Minju is right beside you. It calls you to do something but you cannot find anything to start the conversation.

“Minju…” You try to open up.

She turns to you.

“Oh, wait.” You get up and grab a napkin then return back. “There is something on your face.”

Then there you are after cleaning up her, you face up against each other. You can feel her heartbeat and it is going fast. She isn’t backing up.

You look up and down then focus on her lips. This feels like forever. The thought of kissing those lips. The thought of your first kiss with Minju. Then you got tired of waiting and go for it. You kiss her lips. It is sweet as nectar the taste of Minju is on your lips.

You break the kiss for a moment.

“Minju, you like that?”

“Very much.”

Then you go for it. You cup her cheeks as your kiss her for the second time. Your hands from her cheeks down to her neck and to her breast. But she stops you and moves back.

“Minju!” you call her out. “Are you alright?”

“Ummm…..sorry. It’s just. You’re my first and….I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Remember that night? When we first met?”

“Of course I do. You rejected me.”

“Minju!”

“Yes?”

“Do you want me to be your first?”

“Yes but can we be… ge—”

For the third time, you dive into her lips and into the couch. The force you put upon her makes the both of you laugh. So you kiss again as she starts to undress you. You remove your shirt and unbutton her blouse. You can see her pair of breasts locked by a brasserie.

Minju removes her blouse and unbuttons her bra. Her breasts are now free for you to use. You start to suck on them, playing with the nipple simultaneously. As you enjoy your time with Minju’s breasts, your hand starts to linger down to her blue jeans. It unbuttons her pants and slides inside her panties.

You play with her gently. First slowly, then turn into rough. But as soon as Minju feels it, she stops you.

“Let’s just do this gently please.”

“Okay, how do you want to do this?”

“Umm…I’m not sure. But….”

“You just want to go straight to sex?”

“Sure!”

You lead her to the bedroom. Her chest is exposed and her pants are halfway down. You push her to the bed and move back to kissing.

“After that night, I never thought you’ll actually be in my bedroom.”

“Aren’t you happy?”

“I’ll wouldn’t have done it any other way.”

You peck her lips one more time then stand up.

“You ready?”

She gets up and removes her pants and her panties while you get naked. You look at each other and laugh a bit.

“You think it is small?”

“Well, I don’t have a comparison.”She squeezes her breasts. “You think these are small?”

“I don’t care. Boobs are boobs and yours are great.”

She blushes.

You grab her and pull her closer. “Let’s just do this simple, okay?”

She looks up to you and smiles. “Sure.”

You kiss her again and gently lay her on your bed. Your hands interlock in this passionate set. Then finally you align your tip to her entrance. You thrust inside. Minju grunts as there is a hint of pain.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just continue.”

You run in deeper and you can feel as if you are at your max. Then you slowly start thrusting. First in and out, just getting used to her unused pussy. Then when things are running smoothly, you move faster and faster. Things become more and more pleasurable which causes you to moan.

You notice that Minju’s eyes are closed but with a smile of satisfaction. She also grunts as she takes you in. But those grunts turn into moans like yours. They both become louder and louder. You try to silence her but forcing a kiss. It works for a second but instead of kissing you for longer, Minju bites your lip.

“Fuck me. That’s hot.”

“You like that?”

“Very much.”

You fuck again and kiss her again. It is getting up to you. You thrust faster and faster, feeling the deepest parts of her womb.

You can’t stop. Her pussy feels better after each second. Her breasts jiggle as your large force is inside Minju.

“Fuck! Minju! Ugh!”

“Come on, get me more, Oppa!”

Those words encourage you to move in deeper and deeper. You try to pleasure yourself and Minju as much as you can and it works. Your cock is feeling the best as it can with a virgin hole while you can hear Minju shout in delight.

It is hard for her to stop moaning and groaning. It starts to fill the room. For you, your own sounds of orgasm are in perfect key with Minju’s.

Then you can feel your gut turn. It is time. Your cock is throbbing.

“Minju! I’m going to—”

Then you spew your seed. You empty every single drop of semen inside her. Rounds, rounds of cum run inside her.

You pull back and see Minju catching her breath. She looks tired but still beautiful. You jump in bed with her and pull her in your arms.

“Oppa, that was amazing.”

“You must have enjoyed that.”

“Mhm.” She nods.

You pet her hair as Minju falls asleep. As you see her gently slumbering, you start to drift to rest.

It’s the next day. Laying beside you is Minju. She is sound asleep so you try to quietly leave the room, still naked from last night. You quickly try to pick up something to wear. Once you are dressed, you head out and look for something to eat in the morning.

You can still see the food you left for dinner and then pack them up. You clean up the small mess you left behind. Then you hear a creak on the door. It is Minju. She is still holding her clothes from last night.

“You wanna leave?”

“Sorry, I thought you left.”

“Minju, do you want to date?”

“Date?”

“Do you think that last night meant nothing?”

“No, I mean….I’d love to be your girlfriend.”

You open your arms open and walk to Minju. You embrace her as she snuggles up against your chest.

“Come on, we still have class.”

#Kim Minju #Kpop smut #izone smut #Minju smut

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scarletwritesshit · 5 months

Text

♠️ Aventurine x Reader ♠️ Under the Gun

For a man who was betting a ton of credits, he looked unusually confident.

He could just be bluffing. You hoped that he was bluffing. But, from the nightmares described by various IPC members, as well as a bit of personal experience, you had to agree that perhaps, Aventurine was indeed a menace to deal with.

Among the complaints of varying degrees, Topaz’s gripes stuck out the most. She constantly mumbled about him being a slimy, unsavory bastard, and despite the two of you being on less than positive terms, she wouldn’t wish his presence upon you in a thousand Amber Eras.

Did you ever heed her warnings? Clearly not, as you were face-to-face with Aventurine in a two-person game of Belobog Hold’em. From the dastardly look on his face, he seemed to have a plan. And that plan was to completely drain you of whatever credits you had left in your pockets with his next move.

He rested his head on his hand and smiled at you, his eyes piercing your soul through his rose-tinted glasses. Aventurine’s smirk was that of a confident man who knew what he was doing, and perhaps nothing you could do could stop him from winning this game. Keeping your composure at such a sight was proving to be a challenge, especially considering how your hand wasn’t exactly the best. Aventurine could practically see through your hand, it felt like, and he was secretly amused by the almost guaranteed loss you were staring at. To have this much confidence, he must either have ended up with a practically unbeatable hand from the sheer force of dumb luck, or he knew how to, quite literally, play his cards right.

Or, perhaps he could see that you were not quite paying full attention to the game, and your focus lied primarily within Aventurine himself. It was a sense of morbid curiosity to see if he was as truly awful as the rumors and tales had described that inclined you to play a one-on-one private game of poker with him. To Aventurine, it was all another one of his “business deals,” and he had business of lining his pockets with the spoils of your failure.

You had put so much money in, just to see how far you could take this game, but with every credit wagered on the table, his smile grew ever more confident. Perhaps you should’ve quit early to minimize your losses, but there was something about seeing that dastardly smirk that caused you to stray from your real goal of satisfying a basic curiosity.

Or did this “curiosity” extend beyond the simple urge to meet him alone?

The realization of your impending losses began to set in, and you were looking back and forth between your awful and Aventurine’s confident gaze. You couldn’t let things end here, but you knew that he had you backed in a corner and that a second round with him just wouldn’t be possible.

“Well?” he said with a little laugh, “What’s the holdup?”

You said nothing, as you attempted to maintain a cool and collected expression to hide the despair in your hand.

“Cat got your tongue, my dear?” he said, waving his cards mockingly like a fan.

“No,” you said, forcing your eyes off of him.

“Ah, then…what’s the holdup? Thinking a little too hard, perhaps?”

You didn’t want to allude to the awful position you were in. Not to him, especially, but at this point, what more could you do? No matter how hard you looked at your final hand, all combinations of cards were beyond awful. Aventurine could play the most underwhelming hand and he would still have you defeated like a sore loser, and his smile told the entire story.

That was a face of a man who knew he had won, one that had a chokehold on you.

Shaking your head, completely defeated, you placed your cards down on the table. Aventurine was all too happy to place his down with the same smug look that had been taunting you since the very beginning of this game.

You didn’t want to see just much Aventurine won by, so you merely concentrated on your own depressing cards as you flipped them over. A pair. There was no way you were winning anything with that.

“Well… it seems like I win this one,” Aventurine said.

After taking a deep breath, you finally convinced yourself to look at his cards. You knew he had you beat quite badly, but you didn’t want to see just how badly.

Four of a kind. It would’ve taken some immense luck on your end to beat that, something that you simply did not have. And now you found yourself down more credits than you actually had.

You should’ve heeded the warning of Topaz and the others. Aventurine was not one to be taken so lightly in the very game he specializes in.

“Another round might satisfy you, perhaps?” Aventurine asked, picking up a chip and fidgeting with it in his fingers.

“As much as I would love to continue playing with you, first I need to figure out how to pay you back,” you admitted.

“Pay me back? You mean to tell me that you kept betting with credits that you didn’t have?”

You nodded your head. You knew it wasn’t the brightest idea, but hearing Aventurine flat-out expose you in such a manner provoked some sort of irritation within you. The problem was, you couldn’t tell if you were more frustrated with yourself or him.

“And in a game with an IPC member, too. What-ever could you have possibly been thinking? Did you maybe, want to go into debt or something? Did you want me to go after you?”

You were supposed to be the one going after him, but Aventurine took advantage of your blunder and turned things against you. Except, he wasn’t curious about some rumors, he wanted to collect his rewards. And a debt you did indeed owe to him, one he was all too happy for you to owe. It was as if he was awaiting this moment the entire time, as if he had a surefire way of making sure he would end up on top.

A method such as rigging the game, perhaps.

“Go after me? In what sense?” you asked.

“Hmm, how do you think? Relentlessly pursuing you until I get what I am after? Haha, though I have got to admit, I was fully expecting you to hit me up for one more round, maybe to try and win everything back. Takes a lot for someone to finally admit defeat.”

Was he complimenting you? Surely, he couldn’t be complimenting you, if anything, it was a snide commentary on how well you’ve managed to dig yourself a hole.

“Thanks?” you said, at a genuine loss for words.

“Ah, well, I know you’re thinking that you’re going to have to pay up eventually, but I can’t help but be curious that there was something else you were after,” he said, ceasing the fidgeting of the chip in his fingers and began smiling with devious intent.

“After what, exactly?” you asked, trying to clear up exactly what he was implying.

“Something that, to you, must be more valuable than any singular credit in all of Penacony. Something that was clearly enough to deviate your focus from the game and instead direct it to what was in front of the very cards that determined your fate.”

“You mean like the chance to wipe that insufferable look off of your face?”

“Oh, if only I could believe that you would do such a thing.”

You could challenge him to yet another round of Belobog Hold’em anyways, but he was well aware that your pockets were heading deep into the negatives, and the risk of falling even further into debt was greater than the reward. Your options were ultimately limited, but you weren’t willing to back down so easily. Especially not to someone as insufferable as Aventurine.

“Want me to prove it?” you said, glaring into his eyes.

Aventurine put the poker chip that he was fidgeting with prior down on the table.

“Now you’re getting awfully bold for someone who finds themselves deep in debt. I’ll have you know, it doesn’t matter if we’re talking about my IPC duties or playing cards, because I always hit the jackpot.”

“Jackpot?” you said, snatching the poker chip out from under him. “Can you really say that with such confidence, especially when foul play is involved?”

You held the poker chip up to one of your eyes, and closely observed Aventurine through the other. His confidence was not diminished by your revolt, and his grin seemed to grow ever slyer by the moment. He either knew that, despite you catching on, he had gotten away with his trickery, or Aeons be damned this man truthfully knew how to play his cards right.

“Luck and foul play do not equate, my dear,” Aventurine said.

“Do you want to run that by me one more time?” you said, moving the poker chip down from your eye and squinting at him.

With a teasing laugh, Aventurine stated, “I said, luck and foul play are not the same, my dear.”

He was driving you to your wit’s end. Aventurine had to be hiding some kind of dirty secret to never lose in such a manner. You were determined to fight the answer out of him, whether it truly was some form of hidden skill or everything now and before was rigged. Sometimes, the best way to counter foul play was to break the rules yourself and knock the self-declared king down the hierarchy.

Aventurine would spend the entirety of the evening waving his winning hand in front of your face if that is what it took for you to back down.

At this point, you didn’t have the patience for any more of his antics.

No roundabout way of making him confess his dirty little secrets would cause him to crack any time soon. Not to mention, you were nearing the point of wanting to choke him out.

You slammed the stolen poker chip on the table, which Aventurine looked down at the cards and chips rebounding from the force.

“Getting a little feisty now, aren’t w- “

You reached out while Aventurine was focused on the disturbed table and slipped your fingers under his choker. Before he had a chance to react, you pulled him forward across the table, knocking over what remained of the stacks of chips and cards. You held him firmly in front of you, giving Aventurine almost no other option but to look directly into your eyes.

“Two can play at that game,” you said, tightening your grip on his choker.

Despite the situation Aventurine now found himself in, he was strangely calm about the entirety of it. The smile on his face, though dastardly, was tainted with some sort of twisted joy.

“Ha, I can’t say I’ve ever played a game that ended with me in such a tangle,” he said.

“That’s an awful surprise considering how insufferable you are.”

“Insufferable? Coming from you, of all people? I’d argue that you’re doing this strictly on purpose, to study my ‘tactics’ up close and personally.”

“Because I am, so I can catch you in case you try to pull a fast one on me.”

“By looking at me ever so closely? Why, I’d argue that you’re more interested in me than that little bet you claim I’ve won by illicit means.”

You tugged on his choker a bit, to try and shake a little sense into that man. However, Aventurine’s smile never dissipated; his eyes only grew more focused with a kind of hunger only a man seeking his reward could have. He should sensibly be threatening you to hand over his payment, yet he had not uttered one word of demand for his credits this entire time.

Could he actually be finding some form of enjoyment from this? Enough to forgo the temptation of the hefty balance of credits that was being dangled in front of him like an earthworm worm to a fish?

“And for a man with the promise of becoming rich, you seem awfully distracted from your bounty.”

“Becoming rich?” he said with a laughter muffled by your grip, “Oh, sweetie, I have more money than your mind could possibly comprehend. It’s not often that I get as much enjoyment out of a simple game of poker as I am right now.”

It would appear that your theory was right. Aventurine was deriving some sort of sick enjoyment from your threats. Perhaps, he wouldn’t mind it if you stepped things up a notch, then?

“This isn’t a matter of it being a so-called simple game of poker,” you said, pushing aside the cards and chips that were in your way.

“It’s more of a game between us now.”

You pulled Aventurine even closer to you, close enough to where you can feel his breath on your face. Any further, and he would be pulled out of his chair onto the table, or even worse, a bit too close to you.

“Now? Are you sure that it wasn’t always between us?”

“Very clever of you to think such absurdity, though it would explain how horribly you were playing. Or, perhaps you’re just naturally awful. But I couldn’t blame you regardless, as I am quite the charmer, after all.”

“You want to repeat that, pretty boy?”

“Pretty boy. I do like the sound of that.”

You wanted to tug Aventurine even closer, but you physically couldn’t, unless you wanted him directly against your face. The most you could do is grip his choker even tighter, wearing at the leather with the sheer force of your fist.

“Quiet now, you scoundrel,” you snapped.

“Pretty boy? Scoundrel? Make up your mind,” Aventurine taunted.

He was indeed a pretty boy, but at the same time, he was a scoundrel. He had a way with words, a way with looks, and unfortunately, a way with cards.

“You’re keeping me awfully close for someone who thinks I’m a scoundrel,” he continued, “Aren’t you afraid I’m going to cheat you out of a little more than your money?”

“What could you possibly do with this quite literal chokehold I have on you?” you said.

“Repay the favor, of course,” he said, lifting up one of his hands that he used to steady himself.

You braced yourself for a hostile retribution. Repay the favor how, exactly? Did he have a genuine suspicion that you were trying to kill him? Out of sheer instinct, you grabbed your pistol with your free hand and held it directly against his head, flicking off the safety and finger almost desperate for the trigger. Even in the face of death, Aventurine did not flinch, and his smile was as dastardly as ever.

To your great surprise, he simply brushed some of the hair that had fallen in front of your eyes away. Despite the gun armed and ready to blow his brains out should he attempt something clever, he paid no mind to the imminent threat to his life.

“That’s it?” you said, completely deprived of words. “Not even with a gun aimed directly at your vitals?”

Aventurine nudged the gun away from his head, aiming it at the ceiling directly above him. You didn’t bother to reposition yourself, though you still kept the safety off, just in case.

“Oh, I know you couldn’t bring yourself to do such a thing,” he taunted.

Unfortunately, Aventurine was right. As much as he was getting on your nerves, it didn’t warrant taking his life. You slowly lowered your pistol onto the table, still keeping it close, just in case.

“Ha, you’re quite the pretty one yourself, even when you’re acting all scary. It’s almost enough to distract a man as sharp as me.”

“Almost? With the way you were eyeing me up, I could almost believe that you were too focused on me to even think twice about cheating.”

“Oh, back on that again, are we? Isn’t there something you’d rather focus on, instead of whether or not you can trust a little ol’ member of the IPC?”

Almost impulsively, you pulled him ever so slightly closer, to the point where he was agonizingly close to you. Hardly even a single inch of space separated you and him.

He was right. With him so close and in your grasp, you could care less about all of the credits you owed to Aventurine. Though, every time the topic of the debt was mentioned, Aventurine brushed it off almost as quickly as it came up. In a way, it was almost as if he could care less about what would be pocket change to him.

“Focus on what, exactly?” you asked.

“Who else, other than the bastard you have in your grasp right now? The one who you absolutely refuse to break eye contact with, the one you claim to despise so much?”

“Despise enough to not back down from, but…not enough to reject his company.”

“My point exactly,” he whispered while running his finger across your cheek, gently brushing the edge of your lips.

“Now what are you playing at?” you snapped, in an indirect way to ask for clarification on Aventurine’s intent.

“It’s something that I want, something that we both want, more than the truth behind the legitimacy of a back-alley game of poker,” Aventurine said, with a smile that suddenly went soft.

“Long story short, you mean each other. You think that our intent for allowing this game to spiral out of control was to win over each other, and not for the spoils of currency?”

“Judging by your poor performance, I’d say it’s far from an improbability.”

“And your constant diversion from the topic of the money,” you said.

“Perhaps.”

Your grip on him suddenly softened, allowing Aventurine a bit more freedom to move. Certainly, you weren’t expecting this to happen just because you wanted to fight back a little, but if that were really the case, then perhaps you were a bit too rough with him? No, Aventurine was clearly indulging himself in the pleasure of someone bold enough to step up to him. Someone who knew very well of his dangers, yet still faced him head on.

Everything about that gaze, that smile, those bastardly mannerisms of his had you so entranced.

And you so very badly wanted to put him in his place.

“Giving up already?” he said, disappointed at your sudden withdrawal.

“What? Did you want me to choke you out?”

“Ha, you like me too much. But feel free to tug me as close to that pretty face of yours as you wish.”

Obedience was not exactly what you were so eager to show Aventurine, but the chance to tug on him even more was not something you were going to pass up. You forcefully pulled him even closer, once again reducing the distance between your faces to hardly a single inch. The two of you were locked in a stare, closely watching for each other’s next move.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Don’t tell me you’ve gotten too shy all of a sudden.”

“I’m not, it’s just, is this really what you want out of me, Aventurine?”

“What do you think I’ve been trying to pry out of you this entire time, sweetheart?”

It would be comedically cruel to toy with him further, but also a wait that you could no longer bear. With no resistance from Aventurine himself, you yanked his collar further until your lips met at long last. Yet, you did not free Aventurine from your grasp the entire time, but he seemed to care not, as he had finally hit the jackpot he was alluding to throughout the entire game.

Once you two had drifted apart, you rested your foreheads against each other, though your fingers were still gently hooked on his choker.

“You freein’ me now that you’ve had your fun?” Aventurine said.

Sighing, you unhooked your fingers, allowing him to relax back into his chair. He stood up, and in one swift, graceful swoop, Aventurine collected the scattered deck of cards, even snatching your depressing play right from under your nose. The chips were neatly stacked and set to the side, no longer accounting for what either party had on the line.

“What about the debt?” you said, looking at the pile of now neatly organized poker chips.

“Debt? What debt?”

He didn’t forget about those credits at all, but Aventurine could care less as he simply won something far better than any form of monetary value.

“Don’t be afraid to hit me up if you ever feel like throwin’ down some cards again,” Aventurine said.

“I can’t guarantee that it wouldn’t end with me throwing you down on the table.”

“Are you threatening me with a good time?” Aventurine said, turning to look at you with a smirk. “Because if that’s the case, why don’t we skip the card games and head straight to the fun?”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr aventurine #aventurine x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

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slutforsnow · 5 months

Text

As an apology for being dead as hell, i would like to provide this one-shot/oc fic of Billy the Kid from the TV drama series.

A Pretty Girl Playin' With The Big Boys

Inspired by Diva and Beautiful Liar

CW//saloon fight, western time period, poker, mild sa (like almost touches but nothing more), implied sh00ting threat, Billy is his own warning for being so hot, mentions of abusive ex, rape mention

She smiled to herself as she watched her brother Jesse play poker as she took a shot of whiskey sittin' in her chair like the cowboys so one caught sight of a woman planning to get in on the next game. What she didn't notice was that a man, around 2 years older than her, was watching her as he played. His gaze seemed predatory and observant as he played-like he didn't really feel like focusing on the game.

He took a shot of his whiskey as he showed his cards, and Jesse slowly set his down. He lost, and he looked pretty pissed about it. He frowned, clenching his jaw. He half-expected it but had some hope that'd bring home somethin' to his ma and Joe since Henry was injured. As Billy got up from his seat and place his hat on his head again, he noticed an oddly small cowboy take the seat that his opponent, Jesse, had been sittin' in as Jesse gathered his winnins.

"She's gonna get herself found out," Jesse murmured laughin' to himself. Billy snapped his head to Jesse, his brows furrowed in confusion.

'She? She who?' The brunette thought before turning his gaze to the mysterious she at the poker table. She had put a rather large sum of money on the table, causing Jesse to raise his brows, surprised. "She never bets that much."

'She's a regular poker player?'

As the game proceeded, the mysterious she kept quiet, only making noise to clear her throat or move away from one of her opponents that seemed off and tried to lay hands on her more private areas.

Billy kept a frown on his lips as he watched her discomfort, but every moment he went to go shove a man off her, she'd shoot him a glare as if to say 'if you expose me, I'll shoot you.'

As the game came to a close, she smirked, gathering her winnings as she won more than Jesse. The other men bet more in this game than the last one and were surprised to lose a quite hefty amount. The men were genuinely shocked, thinking they lost to a 15 - or 16 year old boy. One man, however, looked pissed and as the mystery girl began to stand after pocketing her winnings, he grabbed her arm pulling her down to the table, knocking her hat off and letting her lustrous curls unfurl from her messy bun that was tucked neatly under her hat. The curls fell around her face, and one strand fell in front of her face. Smiling awkwardly, she stayed still.

'Well shit,' She thought, freezing as the man froze. The gambler lost to a woman, and he was furious. A WOMAN beat his ass in poker, a men's game.

The saloon was dead silent as the sound of her hat hit the ground seemingly echoed.

"Now, sir, there's no need to violent its just poker," She said, trying to wiggle her arm free, only for the man to tighten his hold. 'Okay, maybe I'll need Jesse for this,' She thought, glancing to her brother and his friend.

"You beat me in my game. No one ever beats me," the gambler growled, grabbing his gun and bringing it to her temple. The man's words sent Billy's mind to the night Carlos was shot for winning and for being Mexican. He wasn't having a repeat of that. Before he could think, Billy spun his gun out of the holster, shooting the hole through a broken window, hitting an old crate which exploded due to the force of the bullet hitting such a delicate and old thing.

The sound grabbed everyone's attention, even the gambler who dropped his gun in surprise. The saloon was still in silence, watching Billy's next move.

"Let her go," He said, moving his gun and aiming it at the man's head. The mystery woman smirked in approval of Billy, liking how he was handling it. "I don't wanna have to kill you, so just let her go."

Out of pure fear, the man dropped his gun and let go of her, causing her to fall onto the floor with a hard thud.

Standing up, she brushed the dirt off her jeans and grabbed her hat, swiping the dust off.

"Gentleman," She commented after a moment of silence and bowing, exiting the saloon with Jesse behind her and Billy behind both of them.

As the three walked in awkward silence, she put her hat on, ignoring the stares from other women at her boyish appearance, aside from her cerulean eyes and ginger locks that had been pulled into a braid down her back.

"I suppose I should thank you," She uttered, smiling towards Billy and turning to walk backward, now following Jesse based on the sound of his footsteps.

"'S nothin'," Billy told her, shrugging as he walked behind her, but noticing her bruised arm as she pulled her over shirt off to check on the bruise. "You gonna be okay?"

"Oh I'll be fine," She answered, shrugging off his concern. "This ain't nothin' compared to my last man."

"Last man?" He repeated, staring at her puzzled. "What happened to him?"

"Jesse ran him out of town for trying to marry me while I was seventeen. Stopped him from rapin' me too," She commented. "Ex was awful."

Billy stared at her, surprised at how she could be so calm about it. Then he thought of something; she was so calm about it as if it was nothin' more than picking flowers by a river. It reminded him of how calm and unbothered he is to murdering, at least small animals and people who truly deserved it. He smirked a little before extending his hand to her to shake.

"Billy Antrim."

"Violet Evans."

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

Text

I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie Munson x fem!artist!Reader

Part 5

18+Only, MDNI, implied smut, eventual smut, biker gang, violence, aggression, boxing, street fighting, alcohol consumption, slow burn, mutual pining, mature themes, angst, jealous!Eddie, first kiss, brief mention of what reader is wearing, mention of blood.

Word count: 8.4k

Series Masterlist

In part 5, a new situation blossoms between your roommate Katie and Robin Buckley, while you get up the nerve to give Eddie a call. Eddie gets questioned by the police (Chief Hopper) and you go to your first Fight Night, where the adrenaline-fueled dramas are plentiful. You and Eddie finally enter new and intimate territory.

I do re-read these several times, but it's almost impossible for me to edit my own work, so I hope it's not too fraught with errors.

“Tell me now, baby, is he good to you?

Can he do to you the things that I do?

I can take you higher.”

______

Around 8 o’clock the next morning, Robin and Steve were moving around the kitchen, bumping into each other like zombies, making coffee and dolling out the ibuprofen into each other’s palms. They both had the day off, but Wayne would be dropping Oliver by soon, and they had to get ready to be semi-functioning parents again.

Their voices were just below a whisper though, and their footsteps light as they tried to step on the parts of the old floor that didn’t creak, doing their best not to wake Katie who was asleep on the sofa in the living room.

Steve found Robin leaning against the archway that separated the two rooms, staring at the form of a body all wrapped up like a burrito in a red and white quilt, facing the back of the sofa, the top of her head the only visible part of her body.

They both had coffee mugs in their hands, steam rising from the freshly poured brew.

Steve nudged Robin with his elbow, his voice nothing but a scratchy murmur. “Should I wake her?”

“Don’t you dare,” Robin returned, quickly. “It’s her spring break, let her have a few more minutes.”

Steve put the rim of his mug to his lips and took stock of Robin’s smile as she watched Katie twitch in her sleep.

About a half hour after Eddie left the night before, you started to hit a wall as far as socializing went, and asked Katie if she was ready to hit the road. Katie, Robin, and a couple others were just setting up a folding table to play a game of cards, but you could feel your eyes drooping and knew you wouldn’t make it much longer.

“She can sleep here,” Robin said to you, but then realized she might have jumped the gun, fueled by her own enthusiasm for the idea. She turned to Katie, “if you want to, that is. You can stay here with me...on me...on our couch, I mean.”

Katie wasn’t one to casually “crash” at people’s houses; she loved waking up in her own bed. But, she was having an incredibly good time, and she didn’t want you to have to be forced to stay sober and wait for her, so she took Robin up on her offer.

You wondered if Katie might regret her decision in the morning, based solely on the fact that she was three sheets to the wind, and waking up with a hangover in a strange house is never optimal, but the intense flirting going on between her and Robin gave you all the reasoning you needed.

There were a few times you noticed Steve flirting with Katie, but she would always gravitate back to Robin; it was a fascinating triangle that you enjoyed being a witness to.

Back at the house that next morning, Robin let out a heavy sigh, and lifted her eyes to Steve for a beat before directing them back to Katie on the couch. “I think I’m going to need to take this one off your hands, Dingus.”

Steve swallowed a sip that was a bit too hot and clicked his tongue, the sides of his mouth jerking down. “Oh, I figured as much.”

Robin knew she wouldn’t get much of a fight out of him. Sure, he was attracted to Katie, but she was currently just one out of many crushes and conquests he had going on. The fact that he knew what it was like to kiss her, and been inside of her, made Robin jealous more than anything, but the second she felt her affection for Katie reciprocated, all bets were off.

“Besides,” Robin murmured just as they heard Wayne’s truck coming up the driveway. “She has already drooled on my pillow. It’s meant to be.”

Fully awake and playing possum, Katie’s nose was pressed against the back of the sofa, and a huge smile spread across her face.

----------

Later that afternoon, Eddie had a truck on the lift at his garage, wrenching away under the hood in his coveralls, hair tied back, Faith No More belting out from the stereo, when one of the other mechanics called over to him: “Munson, we’ve got company.”

It didn’t scare Eddie that the police were here, but it annoyed him. Getting questioned by Chief Hopper was standard procedure whenever the Coffin Kings were involved with something---whether Eddie played a part in it or not.

It just so happened that this time, he had played a part. He hadn’t been involved in the actual hand off at the Illinois border, but he rode as protection, hired muscle to bulk up their numbers to deter other gangs from trying to infiltrate their run. He never asked too many questions mostly because, in this particular situation, ignorance was bliss. The trade off had gone as planned, but an informant had tipped off the police about the delivery, and that’s what Hopper was there about.

“Hey, Jim, how’s the family?” Eddie came out to the parking lot to meet him at his bronco, leading with the standard polite banter they always started out with. Any other police Chief would’ve sent an officer out to ask these questions, but Jim did it himself as a courtesy because he liked Eddie, and he’d known the kid since he was in high school.

Hopper had on his tan uniform and hat, silver hair dusting his temples and mustache. “Oh, you know, the wife keeps me busy,” he grinned, referring to Joyce Byers. “All the kids have families of their own now, so the holidays are a nightmare.”

“I bet.” Eddie said it like he understood, but he had no idea what it was like to have a big, extended family.

Jim put one hand on his hip and asked about Wayne and Oliver, and then he took a deep breath before asking if Eddie knew anything about the run the Coffin Kings did the night before, and the stash of guns missing from a local warehouse.

Eddie creased his forehead like he was considering the question, and then shook his head. “The guys come here to have their bikes worked on, but I don’t get involved in that other shit. My days as a criminal on the run are behind me.”

Jim looked relieved by the lie. “I figured as much,” he shifted the brim of his hat. “I still have to ask where you were last night, just for the sake of the paperwork.”

That next part was easy, because he didn’t have to make too much of it up. The barbecue went late and he crashed at Steve and Robin’s.

“They’ll confirm this?”

Robin knew the drill, he never had to wonder. He did have to admit though, the little white lies were getting to him. He wasn’t a fan of cops in general, in the first place, but Jim had always been decent to him. He was doing his best to move away from the outlaw world, but it had been a part of his life for so long, it had its claws in him.

Once the serious questions were over, they both relaxed back into the banter of two people who had known each other for over a decade and cared about each other as friends do. Jim headed around to the driver’s side of his bronco and Eddie kept pace with him.

“We’re hosting another Fight Night here this weekend,” Eddie told him, gesturing with a tilt of his chin to where they usually set the ring up at. “You should come, have a few beers. Bring Joyce.”

Hopper chuckled. “Joyce should get in the ring, she’d wipe the floor with all of you.”

“I have no doubt,” Eddie grinned, thinking about that tiny firecracker of a woman. “If I were a betting man, all of my money would be on her.”

Jim got in behind the wheel and shut the door, leaving his window down. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll check and see if my warden has other plans for me.”

They said their goodbyes, and Eddie stayed to watch him exit the compound, offering a wave as he went.

That night, Eddie came out of the shower and into the bedroom of his apartment enveloped in a cloud of steam, with nothing but a dark blue towel wrapped around his waist, and wet hair hanging down his shoulders. He gave the phone on the nightstand a cautious look when it started ringing, his mind racing with all of the people he did not want to hear from at that late hour.

When he finally picked it up just before the fourth ring with a suspicious and informal, “Yeah?” his heart stuttered in his chest to find out that the person at the other end of the line was you.

--------

“So, are you two a couple now?” You asked Katie once you got home from work to find her giddy about the new developments between her and Robin.

“We haven’t even kissed yet,” Katie said from where she was at kitchen counter, washing lettuce for a salad. “But by lesbian standards, we’ll probably be moving in together next week.” It was a joke, of course, but there was also an element of truth there.

You sat down at the kitchen island to rest your chin on your fist. “I like you with Robin. Much better than Kelsey.” Kelsey was a long distance girlfriend that Katie had stayed faithful to for over a year before she realized that she was being cheated on mercilessly.

“Ugh,” Katie shivered at the thought. “You can’t even compare the two. Not even from the same universe.”

“What about you?” Katie asked as you slumped over with your coat still on and your bag over your shoulder. “Did Eddie break the seal yet?” She turned to raise her eyebrows a few times, suggestively.

“Please,” you barked a laugh. “At this rate, we’ll be in the nursing home before this escalates to dry humping,” as much as you were ready to crack jokes, the fact that he wasn’t jumping down your throat like every other guy made you like him even more. “I think he’s kind of shy, like me.”

“Wait, you’re shy?” Katie snickered.

“You know what I mean. Cautious, reserved: insert appropriate adjective here.”

“What is this, Mad Libs for dysfunctional adults?”

You let out a pensive sigh, your shoulders dropping. “Am I an adult? Because I haven’t felt this goofy over a guy I haven’t even kissed yet since I was a tween.”

Katie stopped what she was doing and dug in the front pocket of her jeans. “That reminds me. This is for you. It’s from Steve.”

With a tired frown on your face, you opened the lined notebook paper to see a phone number written in black ink, with Eddie’s name on top of it.

What were you so afraid of? He was just a hot, hard working, tattooed biker dude, with soft lips and kind eyes who you could absolutely see yourself falling in love with. What was there to be hesitant about??? Call him!

No...wait….

------------------

It took you a few hours to build up the courage, but you finally got settled on the wicker chair in your room with your Conair clear phone with neon insides balancing on your knee.

It was a while before he answered, and you were just about to hang up when his voice came on the line, stern and gruff.

“Yeah?” He didn’t sound glad to hear from you, but to be fair, he didn’t know it was you, yet.

You cleared your throat. “Hello, I’d like to speak to Mr. Edward Munson, please. Is he in the office today?”

Relief flooded through Eddie’s body, pumping refreshing blood into his heart when he recognized your voice. “He’s not here at the moment, you might want to try is vacation home in Greece.”

“I’m not here either,” you teased. “I’m calling you from outer space.”

Wet hair dripping down his chest, Eddie brought the phone closer and sat down on the edge of the bed, hard pressed to wipe the grin off of his face.

“I...called to let you to know I was thinking about you,” it just came bubbling out. There would be no pretense of hard to get here, you had no game.

The sincerity struck him dumb for a moment, but then, he wrapped one arm around his chest, tucking his hand into his armpit, giving himself an excited squeeze. “Yeah? Well, that’s a coincidence because I was just thinking about you while I was in the shower.”

Munson! *internally slaps forehead* Don’t tell her you were in the shower, god. She’s going to think you were doing exactly what you were doing which was jerking it to the thought of her being in there with you.

“I mean, when I got out of the shower, and saw your painting, I thought about you,” his eyes closed at the pathetic nature of that rebound.

You skipped over all of that and jumped to that next thing he just said. “You hung my painting in your apartment?”

He looked over at the painting in question, adjusting the towel at his hips. “Of course, silly. Where did you think I would put it? Above the bar at the Hideout?”

You fiddled the phone cord, twisting it around your finger. “I was thinking it would go in your coffin or tomb, wherever you sleep at night.”

He gave a low grumble of a laugh. “Oh that painting is definitely getting buried with me, I can promise you that.”

The conversation ebbed from talking about work, to asking about family. You learned that Eddie’s uncle Wayne was like a father to him, and that his biological parents were no longer a part of his life. This mirrored your loneliness at the fact that your father passed away two years ago and you weren’t close with your mother. You didn’t have the equivalent to an uncle Wayne though, but you wished that you did.

After a half hour or so, Eddie said, “hold on for just a second? I need to put some clothes on,” and your brain plummeted off a cliff to a really dirty place. Had he been naked for the entire time?

There was a dragging sound and a click as he picked the receiver up again, “sorry about that. I’m back.”

“I know it’s late,” you were trying to pull your thoughts out of the gutter, but they were rolling around in the mud, kicking their feet and giggling. “I should probably let you--”

“No, I mean, I’m not---” he stretched out on the bed and put his head on the pillow, his hand on his stomach. “Unless you need to go. I like the sound of your voice.”

“Well, you see, I don’t have any clothes on either. So, if you’re dressed, then I might as well throw something on too.”

“Wait, what?” Eddie stiffened, his eyes bulging wide for a blink. Was she serious?

“Clothes are so retraining. I want to be free, Eddie.”

He snorted and ran his hand up and down his belly. You were joking. But, now he was picturing you naked and his cock was growing. He reached down to palm it over his gray sweats, hoping to calm the beast. Phone sex was not out of the question, and he’d jump at the chance if you were down, but he was enjoying the soothing effect you had on him; it was the first night in a while that he felt relaxed and not pacing around the room, moodily spinning his wheels.

You were telling him the story of how you and Katie met, because he asked, and, as you did, he stretched over to flick the bedside lamp off so that he could close his eyes and let your voice wash over him in the dark.

“What about that fight thing Robin mentioned? Is that still happening?” You asked, and then you heard a soft little snort, as if he had drifted off to sleep for a second. You were snuggled down in the cushions of your chair with your cat Charlie in your lap, and your head snapped up. “Eddie?”

“I’m here,” he groaned in a whisper. “Sorry sweetheart, I don’t know what is happening to me.”

Sweetheart.

“Oh, I have a plethora of boring stories that will have you seeing sheep in no time, trust me.”

“You’re not boring,” he smiled against the phone. It was like you could hear his smile, day old stubble scratching against the receiver, a bit of saliva popping at the corner of his mouth. “You’re one of the most unique, interesting people I’ve ever met.”

There was a self-deprecating urge to quip, “well, then you haven’t met many people,” but you decided to just accept the compliment and move on.

He hadn’t planned on inviting you to Fight Night, only because it was a powder keg of testosterone and booze, and he didn’t think you’d be into it. He had grown up on the streets, thinking that getting into fist fights was the norm, but then in high school, Wayne got him into boxing, and he was grateful for the form, cadence, and stamina it afforded him.

Also, what if he lost the fight? Highly unlikely unless he decided to throw it on purpose, but did he want you to see that? Did you even want to see that? But Robin had already mentioned it, and he didn’t want you to think he didn’t want to see you.

“Yeah, the fights are Friday night, here at the compound. It’s pretty lame, actually. Lots of grunting and dick measuring,” he exhaled a heavy breath, his eyelids fluttering. “I would love to...take you on a date though, a real one. Somewhere nice.”

“It doesn’t have to be too nice,” you bit your lip, hoping he didn’t think you needed the full white tablecloth experience like some other women he knew. A cozy dinner and a movie was the type of scene you preferred. “You might be surprised at what a cheap date I am.”

“Back to The Hideout it is,” he clapped his hand to his chest, finishing with a throaty, warm chuckle.

You could tell he was fading away, and so you thought up a story to tell him; it was a personal favorite about a road trip you took with your dad when you were little. You knew any story would do because, after about 5 minutes, you heard his breathing get progressively heavier until there was a slight whistle in his nose at the intake of breath. So, you finished the story, and then held the phone close to your ear for way too long just to listen to him breathing.

“Sweet dreams my Eddie,” you whispered just before you reluctantly disconnected.

-------------

The next morning, Eddie woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in months. He had a solid 7 hours of sleep, which was unheard of lately, and it put an honest to god spring in his step. Of course, when he realized that the phone was by his head omitting a blank dial tone, he cursing himself for an early sleep to embrace him on that night of all nights. He’d just slipped into oblivion while you were talking to him, lulled to sleep by your sweet voice. He thought he had dreamed it, but now he was sure that you had said goodnight to him. Had you called him your Eddie? Maybe that part had been a dream, but not an impossible one.

--------------

While Katie had the week off, deservedly so, you were working overtime at the gallery to get ready for another show. Eddie called you on Wednesday night, but you got home way too late and had to hear his message on the answering machine because Katie was out somewhere with Robin. On Thursday night, you were there to answer his call, and the two of you talked for hours, even though you both agreed that you hated talking on the phone. Because of the new show at your gallery on Saturday night, the two of you made plans to go on an official date the following Tuesday, and Eddie told you he would pick the place, after asking a few questions about things that you liked.

There was still Fight Night on Friday to consider, but you got the feeling that the thought of you being there made Eddie uncomfortable. You had a strange protective nature that came over you when you cared about someone, though, and this nonsensical part of you want to be there to...make sure he didn’t get hurt? How would you manage that? You had very little to offer by way of physical strength, but you would, indeed, pull the fire alarm if Eddie looked like he was getting in over his head during the fight.

Robin and Katie and Steve were all going to be there, so you felt like it was the obvious plan. You even considered inviting Jeff because he was always complaining that there was nothing fun to do in town since he moved to the little hamlet from Chicago.

Also, you just really really missed Eddie, and wanted to see him. Tuesday was only a few days away, but it might as well have been a year.

----------

On Thursday night, Eddie fell asleep while on the phone with you again, as he told you he might, and you didn’t mind. Not only was he falling asleep, but he was officially falling for you and, for the first time in his life, he liked the way it felt. He got 8 hours of shut eye that night, on the eve of Fight Night, not realizing at the time how badly he would need it.

-------

The second Robin parked her jeep around the block for Fight Night, you understood why Eddie might not want you there.

It was like a carnival, but for booze, bikers, and strippers, complete with a DJ at a huge stereo system near the fence blasting out the song Only by Anthrax, and there were hot girls...so many of them...scantily dressed to kill, wandering around the property. White string lights draped around the fence, illuminating the walkway and there were also cast iron clad bonfires at every corner that groups huddled around. You weren’t even through the front gate yet, and you could already see two half naked women in the ring, executing a few pre-rehearsed wrestling moves for a bunch of howling bikers.

“What the hell?” Jeff murmured to you as three of the young, studly Prospect biker boys walked by, hair slicked back, wearing all leather. “Where have I been? Where did all these hot, dirty boys come from?”

He held onto your arm as you walked, hurrying up the sidewalk to the compound a few steps to catch up with Katie and Robin, both of whom were holding hands and taking turns leaning over to kiss each other as they walked. Steve was ahead of them, giving a signal to the bouncers at the gate to let them know that you were all with him before they let you in. He told you on the ride over that they had to have strict security at the event, and someone from the Coffin Kings, Westside Reapers, or Hell’s Belles (an all female MC) had to vouch for you, since the one time a rival gang showed up a few years back and there was a huge brawl.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you popped your face in between Robin and Katie’s pressed together shoulders just as they pulled back from another electric smooch. “No one told me this was basically a clothes optional event?”

Just inside the gate, as the three burly, bearded bouncers looked you all up and down, Robin turned and gave you a concerned look. “Eddie didn’t warn you about what a pussy fest this would be?”

Eddie had warned you, just not about that part specifically. You left the house feeling plenty cute enough in your skirt, fishnets and Doc Martens, but the fact that you had a shirt on over your bra made you feel extremely overdressed.

Eddie hadn’t even thought to mention the strippers and the arm candy and the groupies because he truly didn’t even give them a second thought. Since he met you, other women didn’t appeal to him beyond the casual acknowledgment of their attractiveness, and the whole scene just bored him damn near to death. Aside from a few exceptions being women who were taken by other guys in the club, Eddie could take any one of them up to his room at the drop of the hat, and that just wasn’t what he wanted anymore. The thrill was gone, as they say. He was up in his apartment doing some last-minute pushups as he listened to the crowd get rowdy down below. Steve called earlier to let you know that the girls were coming, including you, and for some reason, it gave him a nervous flutter in his stomach. He wasn’t too concerned about the other women bothering you, because he knew you had the confidence to handle your own. His worry had to do with the other dudes at that party and wanting to make sure none of them tried anything with you. Pity the fool who tried to make a move on you under his watch.

The parking lot of Munson’s Garage was huge, but that night it was still easy to bump shoulders with people as you walked because there were so many of them. There was a keg and two ice tubs full of beer, as well as the many flasks of hard alcohol you saw being passed around. You saw a beautiful woman with long black hair giving one of the bikers a lap dance, and then burst of cheering exploded in your ear as one of the women in the ring threw the other one against the ropes.

Steve was immediately manhandled by two of the tattooed groupies who could’ve been models and looked like twins. He gave a shy tilt of his head but a charming waggle of his eyebrows as they kissed his cheeks, rubbed his chest, and asked him where he’d been. Robin had one arm around Katie’s waist, and her other arm motioned for you and Jeff to follow them to get some beers.

You and Jeff both looked like the proverbial deer in headlights. Not even full-grown deer, but little baby does on wobbly knees who were looking for their mommy.

Jeff assessed the cans in the tub of ice. “Not a white wine spritzer in sight,” he muttered to you, but mostly to himself. “I am not excited for the beer bloat I am going to have tomorrow.”

“Your brave sacrifice has been noted,” you told him, reaching down for a can, while the girls chose to tap the keg. There was a small fee for the beer, and Robin threw some money in, letting you know she had the first round.

The music cut out suddenly as the women in the ring did a farewell pass around, picking up the cash that was being fluttered over the ropes to them. The DJ asked for applause for the girls, and then he announced the names for the first fight of the evening. According to Steve, the first couple fights would be mostly amateur hour, a few younger Prospects from the Coffin Kings, and a couple of the other gangs that were in attendance. After that, there’d be 3 main fights, all different weight classes, and Eddie’s was last. The fights were a mix of bare-knuckle boxing/kickboxing and mostly just for fun, but there was some friendly betting that went on, and there was always a chance for someone to get really hurt as the adrenaline ran hot. Eddie knocked his opponent out so hard last year, the guy confessed to actually seeing stars.

A tan, busty blonde in a red string bikini did a tour of the ring holding up the large card to give the official mark for round one. For the first two fights, you enjoyed the time with your friends, amused at how easily the beer was going down for Jeff, considering he supposedly didn’t like the taste of it. Robin introduced you to some of her friends who rode with the gang Hell’s Belles, and she introduced Katie once as her girlfriend, which was an accidental slip up, and she worried it was too soon, but, honestly, Katie liked it.

As the third and final amateur fight got underway, your eyes shifted up to Eddie’s apartment, and in that second, you decided that you couldn’t wait, that you needed to see him, you didn’t want to hold out until the end of the fights. You gave your beer to Jeff and told him to stay with Katie and Robin, and then you made your way over as Back in Black by AC/DC played for the first fighter walk-up.

The garage was locked up, and the porch to Eddie’s door was fenced off, but there were a couple of leggy girls in skintight dresses and stiletto heels hanging around just outside of it, near one of the fire pits, as if waiting for him. You excused yourself as you weaved around them, oblivious to their judgmental stares, angling with your hand to reach down and flick open the temporary fence gate.

“Excuse me, sweetie, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” The one who looked like Paris Hilton said, eyeballing your outfit.

You gave a broken laugh, confused. “I came to see Eddie, he’s a friend of mine.”

One of the other girls snorted, and Paris put her hands on her narrow hips. “He’s busy, sweetheart, but if you want to leave a message with me, I’ll be sure to pass it along.” She was not being sincere when she said it, in fact, the rest of them started giggling, mockingly so. They were all taller than you, but only because their heels put on another 4”.

She moved to block the gate, and before you could think of the next thing to say, the Paris girl was in your face again. “Like I said, sweetie, move along. There’s nothing for you here,” and then she flicked her hand a few times for emphasis.

Confusing your politeness for weakness was her first mistake. You took a step towards her, straightening your shoulders, narrowing your eyes on her obvious rhinoplasty. “I’m not going anywhere until I see Eddie.”

“Listen, bitch---” Paris crossed her arms and sent daggers from her eyes, just before she was cut off.

“Erika!” Eddie growled from the doorway; forehead clenched. “Move.”

Relief took the vise grip off of your chest at the sight of his face. Hulking in the doorway, he gave you a tilt of his chin, and then his attention went back to the Paris/Erika girl.

“Oh sorry baby,” Erika turned around, her voice high pitched, her demeanor completely changed. “I figured you didn’t want to be disturbed so I was---”

Eddie ignored her as he went over to unlock the makeshift fencing that he only put up for events so that he could have a space of his own. He had on a black muscle shirt with wide, scooped out arm holes so that his sides were visible and a pair of sweats. Heat radiated off of him and little hollow spot his throat glistened with sweat like he had just been working out, dark hair hanging long, passed his shoulders.

He held the short gate open for you, his back to Erika, as you scooted into the space. “You look good enough to eat,” his eyes traveled down your body and then back up to meet your eyes.

“In that case, I hope you’re hungry,” you replied with a coy grin. Your responses always caught him off guard and he blew a quick laugh out his nose. One of the guys in the ring got socked in the nose by his opponent and stumbled back against the ropes, dazed.

He locked the gate again and turned toward you, but you peeked around his body to make eye contact with Erika one last time. “Have a good night, sweetie,” you told her, flashing a fake smile.

The disgust and jealousy on her face was palpable and priceless.

You and Eddie hadn’t physically progressed beyond the point of brief handholding yet, but it felt like you hadn’t seen him in a month, and you needed to be close to him. You stepped forward, leaned against his chest, and pressed your cheek above his heart, ziplocking your body to his as your arms wrapped around his muscular frame, palms smoothing in circles on his back.

Eddie returned the embrace with a needful sigh. “Mhmm this is what I needed, right here,” he murmured, planting a kiss on the top of your head. The two of you just swayed there for a bit; he rocked gently, shifting his weight to each foot, taking you with him.

You tilted your head back to anchor your chin on his chest and he looked down to meet your eyes.

“I couldn’t wait till after the fight,” you admitted. “I missed you.”

When you declared your affection for him, even in the slightest way, it made his insides go all gooey and sweet, but it also made a part of him tense up, awareness of how lost in you he could get striking a healthy amount of fear in him. Putting his trust in someone, giving over his heart, had never gone well for him in the past.

“Yeah?” he used the tip of his fingers to push a few strands of hair off of your forehead, and then ran his knuckle down your cheek. “Well that’s funny, cause I’ve been missing you pretty bad too.”

The referee blew his whistle and called the fight. You and Eddie had a close view from the front of this place, and both of the guys coming down from the ring had swollen, cut faces, and one of them was limping. The DJ played Engine No. 9 by Deftones as they prepared for the main event fights.

“Who are you fighting tonight?” You asked as you slowly and reluctantly lowered your arms, and he did the same, but he kept one hand at your back, scooping you securely to his side, craving contact with you.

Eddie checked the crowd to see if he could spot the big redhead, but no luck; there were way too many fucking people there. “His nickname is Critter, he runs with the Westside Reapers. He’s a good fighter,” Eddie shrugged, and then he looked down at your concerned face, squeezing your shoulder. “but don’t worry, Princess, I’m better.”

“Hey War Machine,” a gruff voice came from the other side of the fence, near the garage. You both turned to see a tall, bald, older man in a Coffin Kings cut addressing Eddie. “Doc is ready for you.”

The guy wasn’t actually a doctor, but he was a medic, and he helped to tape up hands before the fights, and then tape up faces after. Eddie also needed to change his clothes and get all lathered up with Vaseline.

Eddie told him he’d be right there, and then his attention came back to you. “Wait for me after?”

You were smiling like an idiot at him, loving the hell out of his face. “Of course.”

You didn’t care if “after” meant 48 hours from now; you’d still be waiting there.

And then he kissed your forehead and went over to jump the fence.

---------

“Am I drunk, or is that guy really hot?” Jeff asked, nudging to direct your eyes over to a shy looking biker boy with a curly blonde pony tail and shockingly blue eyes. He had an absolute baby face, he couldn’t have been much older than 20.

“He’s definitely your type,” you assured him. “I think he’s been checking you out for a while, too.”

“Okay, so it’s not just my imagination?” Jeff balked, relieved that he hadn't lost his touch.

Just then, the guy lifted his hand in a covert wave, and Jeff mimicked it. “Oh my god, I love you for bringing me here,” Jeff whispered without moving his lips. “Besties for life.”

You bought the next round of beers just as the second main fight finished and it was about to be Eddie’s turn.

“Damn, I didn’t know I’d get this nervous,” you told Robin, looking down at your feet.

“It never gets easier to watch, I’ll tell you that,” she returned, agreeing with you, a smile in her eyes as she caught sight of Katie coming back through the crowd. But then her eyes shifted to see the genuine set of fear and concern on your face. “Hey, I know he’s kinda humble about it, but Eddie’s a beast, and he’s smart. He can take care of himself up there, don’t worry,” and then she rubbed her hand on your arm and it felt very warm and motherly.

Critter, the guy Eddie was fighting came out to a good amount of claps and shouts; he was a stocky redhead with his hair in a faux hawk, covered in really crude, homemade tattoos. He had on silky sapphire blue shorts and the word “REAPER” inked in large, old English letters across his upper back.

He bounced around in his corner, shaking his hands out, and working his neck.

Eddie came out to Walk by Pantera and everyone went nuts for him when they announce War Machine was entering the ring; arms all raised high, cupping hands around mouths to shout, a lot of fingers throwing up the symbol for devil horns. You wanted to be closer, so you pushed your way through the crowd, keeping your eyes on him as he came up the steps and climbed in through the ropes.

His chiseled but natural muscle tone literally glistened, accentuating the big tattoo on his chest, and now you could see that part of his was a menacing bat with fangs. Big tattoos on each bicep, and then there were a few on his forearms, and a couple designs on his thigh and back that you had never seen before. The other guy, Critter, had surprisingly skinny legs, like he spent his time training upper body and nothing else. Eddie’s physique on the other hand, was built for power at all angles. His shorts were black with a dark purple cluster of bats on one side, just like his tattoo.

You had never spent much time watching boxing, but for in the movies, and both of them had a “corner man” who helped to take care of them, and in this case, for Eddie, it was the bald, older Coffin King you’d seen earlier. Eddie had his hair tied back in a knot, and you watched as his corner man helped him secure his gloves as he bounced a little in place.

You got in as close as you could, not realizing at first that you were standing right behind Steve. You tapped him on the shoulder. “Is this guy any good?”

Steve looked at you over his shoulder. “Who? Eddie?”

“No,” for some reason, you were whispering even though the place was too loud for anyone to hear you. “The other one.”

He hitched his head to one side and brought his shoulder up. “Meh, he’s alright. Nothing to worry about.”

Once the fight started, Eddie wasn’t one to dive in for a kill; a big part of his advantage was how patient he was, and how well he was able to disconnect from his emotions. He had already scanned the crowd for you, knew exactly where you were, and his eyes would shift there from time to time.

Critter charged him like a bull, and Eddie stepped away so fast, the guy looked confused, like maybe he had suddenly elevated into the sky. The guy had a lot of energy and aggression, and those things alone had won fights before, so Eddie stayed alert.

Critter wasn’t great at keeping his guard up, and so Eddie lit a good one to the side of his head, and then a jab to the gut just before the two were asked to break apart for a minute.

“Do I know you?” A voice materialized at your ear. The ref had just told the two fighters to pause, and so you looked over to see who was asking.

It was another biker, but he didn’t look like he was with one of the gangs. He had an Ethan Hawke look about him. “I don’t think so,” you told him, eyes returning to the match.

“That’s crazy,” the guy kept talking, leaning closer to you, his stubble catching in your hair. “Cause I swear I recognize you from somewhere. What’s your name?”

For some reason, instead of telling him to buzz off, you gave him your name, and then he stuck his hand out to shake yours. “Nice to meet you, they call me Brick.”

Eddie was just getting ready to dodge a swing when he saw it: the dude leaning over, in your face, with your hand in his.

Critter made contact and clocked him a good one to the eye socket. Eddie stumbled back, blinking, his skull vibrating. It took him a second, but then he drove forward and caught Critter with a left hook, and then grabbed his head and slammed it into his knee---which was an illegal street fighting move, and the ref blew the whistle.

Your hand flew to your mouth with a gasp when Eddie got hit, but he seemed to recover fairly quickly and then went after the guy ten-fold, in a way that almost made you feel bad for Critter.

Suddenly, that emotionless, in control part of Eddie was slipping away, and all he could think of was how he didn’t want that guy to be anywhere near you. He wanted this fight to be over.

Critter caught him again because Eddie slipped his guard, and then he got a second one in the ribs for losing his concentration. He barreled down on Critter like a hammer after that, landing one after the other until the ref had to stop things and check on the other dude.

You hoped that the guy next to you finally got the hint that you weren’t interested in chatting, but he was still standing there, unnecessarily close, with his shoulder locked against yours.

“Do you live around here?” Brick continued.

You were just about to say it was none of his business when there was a lull in the crowd, and Steve heard his question. The flirtatious nature of his tone made Steve turn around to see who was talking.

He made eye contact with Brick and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Dude, get lost. Go find another girl.”

“Nah, I think I’m fine right here,” Brick countered, lifting his eyebrows.

The tension got thick real quick.

The fight in the ring started up again, but now Steve was turning all the way around to square his shoulders at Brick. “I said, get lost,” he enunciated every syllable with force, dark brown eyes glowing.

Eddie got jabbed in the kidney for pausing too long, and it was at that moment when he decided he was done with this shit. He took a giant step and cracked a tight punch to Critter’s jaw that actually made him spin half-way around in the air before dropping to the mat with a final thud. The ref blew the whistle, waved his arms like crazy, and then went over to make sure the dude was still breathing.

Eddie did not look happy as he jumped the ropes.

Steve hadn’t liked this guy at first glance, and now he was being disrespectful? Not happening.

Steve got up in Brick’s face, challenging him, chest to chest, and even though you were trying to back away as quickly as you could, the crowd behind you would not give. Brick brought his arms out to shove Steve back, and his elbow caught you in the mouth. You yelped as your head snapped back, teeth clamping onto your tongue, tasting blood, rocking on your feet.

Eddie was shoving people out of the way to get to you; he felt like things were moving in slow motion, like he was in some kind of nightmare where he couldn’t get to you in time and somehow you ended up getting really hurt. Finally, he was catching you by the arms and pulling you tight to his chest. Pieces of your hair glued to the stickiness of his skin as you clung to him for dear life. He took your face in his hands to find that your teeth were pink and a bit of blood was spilling from the side of your mouth, and a low growl escaped his throat. “Sweetheart,” he said softly, trying to wipe the blood from your chin with his thumb, but it only smeared, and angry tears welled in his eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the guy swing at Steve, but it didn’t land, and Steve pushed him back with extreme force. Brick stumbled back, but then bounced off the hands of the crowd and returned like he was shot from a rubber band.

The crowd was jostling now, buzzing with shouts and people turning to see what was going on. Your vision was blurry. Some of them were yelling to break it up, but some of them wanted it to escalate.

“Steve...Eddie!” Robin screamed as she scrambled to come up next to you and Eddie, breathless, Katie and Jeff close in tow, all of them stressed out. Actually, Jeff looked more amused than anything and you knew he couldn't wait to retell this story.

“Take her,” Eddie said to Robin, passing you off reluctantly so that he could take care of business.

Eddie put his hand out to catch Steve’s shoulder and stop him in his tracks. “I got this,” he said, eyes narrowing on Brick.

Just as intimidated by Eddie as most people were, Brick took a stutter step before lashing out with his best punch, only to have it effortlessly blocked. Eddie got close enough to grab him by the jacket, making a tight fist in the material, yanking him closer, and Brick tried to get a punch in, but he didn’t have much reach. Eddie’s other hand reeled back to make a fist and land a bare-knuckle blow with just enough force to clock his lights out. Brick’s eyes rolled back in his head as he went limp in Eddie's grasp for a second and then fell sideways, and a couple of leather clad Hell’s Belles stepped out of the way so that the pavement could catch him.

Eddie and Steve walked over to stand above him, and found that the guy was stunned, eyes rolling in his head, but he was conscious. He really did have a hard head; now it made sense why they called him Brick.

Eddie spit on him. “I ever see you again, I’ll fucking kill you,” and then he looked around at all of the eyes on them, and added, “someone get this piece of shit out of here before the cops show up.” And then there were hands coming out everywhere to drag Brick away and throw him in a dumpster down the block where he could think about what he’d done.

You were scared of what Eddie would do to that guy, but you weren’t scared of Eddie. When he was on his way back, you slipped free of Robin’s grasp and met him half way, rushing into his arms, reaching up to feather your fingers over his swollen cheek and eye that was soon to blacken. There was hair stuck to his cheek and you smoothed it away just before he took your hand and kissed the middle of your palm. Most of the crowd went back to socializing as normal, as if this had been just a casual thing that they were used to, and the DJ started the music again.

Sinking into heavy, adrenaline fueled breaths, he held your chin in his curled knuckle while his other arm went around your waist. He brought his face close to yours, and cupped your throat, noses brushing side by side, foreheads touching, exchanging oxygen through parted lips, like two deep sea divers whose lives depended on it. You had wiped the blood from your chin, but you could still taste the copper penny tang, and he moved his mouth to plant a kiss on the side of your lips, softly, a low purr omitting from his chest as he did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice cracking, lips grazing, as your hands sought each other, trying to get as close as you could. He pulled back to inspect every inch of your face, and then brushed his lips over your mouth.

“I am now,” you told him.

He took your hand and held it to his chest, sweaty and still viscous with petroleum, oblivious to the rest of the party continuing on around you.

You could feel his mouth hovering, wanting more, but hesitant, so gentle. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he breathed.

“I can’t feel a thing,” you confessed, referring to your bitten and numb tongue. “But, my mouth is bloody.”

“I don’t care,” he said, and there was a bit of an eager whimper on the intake of breath as his plump lips melted onto yours, moaning as he did so, tightening his grip on you, grabbing your face, aching, feeding on the air from your lungs and your bloody kisses as the rest of the world faded away.

----------

“She took them both to the grave

to the grave

a pair of souls become undone

Where were two, now are one”

- Bloody Kisses, Type O Negative, 1994

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Part 6

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taglist 💕 @unfocused81 @manicmagicmahem @dream-a-little-nightmare @ms1oftheboys @emxcast @falling-solar-system @corrodedcoffincumslut @lofaewrites @nope-thanks @kelsiegrin

@tlclick73 @aysheashea @hellv1ra @bexreadstoomuch @kurdtbean

@seventhlevelofhell @stylesxmunson @ireidsmut

#eddie munson fanfic #eddiemunson #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson au #90s au #1990s #eddie munson smut #older eddie munson #robin buckley #stranger things

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celtic-crossbow · 8 months

Text

Whumptober 2023

No. 6 Made to Watch Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Setting: Alexandria Era Warnings: Attempted SA, blood, injury, violence

“Y/N!” Daryl pushed and kicked at the gate separating him from you. The hinges were giving but not nearly fast enough. The men from the warehouse you were scavenging were merciless in their actions, punches and kicks landing on any part of your body they could meet. The archer was seeing red, screaming in frustration when your assailants stepped away from you, looking quite satisfied with the damage they had caused.

You reached for the handgun they had forced Daryl to toss over—along with the crossbow and knives— but a boot came down on your hand, forcing a hoarse shout from your throat. Why weren’t they just shooting you both?

“Daryl.” Your voice was weak and strained, the single whisper sending you into a coughing fit. You curled in on yourself with a groan while the three men whispered among themselves.

“And he can watch.” A pointed chin was jerked toward the archer. The biggest of the three strutted down toward your feet, facing Daryl and undoing his belt. The hunter’s blood ran cold.

“Don’ fuckin’ touch ‘er!”

“Oh, I’ll do much more than touch.” A wicked grin exposed rotten teeth before he spit in Daryl’s direction. “And you have a front row seat, friend.”

“Our way of saying ‘thank you’ for bringing us this fine piece.”

Daryl growled and backed up before lunging at the gate. It pushed forward but didn’t give. “Ya let ‘er go. We’ll be on our way an’ never come back ‘round.”

“Is that right?” The third man asked, spitting off to the side. Daryl nodded, remaining still in case any act of trying to break through would cause them to retaliate. His eyes flicked down to you, watching everything around you from your spot on the cold floor. You were still curled up, both arms wrapped around your middle. The three goons looked at one another, seemingly mulling it over.

Then they began to laugh.

“Are you crazy, man? You know how hard it is to find good pussy now?” The big man pointed at you. “And I can guarantee that’s some good pussy. She yours?”

“She ain’t property, shithead.” Daryl hissed. His knuckles were turning white from the death grip he held on the chain link. When the man made to turn away, the archer began to climb, going stock still when he heard the loud crack of a gun and ricochet of a bullet hitting the concrete. Wide blue eyes zoned in on the gun now pointed at your head.

“Get on down, fella.” Daryl did as he was told, hands up the moment his boots hit the ground. “Now, the way I see it is you got three choices. One, you can try that shit again, and we’ll put a bullet in her head and then one in yours. Two, you can stand there and let us have our fun. We may even give her back afterward. Can’t promise she’ll be of any use to you, though.” Daryl was shaking, fists clenched at his sides. “Or three. You can leave. No harm, no foul. But we’ll keep her.”

“Fuck you.” You spat from the ground. The man above you gave you a look that broke into the most malicious expression of intent you’d ever seen.

“Oh, you will be, sweetheart. Me and my boys, here.” You held your rage in your eyes, never giving an inch before he looked back to Daryl. “What’s it gonna be, man?”

The archer said nothing, but his eyes said everything. Someone was dying there today.

“Let him play his little game.” The big man scoffed. He made his way to you in three strides, grabbing a fistful of your hair to pull you up from the floor. “We’ll play ours. If he tries anything, shoot him. Marvin, hold onto her hands.”

You struggled in the largest man’s grip. Harry, you had learned from the nonsensical conversation they were having while binding your wrists. The one with the gun on Daryl was David.

“If you want to keep all your teeth, I suggest you don’t try to bite.” Harry warned, not giving you much time to process before his mouth was on yours. He reeked of stale beer and tobacco and tasted worse. Your first instinct was to clamp down on his foul tongue, an instinct that you had to fight. You refused to reciprocate, simply allowing him to kiss you while tears leaked from the corner of your eyes. Daryl would save you. This would be over soon.

“Ha! He left!” David chortled, just before you felt a tight grip on your ass. Harry pulled his mouth away quickly, and you fought the urge to gag.

“Wait your turn!” Harry spat, pulling you closer so he could reach over your shoulder and shove the other back. When David continued the shoving match, you were roughly thrown toward Marvin and then pushed to the floor for him to attempt to break up the argument.

Your entire body ached but that pain was nothing compared to the agony in your chest as your eyes remained frozen on the empty spot where Daryl had been standing. ‘He left me. He…he left me.’ With a sob, you forced yourself to your hands and knees, crawling toward the concealing darkness of the warehouse’s inner walls.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?” A large hand twisted into your hair and wrenched back your head, forcing you up on your knees to relieve the pressure.

“Please. Please, just let me go!” You begged. Your hands held tightly to Harry’s wrists while he dragged you back toward the other two men.

“Oh, honey, there is no way we are—” He fell silent. An engine roared in the distance, the sound becoming louder at an alarming rate. “What the hell?” His grip disappeared, giving you one opportunity. The concrete stung your palms and knees but this time, you made it to a dark area of empty crates and shielded yourself behind one just as the rusted cement truck barreled through the gate. Sparks flew from the exterior when the onslaught of bullets hit, the windshield shattering.

David didn’t move in time and was crushed beneath the tires. Harry and Marvin continued to fire even after the thing had crashed into the wall, partially breaking through to the outside. Your breathing picked up when Marvin grabbed the door handle and pulled back to find…a walker tied to the steering wheel and a brick on the accelerator.

“Put that thing down!” Harry hissed at the same time his friend fired into the corpse’s skull.

While he reached in to switch off the engine, movement caught your eye. Your chin quivered, the whimper that left you impossible to suppress.

Daryl was picking up his crossbow and knife, flipping the latter in his hand to quickly throw it. Marvin dropped like a dead weight. Harry watched his friend fall from the door of the truck before he spun and looked around wildly. The crossbow was already aimed and Daryl was stalking forward, the weapon trembling.

“Where is she?!” The bowman roared.

“I-I-I don’t know! I swear, I lost track of her!”

A bolt pierced his shoulder.

“Wrong answer! Where is she?!” Crossbow forgotten, Daryl was pointing your handgun at the man (when had he pick that up?!), nearly on top of him now.

“I lost her!”

A bullet to the leg. You flinched when the gun fired and Harry screamed, the large man who had loomed over you now reduced to writhing on the cold floor.

Daryl now cast a terrifying shadow over him. “Did ya kill ‘er?”

“No! No, we didn’t touch her!”

“Oh, but ya did.” You hardly recognized your partner’s voice, spitting venom with every syllable. “M’gonna ask one more time.” The gun pressed into Harry’s forehead. “Where. Is. She?”

“Daryl.”

His head snapped up, eyes searching frantically before landing on you, just beside the crates and still on your hands and knees. Harry had a single moment to appear relieved as Daryl began walking away, but the gun was lifted and a single shot was fired into the man’s head without the archer so much as looking back.

You reached one hand out for him, releasing a sob the moment his fingers wrapped around it. Daryl kneeled in front of you and pulled you against him, relief evident on his face.

“Thought I lost ya.” He murmured into your hair.

“I thought you left me.” You admitted quietly, losing the battle against the tears stinging your eyes. He pulled you back, willing you to look at him. When you managed to, you found those electric blue orbs filled to the brim with unshed tears and so many emotions that you felt suffocated by the intensity of his gaze.

“Never.” He brought a hand to your face, careful of the bruises and cuts. “M’never leavin’ ya behind. Y’hear me?” You nodded softly and then again with more vigor, letting yourself be pulled back into his arms.

“I wanna go home, Daryl.” You whispered, your hands fisting into his vest. “Please, take me home.” Adrenaline began ebbing away and you found yourself growing more tired by the second. You barely noticed when he swept you off the floor and began carrying you out.

“Take ya anywhere ya need, Sunshine.”

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femoso-seben · 8 months

Text

Task Force 141 X gn Reader

Working with a Legend

Pt. 1

TW: Violence and Death

You stare out the truck window your a random sniper rifle in your hands. You had no particular type of sniper gun you specialized in. You're a jack of all trades master of none, for being a master of one is a fool's job. You picked up your gun and looked it over. It was one of the latest models. New scope and everything. You smirk and set it down.

They’re always someone looking at you. One of them was always looking at you. They could not stop watching you waiting to see your skills up close. Soap, that one watched you like a hawk as another sniper he was giddy, on the other hand, Ghost simply existed behind you.

He kept you in his gaze everywhere you go he followed. It was cute, like a puppy he was an obedient thing. You kinda of wanted to see how far he’ll go.

The truck came to a stop and you all filed out. You take a deep breath and wait for Ghost. He demanded you to be on his team so he could keep an eye on you. It’s been a few months, and this was the second mission. The first one you and Gaz sat taking out the individuals and snipers.

You turn to Ghost and nod, you're not here to win their trust, you're paid to be here. You didn’t need to like them and they didn’t need to like you. As long as they keep paying you and the price is proportional to the mission you’ll stick around. You’re a person who only does things not for honor, or the right thing, but for the money.

Money rules the world and you like to dominate things.

Your mission collect a Nazi terrorist group leader alive. A former customer, but you never sign deals where you can’t kill them. Soap walked in front while Ghost brought up the rear. The walk was silent as you three creep up on the compound these Nazis live in. You turn to Ghost.

“What’s your plan?” You asked. You’re not being paid enough to create a plan or to care if a plan is good or not. You’re paid to be a simple grunt there is no need to be anything more.

“Soap take the lead we’ll back you up.” Ghost instructs, “You stay back and cover us.” You nod.

Now you remember why you left the military. All these procedures were time-consuming and very boring. You could have simply killed the man without this hassle, but they want this fool alive. How annoying, how tedious. You stare at the racist and look away what a sad little man following another sad little man.

You sat back, back turned to the interrogation. You’re not paid to enough to care, if under investigation— you saw nothing. You put on your headphones— you hear nothing. It’s not your business. You look down at the gun, it is nice but a little pompous. they were clearly trying to win her over.

You smirk and look out of the building seeing the dead body littering the ground. Kate’s playing a deadly game. She didn’t want to lose you, but she also didn’t want you to slip from their fingers again. The door opens and you see the task force walking out of the room. The man was nowhere in sight, probably dead.

You stand and follow after the group Ghost of course behind you staring holes in the back of your head. You look over your cold eyes catching his. His gaze was a little hard to read, it was certainly an untrusting gaze.

“I don’t even know why you're even here.” Ghost finally spoke up in the quiet truck. Everyone turns to you waiting for a response.

“Tell that to Kate, It’s America’s money.” You turn to him with a slight smirk.

“Did his words bug you?” Soap asked looking at you up and down.

“Hardly, he’s not my employer. Even if he was I wouldn’t care.” You hum with a yawn. “I won’t lie this is a waste of my time and talent.” You push her hair back and look at them.

“Of course, you would think that.” Gaz sneers.

“Sweetheart, money talks and I like money.” You say honestly.

“So you’re a mercenary for money?”

“You can say that.” You won’t lie you technically are a mercenary but you also had private militia contact. You are part of a group. But they don’t need to know that.

A few days passed and Ghost spent of course his days staring at you. Watching you, hunting you. You learn to ignore it, it did get under your skin but he could not let him know it did.

Laswell walked in.

“Laswell, how have you been?” She turns to you with a scowl. No one liked you— it didn’t matter.

“You have a mission by the US Government.” She states.

“What is it?” Price stands up walking over to see the case files.

“It’s only for L.” A sly smirk crosses your face and you take the file.

It was a hit on a Middle eastern Terrorist leader. You look over the details and memorize everything. “Done,” You hand back the file and begin to walk away considering your plan.

“Wait.” You look over.

“They’re part of this team, this is our mission.” Ghost spoke up. He didn’t want you out of his grip.

“fives a crowd.” Ghost shot you a glare.

“I agree.” Price spoke up.

“Fine, I’ll take Gaz and Soap.” Price and Ghost frown but they cannot argue with her.

“All right.”

“Let me back my things.” You stand up and walk out.

“Keep an eye on them.”

You three left the next day on a cargo plane. It is a few hours and you’ll stop by a base pick up the gun and stalk your prey. The two men stared at you most of the time. You told them very little of the mission. The cargo plane lands and the tree walks over to the next plane.

As they walk you catch them up to date on the mission. The person’s name, their role in the terrorist group, the impact of them, and how you plan on finding them. “Do you got that?” They nod and look at each other it was a thorough plan.

Weeks pass as the three of them gather information on the target silently. They took out footmen and slowly hunted the man down. You three tracked the person down to a few buildings, he traveled too.

“What’s that?”

“Poison.”

“Why do you have that?” Soap asks.

“Watch.” You walked up to a little girl and spoke to her in her native tongue. The little girl took the vile.

“What the hell was that?”

“I’m making this easier on us, they want this to look like an accident.” You state as both men follow after you. “Go to that alleyway and shoot it up.”

“What?”

“We’re going to simulate a small skirmish and he dies from a stray bullet. I’ll signal you to begin shooting he’ll walk onto his balcony and I’ll get him”

“What’s the poison for?”

“It’ll force him to go upstairs.” Soap’s eyes lit up and he nodded both men finally understood. They nod and walk into the alleyway making sure no one else is there.

You take your spot and wait. You see him walking up into his room, “Now,” You say in the comms. They lit up the alleyway. As you thought the man stumbles out. You took the shot. before pulling out a second gun just like the ones used by Gaz and Soap.

You shot the balcony up and to the alleyway. “Let’s go!” You shout and they run after you.

“Is this how most of your mission goes?” Gaz asks a little out of breath.

“No, but since I got two helpers I used it.” You state as you guys head back to your makeshift home base.

“I see why Laswell doesn’t want you out of her grips.” Soap states as you three pack up.

“What can I say, I am highly wanted.”

#cod x reader #141 #call of duty #captain price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod #kyle gaz garrick #modern warfare 2 #cod mw2

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erenaeoth · 4 months

Note

Hiii! I'm here to read your ramble about TK8's story. Personally I've tried to keep my expectations as low as possible. But I still ended up disappointed. So what's your take? Gimme the good, the bad, and the missed opportunities.

Tekken 8 Story Thoughts

hello hello hello. Tekken 8 spoilers ahead, I'll put them under the cut.

First off, I have to say I'm having a really good time. I enjoyed playing through story mode, I enjoyed the character episodes. I'm loving customising characters, I'm looking forward to my fight stick arriving and learning some cool new combos and playing with mates.

Everything feels really nice, looks very cool (aside from some giant shoulders and oddly proportioned necks), and I adore little touches like Jin and Hwoarang getting to wear each other's clothes.

Story mode.

Well, what can I say.

It's as I feared, really. Honestly, all I can say is that there's a deep lack of appreciation for the skill of writing in the video game world. One day, perhaps Tekken will hire people who care about stories, about plot, about character development and character presentation. There is no conflict in the Tekken 8 story. I know this sounds weird given that 90% of it is Jin and Kazuya punching each other, but here's an example of what I mean:

Leo meets their father for the first time in nearly 15 years. It happens off screen.

Lars goes from wanting to kill Jin, to forgiving him. It happens off screen.

Kazuya goes from having life ambition 'kill Heihachi' to developing a philosophy that advocates the enslavement of the world to his will. It happens off screen.

Hwoarang travels back from the Middle East with one eye; Claudio decides to stop being conniving and instead genuinely help Xiao; Lee builds airships and perfects battlesuits; the UN decides to work with Yggdrasil despite Lars gunning down their troops in TK7. All of this happens off screen.

And still Kazuya and Jin do not manage to have a single conversation. The closest we get is in chapter one, where Kazuya accuses Jin of being just like him. Jin fears, rightly, later, that Kazuya is right, but he's essentially told that if he chooses to be nicer, then no they're not the same. There's no consequences for his actions as head of the Zaibatsu, no real conflict between Jin and any of the people he's hurt, not even Alisa, who sits down for a heart to heart with him and never brings up the way he forced her to hurt Lars and spoke of her as merely a tool and not a person. There is conflict in this story but no Conflict. No drama. No points of difficulty that require meaningful resolution.

And instead we have trite versions of a story that boil down Jin's conundrum to one of acceptance of a force that has destroyed his life, literally torn apart his friends, eaten people, and been a source of torture to him. He's told 'just accept it's a part of you!' as if this is about a surface level appearance, rather than a violence that has destroyed everything he loves, and that he can see the consequences of in Kazuya. I think Devil Jin was treated poorly and tritely in this story, and that if one wants a 'redemption' acceptance for this devil power, it has to come with interrogation and recognition of the way it has hurt Jin and those around him. It canonically hospitalised Hwoarang, and there's no awareness of this in the story.

That said, I really, truly loved this line from Jin to his mother's apparition.

It moved me emotionally in a way that no other video game cutscene has, and for all its misdoings, I'm so pleased this was included in Tekken 8. This is a deeply Jin line to me, written by someone who understands him. Jin's suicidal tendencies have been a recurring theme ever since Devil first awoke, and post-TK6 this is exacerbated further. There's no one on earth who hates Jin more than Jin, and him needing the desire to live as an important part of his strength against Kazuya, is really well done. I wish we could have seen more from Jin conencting with his uncles, Xiao, and Hwoarang to achieve this state of mind, but I commend the sentiment anyway.

When he asked his mother and she granted him the ability to help him, I thought for sure this was going to be about purification. In a way I suppose it was, but I was very tired and unimpressed by Angel Jin. From the overdesign to yet another emphasis on pure violence to defeat Kazuya, I was just completely uninterested. This uninterest was momentarily suspended when they lost their Devil powers, something I thought was brave and interesting of them to do. Somehow this changed absolutely nothing though, and Jin and Kaz don't even pause for a conversation really before they go on.

I do think it's in character for Kazuya to consider his Devil a tool to use for an end, but I think that's much more something he'd say than actually feel. He's had Devil's power with him since he was five years old, and he's relied on it time and again to save him, I think internally he'd be terrified of losing it. Devil is all that's stood between Kazuya and Heihachi for all his life. There's some trite remark about Devil Jin trying to 'protect Jin'. This is only true in so far as DJ awoke when Heihachi gunned Jin down. Devil Kazuya, however, has kept Kazuya alive all his life, and given him the strength to survive in a world where he's constantly been at Heihachi's mercy. Kazuya's desire to live is absolutely what fuelled him all his life, and his need for power comes out of that survival. His infatuation with power grows beyond this, and after Heihachi's death, we see how warped and out of control this grows, but I feel there are deep inconsistencies in the Tekken 8 story because no one ever sat down to really think about Kazuya's relationship with his Devil, and what that might mean for what they were spinning for Jin.

That said, someone was drinking the good stuff when they wrote this:

This is Kazuya's only good line in Tekken 8, in my humble opinion. It's the one moment where they let him have a tiny bit of actual characterisation. They hint at tying his motivations back into experiences linked to fear and lack of control. It's such a shame, because they acheived this much better in Tekken 7, where they drew clear parallels between the childhood trauma Kazuya faced and his final fight against Heihachi. And yet they leave his motivations again in obscurity in this game, leaving the majority of people, including Jin, none the wiser for why he is doing this other than to be evil for evil's sake.

Why does Jin never ask him about Jun? Or mention that he's been seeing his mother? Why does he not talk about purification linked to being a Kazama? Why has he got so much time for thinking about his own difficulties, but never seeks to ask about Kazuya's? One of the reasons I love Kazuya as a character is because he revels in his own villainhood, and will never volunteer a justification for his actions in the way Heihachi or Jin would. He would rather be seen as cruel than as weak. And it's weakness to him to admit or even evaluate within himself why it is that he needs to be all powerful. But that means that, narratively, he needs a foil to play across from him, and ask the questions that will otherwise never be raised. He needs someone like Jin, or Jun, or Lee, who knows him or has the interest in understanding him, to force him to speak about his past.

There's so much missing from this game, I don't really know where to start. I was discussing this with friends, and we feel like someone on the team had some vision, and was trying to do something interesting, but they were largely shot down at every turn by whoever watched Blood Rebellion and wanted that but 2 hours longer and no cute refridgerator scene.

I can't believe I played all of Tekken 8 and I still don't know if Jun is alive, or why Jin isn't being held accountable for his actions, or why Jin and Kazuya even have any beef. Tekken 7 left us with so many questions and Tekken 8 answers basically none of them. At least they managed to tie more of the cast into this game? But then why did everyone just forget about Zafina and Claudio when they collapsed? Don't they care? Where did Hwoarang go? He got on a bike in that fight then never had a battlefield fight or appeared in front of the Sanctum at Yakushima. Why don't Victor or Raven care about Lars defying them last game? Is Raven salty that Jin blew up a helicopter with him (maybe) and all his men in it? Does Jin hear Azazel return to life? Is he affected by it? That MF was talking in his head for months. If Kazuya could have defeated Azazel so easily, why did he just waltz off in TK6?

I do like the idea that the 'two evil stars colliding' as the end of Azazel being Jin and Kazuya destroying each others devils, forshadowed in TK6 and brought to conclusion here, but all the meaning and interest in this is destroyed by whatever they're trying to do with Reina. I cannot expressed how frustrated I am with her as a character. I suppose perhaps she's from the Devil-Human Integration period of research Heihachi undertook, though my understanding was that he never retrieved Devil cells that were needed for the research, or he would have injected himself with Devil. Perhaps Reina was part of a programme that continued on where Steve and the supersoldier programme were left off. I don't know. I just know that it takes a way a lot of impact that could have meant exploring a devil-free Tekken game in future.

One thing I do Not want to see, is Tekken 9 waltzing in with Kazuya suddenly being a good guy, teaming up with Jin and fighting Reina. Not without serious weight and reflection on his actions, or discussing the corrupting influence of Devil over him. And I've lost a lot of faith in Tekken really understanding their characters or story-writing enough to do this.

I didn't even get on to character episodes, but I think I've rambled enough for one day! Thank you for the asks.

#tekken 8 #tekken 8 spoilers #tekken #asks #tekken thoughts

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bloodwrittenballad · 7 months

Text

Rotten Work | Izzy Hands x Reader

Summary: You never break a promise

Warnings: Swearing, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of blood and injuries, established relationship, reader is gender neutral, not proofread!! first time writing for the ol’ wet rat man, i love him

Izzy didn’t want to be seen.

Scratch that, he just didn’t want to be seen by you.

After the “incident” with Blackbeard and losing his toe, there was a shift. A major one. You could see it, the pain on his face and in his soul. Though he hid his emotions well, you could still read him like the back of your hand. You two were married, after all.

That wasn’t all though, course it wasn’t. Even after all these years spent together, going to literal hell and back you still managed to pull through every time. This time, however, it felt like Izzy was giving up. Not just on you and your relationship, but himself, as well.

It pained you greatly, knowing that the man you loved more than life itself was going through the unimaginable and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Because Blackbeard wouldn’t allow it.

Because Izzy wouldn’t accept it.

Time after time you tried to get him to let you in, to let you help him, countless nights spent outside his door - the cabin you once shared, before Blackbeard decided to ruin that. He forbid you from even being near Izzy. The closest you could get to him now was to sleep in the hallway, and having to put up with hearing as his soft snores turned into hushed cries when he woke up from yet another nightmare.

You couldn’t do this any longer. He, couldn’t do this any longer. Your time with Izzy had already been cut short due to being forced away from one another, and now you were worried it was going to happen permanently.

Izzy was strong, you knew that, course you did. But what would be the straw that broke the camels back? One person can only endure so much before it all becomes too much, so what would that be?

And when?

After another near sleepless night, you had to fight tooth and nail to make sure you were on deck before Blackbeard decided to make himself present for the day. And god, when he did, well… you just wished he hadn’t. Apparently the last few days you and the crew spent raiding and slaughtering any ship you could find wasn’t enough, because Blackbeard wanted more.

Hasn’t he taken enough?

To mark the matters of the day worse, the ship you raided just so happened to be a wedding. The already impossibly tight knots in your stomach worsened, as you were forced to play a pawn in his little game and tear apart what should’ve been a special day for the newlyweds. Soon, white became splattered with red as you cruelly and savagely sliced apart the bride.

And even when it was all over, you could still hear her soul shattering screams as she cried out for her lover.

You felt sick, not being able to stomach the thought of eating right now. Blackbeard decided to take the cake, now seemingly kind enough to divvy out some for the crew. No one ate any, all too tired and burnt out from the countless other slaughters from the day before. This just seemed like over kill. Heh. Literally.

The others tried making idle conversation, wanting to lighten up the atmosphere, but what could be said right now? It was all so, so… poisonous. At least, that’s how Jim put it. Yeah, was a good word for it. Man, if only you knew how badly those words would bite you in the ass later on.

Word got back to Blackbeard, as it always did.

He wasn’t too happy in what was said. Now, as you all stood before him on the deck, desperately trying not to break when he waved his gun around at the crew when he made them all go around and state that the atmosphere wasn’t poison, it was your turn.

“And you, dear little y/n Handsssss,” he dragged on your last name teasingly. So much malice, so much madness in his eyes. “Do you think the atmosphere on this ship is poison?” Gun pointed at your head, a man you once trusted behind it, the man you loved standing behind him. Izzy. Your eyes, tearful and pained, found his pleading ones. “No,” you let out a gasp, closing your eyes and letting a stray tear fall.

It felt like ages before Blackbeard got through the whole crew, but he wasn’t done yet. When you opened your eyes again, you were met with the sight of him now holding the gun up to his own chin. You looked at Izzy, who refused to look back at you.

Until he did, a fire inside of them that you hadn’t seen in a while. “Fucking end!” he yelled, and that’s when all hell broke loose. The gun went off, so loud and so deafening. Damning. Haunting. Red, a color you began to hate so deeply, starting to stain the wooden floor beneath you. And Izzy… oh, Izzy.

Oh god, you couldn’t breathe. Izzy, now laying on the deck, screaming in pain and bleeding, so close and yet so far from you. The next few moments of your life went by in a blur, and yet you felt like you were moving in slow motion.

You’re not sure who helped you down below deck, you just remembered someone gently scooping you up into their arms as they followed where Izzy was taken to.

And that’s where you where now, where you have been for what felt like days now. His hand was tightly clutched in yours, the grip you had never wavering, even when Izzy was in and out of consciousness, muttering widely and thrashing about.

Your presence and loyalty never wavered, either. Not even when he finally came to, for real, and wouldn’t look you in the eye. Too afraid to find judgement or resentment in your eyes, but those are feelings you would never know how to feel towards him, anyways.

“Iz, please,” you tried to plea. Over and over. You needed him to talk to you, needed to hear his voice. But he just… wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was bad enough that you had to see him like this, so how the hell was he supposed to keep himself composed and not break into pieces if he trusted himself to talk?

“Izzy, please, just… talk to me.” your voice was so quiet, so gentle, but the pain was there. He couldn’t just hear it, he could feel it too. Your pain was his pain, and his pain yours. The both of you were hurting, for reasons both the same and not.

Hell, Izzy realizes. He’s putting you through hell.

“My love, please. Please,” you cried. The grip you had was beginning to falter, showing him just how tired you really were. He kept his eyes down, off and away from you. His chest rose up and down, tense with the words he wanted to say but didn’t know how. Maybe you’ll get so fed and and just leave him there to rot, as he deserved. He put you all through this mess, you didn’t need to be the one cleaning it up…

But you, being you, stubborn and hardheaded as always, weren’t going to give up so easily. He thought maybe you were, when you released your hand from his, standing up in the meantime. He closed his eyes, thinking this is it. You were going to walk out that door, where you’d never enter from again, leaving him alone to hide in the guilt and shame he felt.

Instead, gentle but firm hands cupped his cheeks, the warmth of them making Izzy open his eyes and meet yours. Finally. You looked down at your, with love and worry and… fire. “Now, you listen here, Izzy Hands. I know, okay, I know it hurts. But it’s me, you can trust me. You have to trust me, Iz. I’m here, I’m here and I love you and I’m not going to leave, even if you want me to. I am here, and so are you… and god damn it, it’s been forever since it’s been just the two of us. We’re safe, we’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe, I promise. I’ll take care of you, I just… I need you to let me. Let me take care of you, please.”

Izzy lets out a shuddering breath, his eyes never once leaving yours as he replays the words, “you’re safe,” and “i’ll take care of you.” that was supposed to be his job, he was supposed to say that to you. Yes, you were married and yes it was a promise you both made, but he was Izzy fucking Hands, he was supposed to be the protector.

“Izzy,” you stated again, your voice still gentle but firm. Izzy’s tired, teary eyes met yours. He looked so fragile, even more so as you placed your hand on his. “I’ll take care of you,” you promised. Izzy whimpered, “you shouldn’t have to, its rotten work.” he all but whimpered, his face heavy and scrunched in pain. A part of your heart cracked upon hearing the words, because he sounded so defeated.

You shook your head, stroking his hand with your thumb. “Not to me,” you said with finality in your voice. “not if it’s you…”

Izzy’s eyes found yours once more, hating the way your voice cracked when you said that. The walls Izzy began to build up high were slowly but surely coming down, his reluctancy to let you aid him diminishing by the second. “okay,” he said softly, a ghost of a smile on his lips. A smile meet yours as well, “okay.” you nod, hand still in his as you raise it to your lips in a gentle kiss.

“We will get through this, Izzy. I promise. I meant it when I said in sickness and health.”

“I know.” Izzy replied, “and you never break a promise.”

#izzy hands #izzy hands x reader #izzy hands fic #omfd fic #omfd x reader #our flag means death x reader

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robsdiary · 3 months

Text

GOOD LOOKIN’ GIRL

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

INCLUDES: loser!ellie, black!reader, masc!reader, fluff, ellie has NO game

You’d been working under your uncle, Seth. Ever since the pair of you arrived in Jackson. The late hour shifts of you two fooling around making new recipes. He had a knack for sandwiches. It was mind blowing how he’d be able to make a turkey sandwich different from the next ten times.

He wasn’t truly your uncle. He’d found you on your lonesome years ago. You were malnourished, one hand broken and damaged, the other clutching on an empty pistol like your life depended on it. Your nose bloodied, all you had to your name was bright yellow rain boots and a jacket large enough to be considered a dress on you, and your thick curls in a frizzy uncared for bun. It was astonishing you managed to last that long.

Deciding to take you along with him in pursuit of finding a place of his own. You were a tough case.

You never talked, face always holding a blank stare. You’d seen things, Seth knew, and he didn’t pry. Your eyes carried a haunted shine, something you could never shake. Being alone most of your life is just what you’d gotten used to. Your parents had decided to flee from the Louisiana Quarantine Zone. They’d been shot in the process. Your father killed on impact and your mother lasted long enough to get to the next town over. You were only ten.

You wondered in solitude with your fathers pistol. Slowly making your way into Arkansas. Being forced to use your fathers pistol for your own safety. Gunning down two runners and a man that’d been charging at you. Five bullets.

It’d been about a week. You ducking behind buildings, scavenging for anything edible. Having to narrowly escape hungers or hordes, surviving off pure perseverance and fumes clearly didn’t prove helpful for a 10 year old. You collapsed, face up at the scorching sun, you didn’t cry, just stared. Staring at nothing in particular you stomach felt as if it were twisting itself inside out. A soft groan leaving you lips as you slowly faded into unconsciousness.

Eyes opening one last time to see a figure with a beer gut standing over top of you.

So here you were. Wrapping your hundredth sandwich of the day. Handing them off to people preparing for patrol. That’s how you met Jesse.

Over a while, you began to break from your shell. You kept a small circle, a few people who volunteered to work in Jackson’s theater, putting on plays and performances when the movies available got stale. And Jesse. He mocked you for your accent, you mocked him for his, you’d sneak him extra food, have arm wrestled over the freshly polished wooden counters, and banter. You couldn’t ask for a better friend that understood you.

Your uncle seemed to think the opposite.

“You and that Jesse seems to be getting along swell.” He muttered quietly. Peeling potatoes hurriedly.

The Tipsy Bison was quiet. The wooden floorboards creaking intermittently whenever someone took a step. It was just the two of you. Prepping for open, you’d rather be doing anything else.

“He fine.” You shrugged dismissively. Washing the used cutlery and beer glasses.

“Look out for that boy. You know their type only want one thing.” He huffed. Wiping his nose against the sleeve of his shirt, continuing to peel the dirty skin.

You bit your cheek. Keeping quiet as a soft exhale left your lips. Blinking slowly, divulging into thought. Jesse was an alright guy, they got along, had fun hanging out. But you never considered him in such a way. It made you snarl and cringe at the thought, gross.

The door to the establishment opened slowly. Your head quickly wiping to the entrance. Ready to cuss out the same alcoholics that kept entering every ten minutes to question if you were open. But it was someone completely different.

Taking notice of the shorter girl who’d found her way inside. Short auburn hair being put into a lazy low bun, clothes randomly mismatched, and impressively dirty converse, soft freckles peppered her face. Her eyes quickly flickering from your face to look down at the polished table.

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you. Your brow furrowed in confusion. Waiting for her to state her business.

“Can I help you?” You questioned snappily. Cocking your head to the side, coming off more unpleasant than intended.

Her head swiftly came up. Seeming to come up from whatever daze she’d been in. Gulping and nervously clearing her throat.

“Two sandwiches, please?” She asked quietly, sounding more of a question than a order. Her voice cracked and brittle, a clear anxiousness on her face. A shake in her tone. Looking down at her hands as she played with them.

“We’re clo—”

“Nah it's good. Maria gave special orders for them.” Seth interrupted from the kitchen.

“Ellie.” A pale hand met your field of vision. Apparently so, you were left with her.

You returned the shake. Exchanging names with her. Returning back to your duties, a look of disinterest on your face. Scrubbing away at the cutlery.

Clearly, the situation was somewhat awkward. Ellie nervously shifted on her heels as your eyes bored through her soul. You weren’t one to catch onto social cues.

“So you’re friends with Jesse?” She piped up. Returning your gaze, anxious to look a way.

“We hang out time to time.” You responded dismissively. Unsure as to why she cared, specks of water from your scrubbing splashing onto your cheeks and the table

“Yeah. I see the two if you together all the time.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

You questioned. A stern look on your face as your jaw clenched. Head tilted as you watched her body language. Watching how her eyes nervously darted around the room to avoid yours. Taking a long exhale.

“I’ve just seen you around, I dunno, you seem cool.” She shrugged, a light tinge of pink on her cheeks

“I am?”

Time felt impossibly slow. Seth was able to make a sandwich in less than three minutes. It felt torturous as to how long it was taking him.

“Some friends and I were planning on sneaking out..” Ellie whispered, wide eyes peering up at you with hope.

“Jesse’ll be there…”

You choose to stay quiet. Not used to being around much people. You weren’t the social setting type. But that and spending your off week peeling potatoes and washing dishes. The choice was clear.

Uneven footsteps could be heard from behind you. Seth lugging two sandwiches in his hands. A thin lipped smile as he handed them off the the auburn haired girl.

“Two steak sandwiches.”

“Thanks, Joel will love ‘em.”

Silence fell between the two of you. Ellie biting her bottom lip, Seth standing wide with both hands on his hips, and you, straight faced and stiff.

Seth looked between the pair of you. Analyzing the both of you, Ellie’s poker face subpar at best.

“Right. Well, best get back to work.” He smiled at Ellie, softly patting your shoulder and turning away.

Ellie watched intently as Seth hobbled away. Turning her attention back to you as he turned the corner. A shy smile on her face as she looked up at you expectantly.

“Think about it. Alright? You could bring your boyfriend or whatever, and it’ll be fun.”She nervously stammered, voice slowly trailing off. Waiting for you to acknowledge her not so subtle inquiry.

“Boyfriend?” You questioned, tilting your head cluelessly. Your tone dull.

It was hard for anyone to truly have a conversation with you. A difficult girl to crack. The tension between you was palpable. You on the other hand, none the wiser.

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. A dorky grin etching across her face. A soft uncontrollable giggle leaving her lips

“Alone.” You clarified. Arms crossed against your chest defensively, for what? You weren’t sure.

She smiled like a child. Feeling giddy enough to race around the bar. Settling on controlling herself.

“Okay, i’ll see you around— tonight! I’ll see you tonight and around.” She placed an emphasis on the ‘and’. A blush creeping across her face as she slowly crept towards the door.

“Bye..”

“Bye, Ellie.”

She pushed open the door. Scurrying out of sight. You watched from the windows as she walked to the stables. A small pep in her step.

You felt.. odd. Blinking irregularly, you’d never interacted with a person like this. It felt nice, enjoyable even.

Hearing familiars rough footsteps heard from behind you. A calloused hand landed on your shoulder. Seth’s eyes following yours.

“I know a cat fight when I see it.” His voice rasped. Eyes narrowed as he watched Ellie practically skip away.

“Don’t fight over that, Jesse. There’s better guys here, you’ll find the one.” He gently patted your shoulder, walking off.

You shook your head in amusement, Gripped the dish rag tightly. Brows knit together. Something that could be considered a smile etching across your lips.

You looked forward to tonight.

#ellie williams x reader #tlou #ellie williams x black!reader #joel miller x reader #loser!ellie #the last of us

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pynkgothicka · 1 year

Note

Request: can you write where OC who is in the police force/ a detective and trying to catch the world notorious mafia king (no one knows what he looks like). OC found an injured jimin and helped him. Jimin became madly obsessed with oc, stalked oc and kidnapped oc and made oc his

ＷｉｃｋｅｄＧａｍｅｓＰＪＭ

Synopsis - Your a new detective who gets put on a rough case to solve a string of cocaine over doses.

Pairing - Yandere! Jimin x Fem! Reader

Featuring - Toni Braxton, Jackson Wang (Begrudgingly.)

Tags and Warnings - Drug mentions, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Jimin being a little bit mean, sexual tones towards the end

Authors Note - I need to write more mob boss fics. Tis was fun.

A friendly reminder that all my works are dark fanfiction! Please if you do not like that do not read them! These depictions don't pertain to reality. This is your final warning before hitting the keep reading button!!

Your office was blistering cold as you stared at a huge file on your desk.

You were tasked with connecting and solving a string of cocaine related deaths. Your boss, the police chief Toni, had gave you the case hoping to give you experience with a big case rather than a little one for your first case under the detective title.

But the scenes you saw with this case haunted you. Slacked jaws and frothing mouths. All while the environments around them showed their hopeless situation. You felt bad for the men, probably all dealing with addiction.

You were shaken from your thoughts as the door opened, Toni handing in a weeks worth of lab data. “The lab work for the coke came back. All of the various samples provided were all of the same, and get this, were all stronger and more concentrated.”

“That would make sense, all these men who died we're big named in the crime world.” You added standing up, grabbing both badge and gun. “That would make all the deaths planned! I'm going out, doing one last swoop of some of the crime scenes. I think I'm looking past a bigger picture.”

“Well who do you think it is?"

“I don't know. But I think it's a power play thing. I just need to do investigate more! got this!” You said rushing out of your office, leaving a stunned Toni.

She began to look at your board, seeing towards the end of your board a blank face with the name Jimin written in red ink. He had no connection to the case, but you were considering him.

Toni took a deep breath before shaking her head. “This can't be good...God please protect her…”

🔍

As you drove down to the first crime scene, you tried to clarify any leads as who it could possibly be. This has been your focus for the last week, and you had to prove your worth to Toni. It was a personal goal, but hopefully a goal that would be in good favor.

When you pulled into the first crime scene, the place was obviously a party house. The yard and peeking inside, were both messy. Jackson Wang's body was found here, a known crime boss and partier. This was probably one of his go to rental spaces for parties.

You walked past the yellow tape and glanced at the main room. It reeked of booze and death. The table that sat right in front of Jackson's deathbed was still messy as the night of his death. What's a better place to start looking again rather than here?

The table had split drinks, which were now sticky, all over it. But what caught your eye was a brown paper bag. Upon a closer examination, there was a small “P” written on the top. You rose a brow at that. Then you picked it up, looking inside to see more coke.

What drug dealer would mark their works at a and then leave it there once the area became a crime scene? Wouldn't they want to get rid of any connection to the death? More so why hadn't the police picked it up during their first sweep through? Toni was initially over this case, and she didn't seem to be the type to leave crucial evidence behind.

You slipped on a glove and picked up the brown paper bag, putting it into a small zip lock bag you'd brought. Maybe this would be the key to figuring out the cases? You’d just have to visit the other spots and see if the bag was there as well.

Upon your way out you heard a loud gutteral yell. You followed the sound seeing a dark haired man holding his abdomen. He hissed as he slid down the wall. His assailant hurried off, but you didn't have time to chase him up on close inspection of the injured man. Blood began to seep through his shirt.

“Holy shit! Sir, I…I'm going to bring you to the nearest hospital. Just hold onto me while I bring you to my car.” He gave you a small nod, almost as if he had a choice in the matter. You refused to let this man die.

You got down to his side, grabbing his arm to lift him up. You carried his body to the back seat of your car. He kept hissing and groaning, but you settled him down with a cold water bottle you had. “Keep this on or near the wound. It will slow down your blood flow so you don't lose as much.” You then quickly got in and cranked the engine, setting the car to drive.

🔍

Jimin laid in the hospital bed, eyes trained to his right, watching as you slept. The amount of love he held for you, reached no boundaries. Jimin knew he was obsessed, but it's not like he could do anything about it.

Once Jimin saw something he wanted, he had to have it.

Jimin had everything planned out.

The police station was already deep in his grasp majority of them being corrupt and self serving. Especially Toni.

Police Chief Toni Braxton was one of his ex’s. It was a relationship that ended months ago and something he didn't miss. However he knew for a fact she missed him.

All it took was hint the possibility of getting back together. And with that Toni almost immediately to fell into her place for his plan.

“Jimin, I still love you. I know I shouldn't but I do.” Toni told him. He knew if he visited her apartment, she would be all over him again. Which was correct, as she was already on his lap, and he hadn't been there not even 30 minutes.

“Oh baby, I'm willing to bring back what we had. I missed all this.” Jimins hand grasped at her ass hard, knowing she'd bruise. Toni let out a small gasp as Jimin continued. “I just need you to do a small favor for me.”

“Anything for you. You know that.”

“You know that new detective you promoted baby? I want her on my case.” Jimin said leaning into Toni's neck, leaving small hickies.

“Why?” She gasped out. Her hand went to his face, pushing his eyes to meet hers. She placed her forehead on his own, lips almost about to connect.

“You know I don't wanna get caught now? She won't be able to catch me, catch us. Just do it until I get things together, then we can have that life we always talked about.” And with that Jimin connected her lips, sealing his ask with a small hot and heavy makeout.

That marked down Toni, next he needed to play hurt. But he knew he couldn't just fake being seriously hurt. He'd already contacted the hospital about his plan, in hope that they'd receive a small extra shipment of what he has to offer.

So he got one of his guys to stab him in the alley by that dickhead Jackson's place. He knew you'd have to revisit as he made sure to leave some things missing from the initial crime scene. Once Jimin saw you, he waited a few minutes before whispering a small now for his man to stab him.

And it hurt.

It fucking felt like he'd been shot, but ten times worse. The stab wasn't deep but still.

But he was relieved as he saw your worried expression come into view.

All of that hard work led to now, him watching your slumbering face. You'd refused to leave his side upon arrival and he couldn't be more grateful for it. You had such a sweet heart. More so you couldn't see the game he was playing.

He was so rudely pulled from his gaze as Toni walked in, brown locs pulled into a pony tail. She took off her uniform seemingly to present herself to him. Her white button down had a few unbuttoned near the top and her pants hugged her curves just right.

It left such a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Jimin! I heard you were hurt.” She turned around looking at your passed out form in the chair. “She's still here?”

“Yeah. Why are you here Toni? The hospital doesn't play with visitors. They're allowing her to stay as mine right now.” He rambled on.

A lie.

But just maybe he could piss her off enough to where she could go on her own accord. But Toni only came closer hands resting on his shoulder.

“I know, I just worry about you. Shes begun to piece things together.” Toni kissed at his temple. “I just hope she doesn't end up getting hurt. I can't have you go to jail for murder now.”

Jimin shrugged Toni away. “Just not right now. I'm actually fucking hurting and all you can think about is her. Obsessed much?”

Hypocrite.

Toni took a step back before letting out a huff. “Fine. I'll text you later whenever your not being a asshole. Make sure my detective gets back safe.”

Jimin knew damn well he was going to do the exact opposite. In fact she was never going to see him nor you ever again. As soon as Toni walked through the door, she just about secured his and your future together.

“Don't worry baby, I got some men coming get us. It's going to be so nice. I'm happy your played along with all this. I love you.”

#dark writing #tw dark content #tw yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere blog #pjm #bts pjm #yandere bts #bts yandere #dark bts #yandere Jimin #yandere park jimin #dark park Jimin #dark Jimin

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fxckingghxst · 1 year

Text

Mask Free

Pairing: Task Force 141, Alex, & König x Female!Reader

CW: normal canon violence, depictions of death/killing (nothing too vulgar), some endings are fluffier than others.

WC: ~3.8k

Requested here!

A/N: I’m soooo great at making titles 🙄🙄 ANYWAYS I love writing badass characters so I hope this came off as that and not super cliche or exaggerated!! I also think it would be hard for her to not ever talk (considering she has to communicate a lot during missions) so I made it so that she only really talks over the radio and usually in short sentences. Also I didn’t want to do a group ending, so I did individual endings with the guys you picked. Hope this makes sense!

It was raining out. Your clothes were soaked- adding what felt like ten pounds of water weight to you- and your mask was as well, making it hard to breathe through the fabric. Your scope on your sniper grew blurry through the array of raindrops that hit the lens. You groaned. The mission now becoming ten times harder than anticipated with these horrible weather conditions. You’ve trained to fight in all kinds of conditions, so this was nothing new, but it meant that the pan needed to be changed.

“I’m getting a closer look.” You said into your radio as you shoulder your rifle, the barrel resting between your shoulder blades as you started to make the descent down the hill.

“Be careful, (y/n).” Price responded as you took refuge behind a thick tree at the base of the hill. You turned on your night vision goggles and surveyed the grounds around the buildings; looking for any patrols. A pair of men were about 300 yards away from your spot- the rain and night now aiding in your hiding as you let them walk by. You let out a huff as the fabric on your face practically suffocated you at this point, water dripping from your chin every second from how drenched your mask was.

‘Fuck it.’ You thought to yourself before removing your goggles and sliding your mask off your head. Your hair was soaked and matted to your head, but being able to take a deep breath was rewarding and no longer bothersome to you. Pocketing your mask you bring out your silenced pistol and touch the throwing knives that were ready to throw on your vest; the feel of the cold metal reassuring as your fingertips grazed the sharp blade.

You put the goggles back over your eyes and checked out the area one more time before moving out into the open. Four cabins and two storage sheds were all the shelters this group had to fall back on; in a very remote area in the middle of nowhere, but it was perfect for harboring weapons and morally ambiguous men. The information they had acquired was crucial and not supposed to be in the hands of a growing terrorist organization, so the mission was focused on obtaining the info and capturing those that took it. And according to your intel on the mission, two men were responsible for overseeing this group, and they were here.

“Got eyes on you, (y/n).” You hear Ghost tell you on the radio, letting you know that he sees you and is watching your back.

The light from the cabin was the only light reaching outside (besides the flashlights the patrols were holding and scanning over in the forest), so sneaking up to the house would be an easy task. The nearest cabin was a small one-story house and by a quick glance in the window, you could see only two men inside. They were playing a card game, drinking beers, and smoking cigarettes. Their guns were laid against the doorframe of the kitchen, but you would be stupid to think they were unarmed. A knife or a hidden handgun tucked away in a boot/waistband was almost always true. You waited a few more minutes to see if any other person would emerge from any of the closed doors, but they stayed closed and the two men opened another bottle each.

“Two coming up on the house, (y/n).” Price alerts you as you start to hear two sets of footsteps approaching the front of the house. You stayed still for a moment before moving along the side of the building, heading towards the front door as well. Your hands wrap around the grip of the pistol, finger on the trigger as you listen to the men open the front door. They all greet each other and the two enter the threshold of the cabin, probably savoring the warmth the fireplace gave the room.

You walked up behind them and lifted your gun, putting two bullets in the men who just walked in, their bodies still falling to the ground before the other two men realized what had happened. You aim at them and quickly squeeze the trigger twice again, a shot landing in each of their chests. You walk into the room and aim your gun at the nearest room to your left, twisting the knob and opening it fast to see an empty bedroom- covers tousled and personal items thrown messily into the open closet. You make your way down the hallway, seeing three doors- two on the right and one on the left.

You open the one on the right first, seeing it is a coat closet- nothing but old winter coats and boxes covering the small area. The second door on the left was a bathroom- also empty upon opening the door and scanning the small room. You approach the last door and open it quickly. The bed creaks as someone moves on it and you don’t hesitate to shoot in front of you, hearing them hit flesh and then it’s quiet. You search the wall with one hand, finding a switch and flipping it on to see the sheets starting to turn red with the man’s blood.

You holster your gun and walk back into the main room seeing the front door still wide open, so you go over and close it. You search the bodies for anything that may seem useful, starting with the ones closest to the door and then moving to the ones in the chairs. Turning up empty-handed you focus on the house itself, looking through drawers in the kitchen (seeing if maybe one of them was a false drawer), checking under rugs and beds, behind paintings and their supplies. But nothing of importance was here.

“I’m empty.” You call into your radio, standing by the fire as you warm your fingers- even for just a quick second.

“Soap. Gaz. König. Any luck?” Price asks.

“Nothing here either, Captain.” Gaz responds.

“Small arsenal in the west shed, nothing else.” Konig chimes in next.

“Besides porn magazines, nothing.” Soap replies and you crinkle your nose at the discovery. You’re glad you found nothing like that over here, not wanting to have to look through stuck-together pages in case any information was hidden in between the centerfolds. It’s happened once before.

“No one’s come out of the two-story the entire time we’ve been here, nor has anyone walked by any of the windows.” Alex adds his observations and you glance out the window at the building closer to the east side of the area.

“He’s right. The men we’re looking for are more than likely in there. Soap and Gaz take the back door. König and (y/n) cover the front. Alex, Ghost, and I will start heading to your position and secure the house,” Price instructs as you start to head toward the front door, “Remember we need those two men alive.”

“Copy that.”

Back into the rain, your freshly warmed fingers turn back to icicles as the water soaks back into your clothes, chilling you to your bone. But you can’t let it affect you. You keep to the outer buildings that have already been cleared, moving to the farthest house from your position. There were no more patrolling soldiers out, you noticed; Soap, Gaz, and König must’ve taken them down as well. Then the only people left would be whoever is in this house- at least until the morning when backup would arrive in trucks to relocate everyone.

You crouched down under the window by the front door and waited for the tall Austrian. You peek into the window, counting five men just in the living room. Three were sitting on the couch and lounge chairs, relaxing it seemed. Two others were standing at the bottom of the staircase, one of them lighting a cigarette while the other read from a book. You hear heavy footsteps approaching behind you and you turn just as König settles under the window across from you- on the other side of the door.

“We have two in the kitchen.” You hear Gaz say over comms.

“Five in the living room,” You say, noticing König’s lingering eyes, “If you guys breach and gain their attention, we can catch them off-guard.” You tell Soap and Gaz.

“Aye” Soap agrees. You look over to König and give him a pointed look; raising your eyebrows.

“Oh- sorry. I-I’m ready.” He reaches for his assault rifle and readjusts his position, ready to bust down the door. You both wait in silence, then a small explosion from the other side of the house catches your attention. You peer through the window and watch as the five men grab their weapons, all their attention now on the doorway to the kitchen. You turn to König and nod your head, giving him a signal to break down the door. He lifts his leg and kicks right next to the doorknob, splitting the wood as it breaks open. He takes one step in and crouches down on one knee, shooting down the nearest enemy. You come up behind him, able to see over König’s head, and shoot two of them that had turned around. One yelled as he went down, now alerting the others in the house to intruders.

The last three had aimed their guns at you two and shot, but they were panicked and caught off guard, so they missed and hit the wall next to König. He moves inside, taking cover behind one of the couches and you cover him as he does so, shooting one in the leg. You move back outside, crouching next to the door as you holster your pistol and for your sniper rifle. You hear more guns going off, figuring some backup from upstairs has now joined the firefight.

You eye around the corner, seeing König take the brunt of the attack. Soap and Gaz had come into the room too, taking cover behind the thick wooden dining table that they flipped over. You bring the barrel around the corner, looking through the scope at the men above. You take out three of them and move your scope to a third just as another bullet hits him, body falling to the floor. You change targets, and after a few minutes, the room is cleared of enemies; the only sound is the rain hitting the roof.

Soap is first to approach the staircase as you shoulder your rifle, now opting for your throwing knives as you walk into the cabin. Gaz and König follow behind Soap, aiming towards the top of the staircase where a long hallway awaits them. You take up the rear, boots squelching on the hardwood floor.

“Four doors up here.” Soap whispers, stopping at the first door on the left. Gaz and König stop at the next two, leaving the last door on the right for you. You grab a flash grenade from your vest clip and motion for everyone to do the same, finger ready to yank the clip. There’s a silent countdown, watching Soap’s mouth count till he hits one and everyone busts open the door to throw in the flash. Gunfire from those inside shooting at their respective doors cuts through the silence for a brief moment before the familiar high-pitched screech of the flash goes off.

You open your door again and survey the room quickly. Four men, disoriented, all armed- two have automatic rifles and the other two have small handguns. You recognize two of them being your targets- now realizing you’ll have to somehow keep them alive and not get shot at. Easy.

You focus on the two that weren;t your targets, they held the rifles; ready to protect their leaders till death. You reach your arm back and throw the blade at the nearest one; hitting him directly in the head. The other one hears the body hit the floor and tries to blink away the brightness in his eyes; looking for your silhouette to shoot at. He presses the trigger, blindly shooting in your direction as you dive towards one of your targets; kicking out his feet so he falls to the ground. He loses his pistol and you push it out of his reach, swinging your arm to release another blade, hitting the grunt in the leg and dropping his rifle; finger squeezing the trigger as he went down to his knees.

The other target blinks away his blindness as he looks around to spot you, starting to aim his pistol at you. You act quick, taking your throwing knife and throwing it at the hand holding his pistol. His gun goes off as your knife is lodged in the back of his hand, but the bullet hits the mirror behind you, shattering it.

The man with the knife in his leg, recovered, pulling himself back to his feet and yanking the knife out to use. He yells, running at you full force, but you’re able to redirect him, using his weight against him to make him fall behind you. He tries to get right back up on his feet, but you’re on him before he can get on his knees, holding your knife to his neck as you slit it. He gurgles, hands coming up to try and stop the blood. It seeps through his fingers, fast, and he falls to the floor.

“Clear!”

“Clear!” Gaz and König announced.

“In here!” You alert them as you walk over to one of the men. You point your knee right into his back, hearing him hiss in pain as you hold him in place. König is in the room first and you gesture to the other man, lying on the floor with a knife in his hand, cradling it. He secures him, removing the knife and holding his wrists behind his back. Gaz and Soap walk in and look around the room.

“Jesus, (y/n). You could've called for help.” Soap says as he approaches you, zip ties extending out for you to grab.

“I didn’t need any.”

The mission was a success. The targets were captured- only injured a little- and the intel had been recovered. It was unknown if they had spread it already, but that’s why they were needed alive; to find out for sure. Price was overseeing the ‘questioning’ Ghost coming in and out over the course of a few days before they broke and told them what they knew. Their stories matched up, so they must’ve been telling the truth.

A new assignment was tasked with the team upon the completion of the ‘questioning’. Traveling to another off-the-grid compound to track down the intel before it spreads to everyone of their troops. Another capture mission.

You had your bags packed the day they assigned the team, ready to leave in the next hour when the helicopter would arrive.

Gaz:

“Y’know. I think that was the only time I’ve seen you without your mask.” Gaz points out as he sits against the car beside you, tossing his own bag at his feet. You turn your head to look at him, shrugging your shoulders before answering.

“It happens.”

“It should happen more often,” He teases as he bumps his shoulder with yours, “you have nothing to hide, (y/n).” He shoots you a small smile. You can’t find any words to respond with- brain going blank as he complimented you. That was a compliment, right?

“You want me to keep it off?” You ask, wanting clarification.

“You’re a pretty girl, (y/n). But, you do whatever you’re comfortable with.” He tells you as Price gathers everyone’s attention. He gives you another smile before grabbing his bag and moving closer to the group, the helicopter now in earshot.

Nothing to hide… Pretty… You’d be thinking about his words for a while.

König:

König approached your shaded spot next to the building; sitting down next to you on the floor. You said nothing, continuing to fiddle with your throwing knives, but he looked like he wanted to say something.

“I’m sorry for staring at you,” He starts, hands resting on his knees, “when we were out there. It wasn’t professional.”

“No harm done.” You tell him truthfully. It wasn’t as if he ruined the mission by staring at you. He was just caught off guard- you could tell.

“I know- it’s just- I don’t like when people look at me when I take off my mask, so, I wanted to apologize.” He keeps his head trained forward, looking at his hands or down at his shoes. You pocket your blade.

“Apology accepted, König. Don’t beat yourself up about it.” You reassure him and he nods his head.

“You’re a very beautiful woman, (y/n).” He glances at you before grabbing his bag and walking toward everyone else. You watch him walk away and you find yourself smiling under your mask.

Price:

“You alright over here?” Price approaches you off to the side, a cigar hanging from his mouth. His last one for a while since you’ll be out on mission.

“Alright.” You confirm as you face him completely, wondering if he was going to tell you something important.

“If the others are annoying you about your mask thing, you have my permission to hurt them.” You can’t help but chuckle. Ever since you came back from the last assignment, everyone- but Soap and Gaz in particular- have been pestering you to see you without your mask again, saying, ‘You took it off for rain, just keep it off.’

“I’m grateful for the permission, Captain.” You tell him as you nod your head. Not like you needed his permission to defend yourself against these guys, but it was nice now to know you wouldn't be in too much trouble if you decided to mess with Soapor Gaz. It’s silent for a beat as you both hear the crew talk about the plan approaching, now realizing it’s time to go.

“I will say it was nice to see you again, (y/n). ” He gives you a quick smile before turning around, leaving you to think about the Captain's words and the heat crawling up your neck.

Soap:

“Y’know you’re pretty reckless, (y/n).” Soap tells you as he approaches you, brows furrowed in seriousness. It wasn’t every day you saw Soap be serious, so you must’ve done something crazy- in his eyes.

“How so?” You ask him, a bit confused about where this conversation was headed.

“Last mission, you should’ve called us to help you out with the targets.” He reveals and you turn to face him fully, giving him your attention.

“I handled it.”

“There were four of them and you took them on all at once. You could’ve gotten hurt.” His jaw clenches and you nod your head. You could understand why he was upset. It probably would’ve been easier to call for help. You were just too used to working alone.

“I’ve worked alone for 5 years, Soap.” You remind him, hoping he realized you weren’t trying to one-up the team or get yourself killed.

“You’re part of this team now. You can rely on us.” He reminds you and you nod your head. Even though you were getting reamed a bi by Soapt, it felt nice to be worried for. To be treated like an equal and important part of this team.

“I will,” You bite the insides of your cheeks, wondering if you should say it, “Thank you, Soap.”

“I was only mad because I was worried, but I can’t stay mad at you for long.” Soap smiles at you and you have to look away to keep yourself from blushing.

Ghost:

It was quiet as you and Ghost took up the back of the group; walking in silence together to the landing pad. Everyone else was a good few steps ahead, but you didn’t feel like picking up your pace; neither did Ghost you guess.

“I hate wearing it in the rain, too.” He tells you, looking away from you after he spoke. You pause, trying to think about what he was talking about until it hits you.

“Yeah feels like getting waterboarded, slowly.” You comment, still a bit shocked he was to bring up what happened a few days ago.

“It does.” He agrees and chuckles dryly. Helicopter propellors are heard above as three arrive, hovering slowly to the landing pad one at a time.

“Have you ever taken it off in the field?” You ask him, a sudden curiosity as you know he is known for never taking his mask off.

“Used to, quite a bit,” He answered and you nodded your head, “Had used a shit ton of different fabrics. Cotton is the easiest to breathe through.” He tells you like it’s a secret and you smile behind your mask.

“Noted, Lieutenant.” You thank him as he bumps his shoulder with yours, a small intentional moment of touch he initiates.

“Good.” He finishes as all the helicopters land, everyine beginning to load up for the new mission.

Alex:

“You ready?” Alex asks you as he knocks on your open door. You turn your head and look at him, his bag is already packed and draped over his shoulder.

“Yeah.” You tell him as you zip up your bag, throwing it over your shoulder as well. You head to your door, but Alex doesn’t move.

“Give me your bag. I’ll carry it.” He says and you roll your eyes before glaring at him.

“I can hold my own bag.” You tell him, but he just smiles and holds out his hand.

“I know you can, but I wanna be nice. So, gimmie” He explains and you sigh before handing it over. His smile grows and he moves out of your doorway, throwing your bag over his other arm as you close the door behind you. You felt a bit odd having your arms empty, folding them over each other on your stomach as he began to speak. “I have a question for you.”

“Shoot.” You both turn down another corridor, walking towards the exit.

“Why’d you take your mask off during the mission?” He turned his head to look at you.

“It was wet. I was pretty much breathing in water.” You tell him, adjusting the now-dry mask on your face.

“I don’t know how you or Ghost do it. I hate shit around my face.” He says and you nod your head, agreeing.

“Me too.” You admit and he furrows his eyebrows.

“Why wear the mask then?”

“My identity must remain a secret.” You joke with him, hoping a he would want to change the subject.

“Fair enough. But if you’re Spiderman or Batman and you don’t tell me, I’ll be pissed.”

349 notes · View notes

comfortless · 6 months

Note

write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

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