#Survival Hunting Boots | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

coriihanniee · 5 days ago

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TELL ME, WILL WE SURVIVE? ⋆˚࿔ (part 1)

۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : you're the 4th member of Huntrix, tasked to eliminate the Saja Boys, five powerful demons disguised as idols. However, encountering them face to face brings an achingly familiar pain to your chest.

۶ৎ PAIRING : reincarnated 4th member huntrix!reader x saja boys ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : romance, reincarnation, angst ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : mentions of death, use of weapons, slight emotional manipulation, sexy hot fictional men

۶ৎ A/N : asked if I should write this fic with a poll and 434 votes is crazy... so here it is! This will probably be my only kpdh fic 🥹 I hope this satisfies you~ It was tough to come up what to write apart from Jinu's considering the fact we don't have more information about the others T^T

WE COULD BE FREE ⋆˚࿔ (part 2)

The tension in the Huntrix dorm was thick enough to cut with a knife.

"I still can't believe it," Zoey muttered, pacing back and forth across the living room while clutching her notebook. "A new boy group that just debuted... and they're actual demons."

Mira sat cross-legged on the floor. Her usually perfect hair was tied back in a messy bun. "The way everyone was completely fascinated by them..." She shuddered. "Like they couldn't look away or think of anything else."

"Five guys who came out of nowhere and had everyone mesmerized on their very first performance," Rumi said grimly, her voice still hoarse from the throat issues that had sent them to the doctor in the first place. "That's not normal idol talent, that's demonic influence."

You looked up from lacing your combat boots, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and dread. While your three groupmates had discovered the Saja Boys' true nature during their trip to the clinic, you'd been stuck in back-to-back variety show recordings. Part of you felt guilty for missing such a crucial moment, but another part was almost grateful. Something about facing demons, especially these particular demons, made your chest tight with an emotion you couldn't name.

"So what's the plan?" you asked, trying to push away the odd nervousness in your stomach.

Rumi stood up, her leader instincts taking over despite her vocal strain. "Intelligence suggests they're operating out of several locations around the city. We need to track them down and neutralize the threat before their next public appearance."

"Five of them, four of us," Mira noted. "Not impossible odds, but we'll need to be smart about this."

Zoey stopped pacing and looked at you with concerned eyes. "Are you sure you're ready for this? I mean, this is our first time facing demons this powerful. The Saja Boys aren't like the lower-level creatures we usually hunt."

You nodded, though your heart was racing for reasons you couldn't explain. "I've trained for this. We all have."

"We don't know much about their individual abilities yet," Rumi warned, her voice dropping to a serious tone. "But we know they're organized and powerful enough to steal our fans and mess with the Honmoon. They've been systematically targeting our fans, hypnotising them with some kind of influence we don't understand yet.”

"We split up," Rumi continued. "Cover more ground that way. But nobody engages alone unless absolutely necessary. These aren't ordinary demons, they're organized, intelligent, and extremely dangerous."

As your groupmates continued planning, you found yourself staring out the window at the Seoul skyline, a dozen city lights twinkling like stars. Somewhere out there, five demons who had quickly become the nation's beloved idol group in less than a day were hiding, planning, hunting.

So why did the thought of facing them feel less like preparing for battle and more like... coming home?

"Ready?" Rumi's voice snapped you back to reality.

You grabbed your weapon and stood up, pushing down the strange emotions swirling in your chest. You were a member of Huntrix. You had a job to do.

Even if something deep inside you whispered that this mission would change everything.

JINU ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Three hours after the briefing, you crouched behind a concrete pillar in an abandoned office building, your heart hammering against your ribs for reasons that had nothing to do with the mission. You had tracked Jinu here alone, separated from his group members, conducting what appeared to be private business on the fifteenth floor.

The elevator had been deliberately disabled, forcing you to climb the emergency stairwell. Each step upwards felt heavier than the last, as if your body fought against an invisible current. When you finally reached the target floor, the silence was deafening.

You pressed your ear to the stairwell door, listening for voices, footsteps, any sign of demonic activity. Your weapon felt foreign in your grip, a silver-blessed blade that had never failed you in past hunts, yet now trembled with your uncertainty.

The hallway beyond stretched like a mouth waiting to swallow you whole. Fluorescent lights flickered sporadically, casting dancing shadows that made your vision blur. You moved silently, checking each empty office as you passed, until you reached the corner suite at the end of the corridor.

The door stood ajar.

Through the gap, you could see him.

Jinu sat behind a massive mahogany desk, his profile illuminated by the pale glow of Seoul's skyline through the windows. Even in the dim light, his features were sharp and aristocratic, high cheekbones, a strong jawline, dark hair that fell perfectly across his forehead.

"The contract is simple," his voice carried through the crack in the door, smooth as silk yet cold as steel. "Your daughter's medical bills disappear. Her surgery is guaranteed successful. All I ask in return is a small favour down the line."

"What kind of favour?" The other voice was desperate, broken, a father's voice.

"Nothing that will harm your family directly. You have my word."

You should have burst through that door immediately and struck while Jinu was distracted, before he could complete whatever twisted bargain he was weaving. But the moment your eyes found his face, your entire world tilted off its axis.

Inexplicable pain lanced through your chest. Your vision blurred from the tears suddenly sliding down your cheeks. Images surged and vanished too quickly to grasp : a child's laugh, the strum of a bipa, a soft voice humming, arms wrapping around you beneath a threadbare blanket.

"I'll take care of everything. You'll never have to worry again."

You gasped, stumbling backwards and nearly dropping your weapon. The sound echoed in the empty hallway like a gunshot.

The conversation inside the office stopped abruptly.

"I believe our business here is concluded," Jinu's voice had changed, taking on an edge that made your spine stiffen. "You know how to contact me when you've made your decision."

The desperate father's voice slowly faded as he was presumably escorted out through another exit.

You pressed yourself against the wall, mind racing. You had lost the element of surprise, but the mission remained the same. Jinu was alone now. This was your chance to strike before he could reunite with the other Saja Boys.

You kicked the door open and rushed inside, blade raised and ready.

Jinu stood by the window with his back to you, hands clasped behind him as if he had been expecting your arrival. The moonlight turned his silhouette into an ethereal and angelic vision, a cruel irony given what you knew him to be.

"You're faster than I anticipated," he said without turning around. "Though not as quiet as you think."

"Turn around." Your voice came out steadier than you felt.

He complied slowly. However, when his eyes met yours, your soul cracked down the middle.

You could see a brief flicker of recognition cross his face, perhaps even mourning, or maybe grief worn thin over centuries.

You raised your blade higher, just enough to hide how much your hands were shaking.

"You've grown beautiful," he said softly.

Your breath caught in your throat, forcing down a wave of emotions that threatened to break free. You gritted your teeth. "Don't."

He stepped forward.

"I said don't."

He moved closer.

You slashed by reflex. Jinu blocked it with his arm. He didn't exactly attack back. But he parried, blocked, dodged with the ease of someone who'd trained lifetimes for this.

It happened before you could think. Your body moved, like it already knew what to do. Your chest rose and fell too fast, ears buzzing with the rush of your heartbeat. Jinu barely fought back, annoyingly and effortlessly dodging your attacks. However, you refused to stop until the hurt had somewhere to land.

Until he disarmed you, your blade clattering across the floor.

Jinu didn't press the advantage or move to strike.

Instead, he stepped back.

You froze for half a second. Why isn't he fighting back? Was this pity? Mercy? Did he think you couldn’t handle it?

"You don't remember." It wasn't a question.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Four hundred years ago," he said quietly, "I had a mother and a sister. We were starving. I played the bipa on street corners, until I found you, you were the only light we had left. You kept us together, even when everything fell apart."

Images tore at your mind again : your hands mending a child's robe. Jinu's fingers brushing yours. The bipa's music cutting through the dark.

"You were there," you whispered, not understanding why you knew it was true.

"I was." His voice cracked. "And I failed all of you."

"But… you're a demon now. You manipulate people. Steal their souls."

"I offer what they ask for. I offered it then, too. I was desperate and hungry. My family and you were dying in front of my eyes. Gwi-Ma found me and promised me a life of comfort and power. I thought if I accepted it, I could bring you all with me."

Your heart pounded against your ribs.

"But the gates closed behind me," he said, barely audible. "I turned around and they wouldn't let you through. I left you in the cold while I slept on silk."

You shook your head, but the memories were surfacing now,

"I searched for you after. But you died, didn't you? Alone. Like the rest of them. While I lived in luxury with blood on my hands."

The truth settled like ice in your lungs. Your memories were fractured, broken by time and pain, but you remembered enough. Remembered waiting put in the cold and the hunger that ate you alive while he feasted in hell.

"I waited for you," you whispered.

Jinu closed his eyes as if the words were a blade through his chest. "I know."

The admission ignited a fury so pure it burned through your veins like poison. He knew. While you were wasted away in that freezing hovel, praying for his return until your throat was raw. While you'd begged strangers for scraps, sold every precious thing you owned just to buy another day of life, he was feasting in warmth and safety. He knew, and he'd done nothing.

"You knew," you snarled, and the rage in your voice made him flinch. "You knew we were dying and you left us there to rot."

Your hands clenched into fists. Every cell in your body screamed for violence, for justice, for him to feel even a fraction of the agony he'd caused.

You lunged for your weapon again. He didn't stop you.

"I'm going to kill you," you said, raising it with trembling hands.

"Then do it."

However, you hesitated, the blade wavering above his heart. Tears blurred your vision as you stared down at him, this man who had once been your entire world. Your arm shook with the effort of holding the weapon steady, but your body refused to obey. Every instinct screamed at you to drive the silver through his chest, to end his suffering and yours, but your heart betrayed you.

Even after everything, you couldn't bring yourself to destroy him. The realization broke you more than his abandonment ever had.

"Why aren't you fighting back?"

"Because I loved you more than my own soul. And letting you end it is the only way I can repent for what I've done."

Your eyes widened at his words, the blade slipping from your nerveless fingers. It hit the floor with a sharp clang that echoed through the empty office.

Jinu's breath caught in his throat. He stared at the fallen weapon, in disbelief at what had just happened. His composure finally cracked, and tears spilled down his cheeks, the first real emotion you'd seen from him since you'd entered this room.

Why?" he whispered. "After everything I've done to you... why can't you do it?”

"I-I don't know…’ you said, voice cracking. “But… this doesn't mean I forgive you…”

"I wouldn't dare ask."

"And I'm not letting you walk away."

He nodded, tears tracking down his cheeks.

You stepped closer, your heart shattering with every breath.

"This time, we need to talk, about the four hundred years you stole from us."

ABBY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The underground fight club pulsed with sweat, blood, and money changing hands. You pressed your earpiece, static crackling back at you as you tried to reach Rumi.

"Rumi, do you copy? I lost visual on the target."

Nothing but interference.

Intel had tracked two Saja Boys to this district, Abby and Mystery had split from the main group. Following a thorough discussion, you and the other girls decided to split into duos to ensure greater safety. You and Rumi were supposed to stay together, but the crowds and maze-like underground tunnels had separated you. Now you were alone in the bowels of Seoul's illegal fighting scene.

The roar of the crowd guided you deeper into the complex. Through a doorway marked with graffiti, you found the main arena, a concrete pit surrounded by screaming spectators waving fistfuls of cash.

In the center of the ring stood Abby.

He moved like violence incarnate, all muscle and controlled fury as he circled his opponent. Abby was shirtless, his body a map of scars and fresh bruises, sweat making his skin gleam under the harsh lights.

The expression that you caught on his face made your breath catch. Pure, undiluted joy. He was having the time of his life.

His opponent lunged. Abby sidestepped with fluid grace, then drove his fist into the man's ribs with a wet crack that echoed over the crowd's cheers as the man fell to the ground hard.

"Next!" Abby called out, not even breathing heavily. His grin was sharp enough to cut glass. "Who else wants to dance?"

Three men climbed into the ring together as the crowd grew wild.

You should have taken the shot then, but watching him move was hypnotic. Every punch and dodge was precise and calculated.

Two opponents were quickly taken down, and the third hesitated to swing.

"Come on," Abby taunted, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Don't tell me you're scared now."

The man reluctantly charged. Abby caught him mid-lunge and slammed him into the concrete so hard the ground cracked.

The crowd erupted as money flew. Abby raised his arms in victory, basking in the adoration.

You waited until the chaos died down, until the crowd dispersed and the arena emptied. Abby was collecting his winnings from the promoter when you finally made your move.

"Good fights tonight," you said, stepping out of the shadows.

He went completely still for a second, so brief you almost missed it. Then he turned around with that cocky grin already sliding into place.

"Well, well. What do we have here?" He looked you up and down, but it wasn't the casual appreciation of a stranger. It was recognition wrapped in careful performance. "You don't look like the usual groupies. Too pretty. Too dangerous."

"I'm not a groupie."

"No kidding." He stuffed the money in his back pocket and grabbed his shirt from where he'd thrown it, but didn't put it on. Still showing off, but his movements were more deliberate now, as if he was buying time to think.

"So what are you? Reporter? Cop? Or just someone who likes watching sweaty men beat the hell out of each other?"

"I'm here for you."

His grin widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well, that's direct. Though I gotta say, most people who want me specifically don't usually start with small talk."

The arena was empty now except for the two of you and the lingering smell of violence.

Perfect.

"You're coming with me," you said, hand moving to your weapon.

"Am I?" He stepped closer, and the playful mask slipped just slightly. "And here I was thinking you might be here for something else entirely."

"This isn't a game."

"Everything's a game, sweetheart. The trick is figuring out if we're playing by the same rules." He was circling you now, but it felt less predatory and more like he was trying to get a different angle, trying to see something in your face. "Though I gotta ask, do you even know who I am?"

You drew your blade. His expression shifted, resignation mixed with anticipation.

"There it is," he said quietly, flexing his fingers. "Was wondering when we'd get to this part."

He moved faster than you'd expected, still testing you. Every move of his was calculated, like he was trying to figure out how much you remembered about fighting.

About fighting him specifically.

"Come on," he said, dodging your blade with familiar ease. "I know you're better than this. You always were."

The words slipped out before he could catch them. You saw the moment he realized his mistake, saw him try to cover it with that cocky grin.

"Always were what?" you demanded, pressing your attack.

"Always were too careful," he said, but his voice was strained now. "Stop holding back."

"I'm trying not to kill you."

"How thoughtful." His voice was softer now, almost fond. "Always looking out for everyone else."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, he caught your wrist and pulled you against his chest. For a moment, you were close enough to see the conflict in his eyes.

"Got you," he said, but it sounded more like a prayer than a taunt.

You drove your elbow back into his ribs and spun free. He let you go reluctantly.

"There we go," he said, rubbing his side. "That's more like it."

You came at him again, blade swinging through the air. This time when he grabbed your wrist and twisted until you had to drop the weapon, his grip was careful, like he'd done this exact move with you before.

"How do you know how I fight?" you asked.

The question made him freeze. His grip loosened just enough for you to break free, but instead of reaching for another weapon, you just stared at him.

"Have we met before?" you asked.

All the pretense drained out of his expression at your question, replaced by rawness and desperation.

"Every day for a hundred and twenty three years," he whispered.

"What are you talking about?"

His hands came up to frame your face, thumbs tracing your cheekbones like he was memorizing them all over again.

"You really don't remember," he said, and his voice cracked on the words. "God, I hoped... I thought maybe..."

His touch was so gentle, and his voice was softer now.

"How do you know my name?" you whispered.

"Because I've been saying it every day for over a century." He laughed bitterly "Because it was the last thing you heard before you died."

Images flashed through your mind : rain-soaked streets, a thin boy with kind eyes, the sound of your own scream echoing off alley walls.

You stumbled backward, hand pressed to your temple. "What's happening to me?"

"Hey." He reached for you, movements careful now, gentle. "Hey, it's okay. You're okay."

"I'm not okay. I'm seeing things that aren't real."

"What kind of things?"

"A boy. Someone I loved." The words came out before you could stop them. "Someone who died because of me."

Abby went very still. "How did he die?"

"I don't know. I can't—the memories aren't mine." You looked up at him desperately. "This is crazy. I don't even know you."

"Yes you do." His voice was barely above a whisper. "You do know me. You just can't remember because dying screws with your head."

"I didn't die."

"Yeah, you did." He was close enough to touch now, hands hovering just shy of your skin. "Hundred and twenty three years ago. In an alley. They put a knife in your back while I watched, too weak to do anything about it."

The memories hit like a tsunami : cobblestones slick with rain, rough hands dragging you away from a thin boy who was calling your name, the burn of steel between your ribs.

"Oh god," you whispered.

"I made you a promise," Abby continued, his voice thick with a century's worth of grief. "On your grave. That if I ever got the chance to see you again, I'd be strong enough to protect you."

You looked at him, and saw past the muscle and scars to the boy underneath. The boy who'd loved you. The boy who'd become a monster for the chance to keep you safe.

"You became a demon for me?"

"I became whatever I had to become." His hands finally made contact, cupping your face gently, as if any more pressure might shatter you into a million pieces. "I don't care what that makes me. I care about keeping you alive."

Footsteps echoed from the tunnel behind you. Rumi's voice called out your name, worried.

"Shit," you whispered. "My partner's coming."

Abby's expression hardened instantly, all the vulnerability vanishing behind that familiar cocky mask. "Right. Back to reality."

"Abby, wait—"

"No, it's fine." He stepped back, putting distance between you, but his eyes never left your face. "You've got a job to do. I get it."

"I can't just—"

"What? Kill me? We both know you're not going to do that." He grinned. "So what's the play here, sweetheart? You gonna tell your partner you found me and just... let me walk away?”

The footsteps were getting closer. You had maybe thirty seconds before Rumi found you.

"I don't know," you admitted.

"Well, you better figure it out fast." Despite his words, he wasn't moving towards the exits. He was just standing there, waiting for you to decide his fate again.

"There's another exit through the back," you said quickly. "Behind the equipment room."

His eyebrows shot up. "You're letting me go?"

"I'm giving you a head start."

"Why?"

Because somewhere in your fractured memories, you remembered loving him. Because he'd spent over a century becoming strong enough to protect you, and maybe you could be strong enough to protect him too.

"Because I remember enough," you said simply.

His mask cracked just for a moment. "This isn't over."

"I know."

"I'll find you again."

"I know."

He started towards the back exit, then paused. "Hey, sweetheart?"

"Yeah?"

"Try not to die before I see you again. I'm getting really tired of that particular tragedy."

In a blink of an eye, he was gone, vanishing into the shadows just as Rumi's voice echoed closer.

ROMANCE ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

The rooftop overlooked the glittering chaos of Seoul's entertainment district, where neon signs blazed advertisements for idol groups and concert venues stretched towards the horizon. You crouched behind the air conditioning unit, silver blade steady in your grip as you surveyed the empty space.

Wind carried the distant sound of traffic and late-night revelers, but here, twenty stories above the city's pulse, silence reigned.

"Beautiful view, isn't it?"

You tensed, weapon raised when you heard his voice, achingly familiar despite being impossible to place. It wrapped around your ribs like phantom fingers, squeezing until your chest felt tight with inexplicable longing.

Romance emerged from behind the rooftop access door with fluid grace, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Under the city's electric glow, his features appeared sharp and ethereal, pink hair catching the wind as he regarded you with calm amusement.

"Though I suspect you're not here for sightseeing," he continued, taking measured steps forward. "Hello, hunter."

Your blade remained steady despite the tremor in your voice. "You know what I am."

"Of course I know exactly what you are." His smile held no malice, only a strange sadness that made your throat constrict. "The question is, do you know what I am?"

Without warning, you lunged.

Romance flowed backwards like water, your strike cutting through empty air as he spun away from your advance. He moved with practiced precision, dodging rather than retaliating, speaking in that same measured tone even as you pressed your attack.

"You fight beautifully," he observed, sidestepping another slash. "Trained well. Committed."

You snarled in frustration, spinning to catch him with a backhand strike that he avoided by millimeters. "Shut up and fight back."

"Why would I want to hurt you?"

The question threw off your rhythm, long enough for Romance to close the distance between you. His hand found your wrist with gentle firmness, and your weapon clattered across the concrete.

You struck out with your free hand, but he caught that too, holding both your wrists as you struggled against his grip. His touch burned with unnatural warmth, sending sparks up your arms that had nothing to do with his demonic nature.

"Let me go," you hissed.

"In a moment." Romance's eyes searched your face with desperate intensity. "I need you to see—"

He shifted, a small and bright object tumbled from his pocket, a ring that caught the neon light as it fell. Simple silver band, modest stone, nothing extraordinary except for the way it made your heart stop.

Pain lanced through your chest. Your knees buckled as emotion crashed over you in waves, grief so profound it stole your breath, love so pure it felt like drowning, loss that cut deeper than any blade. You didn't understand where these feelings originated, only that they threatened to tear you apart from the inside.

Romance released you immediately, crouching to retrieve the ring with reverent care. "You feel it too," he whispered.

"I don't—" You stumbled backward, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache pulsed with each heartbeat. "What did you do to me?"

"Nothing. This is yours." He held up the ring, and the sight of it made tears spring to your eyes without explanation. "It was meant for you."

"What—that's impossible."

"You taught me what love felt like, centuries ago." Romance said quietly, his mask of casual amusement finally cracking. "Before you, I was nothing. A shadow in my own house, invisible to parents who saw only disappointment when they looked at me. You were the first person to show me kindness, love me without expecting anything in return."

He cradled the ring like it held his entire world. "I saved for months to buy this. Worked every odd job I could find, skipped meals. I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep."

His confession struck a place you didn’t know could still hurt. Your eyes flickered back to the ring again, breath hitching.

"You fell ill a few weeks before I planned to propose." His voice cracked, centuries of grief pouring through the fractures. "I held your hand for seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay with me."

"Y-You're lying." But your voice had no strength behind it.

"Your last coherent words were asking me to promise I'd love someone else after you were gone. You were so worried about me being alone." Tears tracked down his perfect cheeks, and seeing them made your own eyes burn. "I lied and said yes because I thought it would help you let go peacefully."

The pain in your chest intensified, spreading through your ribs like poison. "That's not—"

"I tried to keep that promise as a human. I spent years searching for someone who could make me feel what you had.” Romance's voice dropped to a whisper. “But no one came close to you.”

"You became a demon because you couldn't move on..."

"I made a pact with Gwi-Ma after years of failing to love anyone else. I became something that could create love, manufacture and distribute it to anyone desperate enough to want it." His smile was self-loathing incarnate. "If I couldn't feel real love, at least I could give others a taste of what you gave me."

"You're feeding on people and hurting them."

"I'm keeping my promise to you." His eyes blazed with centuries of accumulated pain and twisted devotion. "Every heart I touch and every moment of artificial bliss I create is all for you. You asked me to love someone else, and this is the only way I know how."

The logic was twisted, but the raw anguish in his voice made your chest tighten with sympathy you couldn't afford. "You're manipulating innocent people."

"I give them what they desperately need. The feeling of being cherished, desired, worthy of devotion. When the illusion breaks, yes, they're disappointed. But at least they got to experience something transcendent." Romance stood slowly, the ring disappearing back into his coat. "Tell me that's not better than the emptiness they had before."

"It's a love built on lies."

"All love is lies in the end." His smile returned, but it held no warmth. "The difference is I'm honest about the illusion I create."

You backed towards the rooftop edge, every instinct screaming at you to flee. The mission was clear, eliminate the demon. However, your hands shook as you reached for a backup blade, and the pain in your chest made it difficult to breathe. Each word he'd spoken felt like a knife twisting deeper.

"This isn't over," you managed, but the words came out weak.

"I know." Romance made no move to stop you as you retreated. "But I won't fight you anymore. I've caused enough damage to someone I—"

He cut himself off, the unfinished words hung in the air between you.

"Someone you what?" The question escaped before you could stop it.

"Someone I loved more than my own existence." His voice was barely audible above the wind. "Someone I'm still failing, even now."

The words crashed over you like a tidal wave. Ring. Proposal. Seventy two hours. Promise. Death. Demon. Love. The pieces swirled in your mind, too many fragments to assemble together, each one cutting deeper than the last. Your training screamed at you to stay, but your heart couldn't bear another second of his confessions.

You turned and ran.

The fire escape blurred past as you descended, taking stairs three at a time until your legs gave out two floors from the bottom. You collapsed on the landing, gasping for air that wouldn't come, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could physically force back the tears threatening to spill.

His voice echoed in your mind : I practiced the proposal speech until I could recite it in my sleep.

Why did that hurt? You were a hunter trained to kill demons, not sympathize with their tragic backstories.

You forced yourself to continue down the fire escape, your movements mechanical and disconnected.

Seventy two hours straight. I didn't eat or sleep, just sat there begging you to stay.

Your back hit the alley wall and you slid down until you were sitting on the cold concrete, arms wrapped around your knees. Hot tears streamed down your face as you grieved for reasons you couldn't name.

This couldn't have happened before. You would remember dying. You would remember being loved with that kind of desperate devotion. You would remember someone saving money for months to buy you a ring.

...

Wouldn't you?

MYSTERY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

You lean against the Huntrix dorm balcony railing, watching Seoul pulse beneath you like a neon heartbeat. The city sprawls endless and electric, towers of glass catching streetlight, traffic threading through concrete arteries. Behind you, voices clash over mission prep.

"We should split up and handle each demon individually," Rumi insisted. "Pick them off one by one."

"That's suicide," Mira counters. "We stick together, overwhelm them with combined firepower. Safety in numbers."

"Okay, okay!" Zoey jumps between them with enthusiastic gestures. "What if we compromise? Split into pairs? Best of both worlds, right? Right?"

There are weak spots in the Honmoon barrier scattered across Seoul like broken bones. You've memorized their coordinates, trained for this until your muscles know the patterns by heart. So why won't your pulse settle tonight?

The argument behind you fades to background noise as you stare at the skyline.

Suddenly, a soft and delicate melody drifts across the night air.

It felt like a tune you hum when your hands are full of flowers, when you're dizzy with new love. It shouldn't reach you from this height. Seoul's chaos should swallow such fragile notes whole, but the song finds you anyway.

Your breathing stops. You've heard this melody before in dreams that leave you gasping at dawn.

Across the urban maze, movement flickers near a crumbling rooftop. A shadow that doesn't belong.

You don't hesitate one second.

The balcony railing becomes your launching point. Rooftop to rooftop, your feet find purchase on surfaces that shouldn't hold human weight. The melody grows stronger with each leap, pulling you forward like a current.

Seoul blurs beneath you, kaleidoscope light and shadow, lives stacked in vertical towers. You follow the song through this maze, breath controlled, heart pounding against your ribs.

The tune leads you to an abandoned building that time forgot. Dark windows, cracked facade, studio spaces that once housed art but now hold only dust. You slip through a broken skylight, landing silent on debris-covered floors.

The music comes to a stop.

Mystery stands beside a shattered mirror, fingers turning over what looks like an old locket. He doesn't startle when you drop in. Instead, his mouth curves into a smile that holds too many secrets.

"You've always been good at finding me."

Your weapon clears its holster, barrel trained on his chest, and his smile deepens.

Ice floods your veins. Your grip tightens on the weapon. "Who are you?"

He laughs softly, like wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "I would tell you now, but where's the fun in that?"

"This isn't a game." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.

“Are you sure?” He tilts his head, studying you with eyes that hold starlight and shadows. "You followed my song across half the city. Left your friends mid-mission. That sounds like playing to me."

Heat rises in your cheeks. He's right, and you hate that he's right. "Answer me. Why do you know me?"

He steps closer curiously, like he's watching a flower bloom in real time. "You really don't remember, do you?"

"Remember what?"

"All those summer nights when you'd sneak out just to hear me play." His voice drops to a whisper. "The way you'd fall asleep in my arms while I hummed that exact melody."

Your heart stutters. The exact melody that's been haunting your dreams for months. "That's impossible. I would remember—"

"You would remember me, wouldn’t you?" He reaches out, fingers barely grazing your cheek.

You should pull away, you know you should put distance between you and this stranger who claims to know your past. But his touch feels familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

"You haven't changed. Well, except for the blade." His gaze drops to the weapon still trained on him. "You never needed those before."

"Before what? Before when?" Desperation creeps into your voice.

He smiles again, stepping back. "Don't remember me yet. It's more fun this way."

"Fun?" The word explodes from you. "You think this is fun? I'm losing my mind trying to figure out who you are, and you think it's entertaining?"

"I think," he says, moving towards the broken window, "that some things are worth waiting for. Some mysteries are sweeter when they unfold slowly."

Moonlight catches in his dark hair as he pauses at the window's edge. "Besides, you always did love puzzles. You used to spend hours on them when you couldn't sleep."

Another piece of impossible knowledge. Another fragment that feels true but shouldn't exist. "How do you know that?"

"I know lots of things about you." His grin turns wicked. "You bite your lip when you're thinking too hard. You always eat the corners of sandwiches first. You used to trace constellations on my back with your fingertips."

Your weapon wavers. "Stop."

"Why? Does it hurt to remember what you've forgotten?"

"I haven't forgotten anything. I don't even know who you are." But even as you say it, phantom sensations ghost across your fingertips.

"Liar." He says it fondly. "You remember pieces. Little fragments that visit you in dreams. That's why you followed the melody tonight."

He's right again. You hate that he's right again.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says, preparing to slip through the window.

"Wait—" The word tears from your throat. "At least tell me your name."

He pauses, half-silhouetted against the night sky. "You'll remember it when you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready? What if I never remember?"

For a moment, his smile falters. Vulnerability flickers across his features. "You will. You have to."

He turns to leave, but moonlight catches his profile at just the right angle. Your breath hitches. Along his temple, barely visible unless you know what to look for, the faint outline of demonic markings. Intricate patterns that shimmer like oil on water, there one second and gone the next.

Your training kicks in before your heart can catch up. The weapon in your hands shifts, finger finding the trigger. He's a demon. You're a hunter. The math is simple.

His hair shifts slightly, and for just a moment, you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the strands.

"You see it now," he says quietly. "The monster I am.”

Your finger hovers over the trigger. This is what you've trained for. What you've dedicated your life to. But something deep inside you hesitates.

Your hand trembles. The weapon feels impossibly heavy.

"Tomorrow," he says again, stepping towards the window. "When you remember who we were, you'll understand why I can't fight you. Why I'll never fight you."

In the blink of an eye, he's gone, leaving you alone with the echo of his voice, that phantom melody, and the terrible knowledge that you just let a demon walk away.

You land back on the balcony, chest heaving. The sliding door opens before you can compose yourself. Rumi, Mira, and Zoey spill out, eyes wide with panic.

"Where were you?! We've been searching everywhere—"

"Can we go tomorrow instead?" Your voice sounds foreign. "I don't feel great."

They exchange loaded glances. Eventually Rumi nods. "Of course. Rest is part of prep too."

You turn away before they can see the cracks spreading across your composure and witness how your hands shake.

That night, your bed feels like a battleground. The melody plays on repeat behind your closed eyes. Each note carries weight you can't name and memories you can't quite grasp.

The mystery of it all pressed against your mind. What past did you share? Why couldn't you remember?

Mystery himself seemed to revel in the unknowing, content to watch you struggle with fragments of what you'd once been to each other.

BABY ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Something was wrong with your hands.

They'd been trembling since you left the dorm, and no amount of clenching your fists or pressing them against your thighs could make it stop. Rumi's words echoed in your head like a mantra you couldn't shake, "Don't let his face fool you. They're still dangerous demons working for Gwi-Ma nevertheless."

Pictures of the Saja Boys were already circulating online in less than a day. Five demons who'd seemingly appeared overnight, stealing the hearts and souls of your fans.

"Ugh, I’m going to beat their stupid pretty little faces," Zoey had said, tapping the images with her pen. "Seriously, look at them! Acting all mysterious and brooding like they're in some kind of boy band. I mean—they are… but look! The internet's already making fan edits—fan edits! Of demons!" She'd gestured wildly at her tablet, where countless social media posts were flooding in by the minute. "Half the comments are people asking where they can meet them. It's insane!”

You'd barely heard her. Your eyes had been drawn to one face among the five, sharp features that still held traces of boyish softness.

His face had made your chest tighten with recognition, like looking at a stranger who wore the face of someone from a half-remembered dream.

Why did he feel familiar?

The neighbourhood around you was a study in urban decay, half the buildings scheduled for demolition, the other half already hollow shells. You decided to turn a corner and came across an abandoned playground.

You knew this place.

You stopped mid-step at the chain-link gate. The monkey bars where someone had scraped their knee. The slide with the chip in the yellow paint. The bike rack, now empty and listing to one side like a broken rib.

This was from your dreams. Or maybe...

"Didn't expect you to come."

The voice drifted from somewhere behind the playground equipment with an edge that made your hand move instinctively to your weapon. You'd heard that voice before, in fragments that scattered whenever you tried to grasp them.

"Show yourself," you called, stepping through the gate. The metal squealed in protest, the sound echoing off empty buildings like a warning.

He laughed mockingly. "Still giving orders, I see."

He emerged from behind the slide, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the chill of the night. He looked barely out of his teens, with features that still held traces of boyish softness despite the hard set of his jaw.

"You always had a thing for chasing monsters," he said, tilting his head as he studied you with uncomfortable intensity. Those dark eyes flickered, darting away from your face as if looking directly at you caused him physical pain.

"How do you know me?"

Baby shrugged with affected indifference. "Lucky guess."

The way he held himself like he was trying very hard not to care, made anger flare in your chest. "That's not an answer."

He kicked at a piece of broken glass, sending it skittering across the asphalt. "Maybe you're just forgettable."

The casual cruelty in his voice should have stung. You drew your blade, silver gleaming in the late afternoon light.

"Are you going to come quietly, or do we have to do this the hard way?"

Baby looked at the weapon, then back at your face. For a moment, vulnerability flickered across his features before he crushed it down.

"Do what the hard way?" He stepped closer, invading your personal space with reckless confidence. "Fight me? Kill me?" His voice dropped, a hint of intimacy laced inside, bitter amusement threading through each word. "You wouldn't be the first to try."

You raised the blade between you, but instead of stopping, he knocked it aside with casual violence, the metal ringing as it struck the nearby swing set. Before you could recover, he was on you, crowding you back against the chain-link fence with predatory grace.

"I waited for you, you know," he said, one hand braced against the fence beside your head, effectively trapping you. "Stupid thing to do when you're a kid."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. "What?"

His free hand came up to grip your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes. The touch was rough, but not enough to hurt.

"You really don't remember," he said, his laugh sharp enough to cut. "How convenient."

"Remember what?" The desperation in your voice made you flinch, but you couldn't take it back.

"Us." The single word fell between you, sending ripples through memories you couldn't quite grasp. "This place. The promises you made."

You tried to push him away, but he caught your wrists, pinning them against the fence. His grip was careful despite his aggression, strong enough to hold you, gentle enough not to bruise.

"You died," he said, voice flat and matter-of-fact. "And I had to grow up. Happy now?"

The world tilted sideways. Images flashed through your mind like broken film, a boy with tears streaming down his face, small hands clutching yours, a voice promising forever, all turned into ashes now.

"I'll never leave you."

The words rose from deep in your throat. Baby's eyes snapped to yours, wide with… hope, if hope weren't such a dangerous thing for creatures like him to carry.

"You broke your promise first," he whispered, and the accusation send a chill down your spine.

You stumbled when he finally released you, pressing a hand to your chest where the ache was spreading like cracks in ice. Baby stepped back, flexing his fingers, trying to forget the feel of your skin.

"I don't—" You shook your head, struggling to make sense of the fragments flashing through your mind. "I don't understand."

"No," Baby said, his mask completely slipping. "You never did understand. You were always too good for this world."

He kicked your fallen blade across the asphalt, the metal scraping against concrete. "That's why you had to die, isn't it? Pure things don't last in places like this."

The words were bitter, but his voice cracked on the last syllable. He turned away quickly, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Next time we meet, I won't be nice," he said without looking back.

"Please, wait—"

He froze at the sound of your plea, shoulders going rigid. You thought he might turn around. Instead, he let out a short and humourless laugh.

"Begging now? Huh, pathetic."

H walked away, each step deliberate and final. Just as he reached the edge of the playground, he stopped.

"The songs," he said quietly, not turning around. "Those stupid lullabies you used to sing when I had nightmares. I still—"

He cut himself off with a sharp shake of his head.

"Forget it. Forget everything."

He simply walked away down the empty street like any other person with anywhere else to be. You watched until he turned the corner and vanished from sight, leaving you alone with your forgotten blade and the sound of wind through rusted swings.

You picked up your weapon with trembling hands, but the silver felt cold and foreign now, it now felt like it belonged to someone else entirely.

@coriihanniee 💌

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @jungwonbropls @prodkwh @reibelhearts @kjwluvr @arieslucy @permanenceimp @arienic

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pencil-n-pen · 5 months ago

Text

TONGUES AND TEETH

₊˚ʚ 🌲₊˚✧ . °🍂 ೃ࿔*

jackson! joel miller x fem! loner! reader

masterlist | ko-fi

summary: Joel refuses to acknowledge the part of him that aches to be a protector. That is, until you come crashing into his life.

cw: canon-typical violence, reader had a rough go of things before Joel, nightmares, medical inaccuracies (oh the horror!) uhhh reader has a broken nose and it gets set, unspecified age gap, daddy issues but we all saw that coming and it’s vague, as an ellie lover and defender until the day i die, it pains me to say no ellie-au IM SORRY I COULDN’T MAKE IT WORK bella ramsey as ellie they could never make me hate you

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort as always, age gap, nightmare comfort, honestly just two messed up people loving each other

a/n: proof that i will find a way to write an eldest daughter fic for any fandom/universe

not officially writing for him !! just had this idea

another long(ish) fic. if you're here from my masterlist, now would be a good time to go pee, get some water, and maybe a snack or two :) same things for those of you scrolling. i see u

title taken from tongues and teeth by the crane wives (GO LISTEN TO THE CRANE WIVES !!)

✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚🦴⋆｡°✩

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense�� where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

3K notes · View notes

nsharks · 6 months ago

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-two —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 5.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I'm sorry lmaooo nine months... hopefully we can finish this thing!

"Hold him close to your chest, or he'll jump out of your arms. Here—like this."

Blue gently cradles the rabbit, then carefully tucks him into Ari's arms, guiding his hands to scoop under Grim's fluffy rear. She can't help but find it amusing that the boy who had taken her riding on such a large animal yesterday looks so wary holding a harmless bunny. A giggle bubbles up, and she bites her lip to keep it in.

"He's so... squirmy."

Blue keeps her hand on Grim, reassuring both the rabbit and him. "He's just ready for his breakfast. Want to help me feed him?"

"Sure."

Blue leads Ari to the hutch where the other rabbits are. She explains her morning routine, showing him how to supply the rabbits with enough grass, leaves, and berries to keep them healthy and plump. Not long ago, she was explaining this to Twix—the very person she forgot to say good morning to in a rush to find Ari outside. This time around, she wonders if Ari is genuinely interested or just being polite. She finds herself stealing glances at his face, studying his expressions perhaps longer than she should. His almond-shaped eyes and dark pink lips catch her attention.

He's cute.

It's not the first time the thought has crossed her mind since these strangers appeared. Cute like the men in her magazines, though he's not quite a man. Not in the way Ghost is. But he's taller than her by a head and two years older, evident in the notch on his throat and the deeper timbre of his voice.

But it doesn't matter. They are only here for a few days.

Blue closes the hutch and rocks on the soles of her boots. "Well, that was probably boring, huh? We could, um, go hunting if you want. Or to the pond. It's fun to swim there. Or maybe—" She pauses, mentally sifting through the limited activities available, frustration creeping in as none of them seem particularly impressive.

"This wasn't boring. Now I know rabbits are just as friendly as horses." He smiles.

"They are... except when Grim gets mad. Then he can be a bit of a jerk. Like if you accidentally step on his tail."

"I'd be pretty pissed if someone stepped on my tail, too."

"You don't have a tail."

"It's just a joke."

"Oh..." she fidgets with a strand of hair. "Right."

"The pond sounds good. It is fucking hot." Ari blows out a breath and swipes at the back of his neck.

"I know. So hot. Hot as balls."

Ari raises an amused brow. "Yeah, uh, hot as balls. Are you allowed to go by yourself, or do we need to ask your dad?"

"I get to do what I want," she lies easily with a shrug. "Buuuuut, we can ask Twix to go with us."

As long as Twix is with her, she suspects she can get away with not asking Ghost, who luckily is hunting with his old captain. It's not that he seems distrusting with these people as he did those first few months with Twix. Rather—she isn't thrilled about him knowing every little thing she does. She's never had anything just to herself.

Twix is sitting on the porch, looking rather deep in thought as she skins a squirrel. Her hair is long, curtaining her face. When Blue asks if she wants to go to the pond, she agrees easily, claiming she has been meaning to cut her hair anyway with the encroaching warmth of summer. Nereida joins, too.

Even early, the air is sticky, and the pond is cool and inviting. Ari rips his shirt off and jumps in without even a second to waste. Blue usually swims in her underwear and shirt, but she hesitates with her thumb in the belt loops of her jeans. She didn't consider that he would see her in her underwear.

A soft touch to her shoulder. It's Twix. "Want me to grab you shorts real quick?"

"Um... yes. Yes please."

She changes into the shorts behind a tree. There is an odd pit in her stomach when she gets in the water. She doesn't quite know what it is, but it's similar to how she feels when she's scared sometimes. Ghost always tells her fear is a useless thing. It doesn't keep you alive. So she ignores it, shoves it down deep, and swims over to Ari with a purposeful splash that even wets Twix, who sits at the edge sharpening her knife.

"Damn. That's gonna cost you."

A splash is given in return, and then they are playing. High noon bounces shimmering light off the water as she tries to keep up with him, but at one point he sneaks up on her and she ends up with a mouthful. Nereida spends her time picking at some bunches of rosemary and Twix cuts her hair. But Blue doesn't notice any of that too much. When the water stills and they pause to catch their breath, Ari climbs onto a rock and shakes out his wet hair. She is quick to find a perch beside him. Absentmindedly, she pinches the bottom of her wet shirt to keep it from sticking to her chest.

"Woah. What happened here?"

Ari leans over to tap her thigh.

"Oh—" she looks down at the thick scar, "I got shot there."

"Shit. You've been shot before?"

She nods and he moves his hand. "That's your battle scar."

"Battle scar?"

He smiles, eyes gleaming. "It's nice to have some place to swim so close by. Back at our old camp, there was lake but it was a few miles away, so my mom rarely let me go."

"I'm sorry, you know. About your mom. Mine is dead, too."

He half-smiles. "Thanks. I don't think about it too much anymore. My uncle and I have always been close so it helped to have him there." He nudges her shoulder. "You're damn lucky to have such a cool dad, huh?"

"Ghost?"

"Yeah, that guy is a beast. My uncle says they called him Ghost because no one could ever see him coming before suddenly, they were dead."

"Oh, yeah, he is super cool," she quickly agrees. "He has taught me a lot."

"Shit, really?"

Nibbling the inside of her cheek, she shrugs to feign indifference. "I know how to throw knives pretty well."

"I gotta see that." His smirk etches a light dimple into his cheek. Then, his eyes flash behind her. "So what's up with his girlfriend?"

"Huh?" A divot forms between her brows before she follows his gaze, landing on Twix, whose hair is now just past her shoulders. She is wetting it, running her fingers through the newly cut strands. "Oh—Twix. That is not his girlfriend. She is my friend."

"You mean they don't sleep together?"

"Like in the same bed?"

"That's usually where people fuck, yeah."

He seems ready to laugh. She frowns, head tilting as confusion hums in her chest. "You mean like sex?"

He nods. "You know what that is, right?"

"Yeah, of course. I know all about it."

"You know they're probably doing it, right?"

"Ghost and Twix? No—no," she forces a laugh. "I mean, sometimes I catch him staring at her all weird. But I don't think—I mean, they hardly like each other and she is my friend, really, not his. He used to make me stay away from her, even. But I mean, they do spend a lot of time together now. It's usually to practice fighting and defense. Not to have...sex."

"Don't they share a room?"

"Just right now, because you guys are here."

Ari chuckles. "You really think they aren't fucking in there? She's really pretty. There's no way they aren't."

Blue looks back at Twix. Blue's fingers curl into the soaked fabric of her top. Her eyes flick back to him. "She would've told me if they were."

"If you say so."

Your thumb throbs in rhythm with the steady pump of Kyle's arms. Despite pressing it into your palm to dull the pain, the ache persists. You had nicked it while sawing off your hair, and now the taste of blood lingers in your mouth. You were still lapping at the painful pulse when the three men arrived to the pond, carrying a neon orange inflatable raft. They want to test it out on the water before embarking on the 35-kilometer journey across the channel.

It is the third day of their presence and you can honestly say you've grown more comfortable, given that Kyle has gone hunting with you a few times now. He is easy to talk to, along with Nereida. Price—however—doesn't seem intrigued by you, or maybe you are insignificant in comparison to the rest that is on his mind. That's fair. You don't all need to be friends.

They've been spending most of their time gathering food. Ghost has been helping Price hunt deer to skin and dry into jerky they can take with them. Nereida showed you a patch of wild strawberries she found yesterday, boiling them down into jams before canning them. By having food with them, they will save time from having to hunt along the way. In perfect conditions, it would be a straight path, and they could make it to the Swiss mountains within a month or two. But it won't be a straight path, and obstacles are bound to hinder them.

Kyle audibly growls and straightens, wiping at his percolated brow. "This chamber just isn't inflating."

"It must have a hole somewhere. Check the seams," Price says.

Ghost flips the half-filled raft over with ease, running his fingers along the PVC. "Here." He taps what must be a minuscule puncture because you can't see it from where you sit.

They patch it up with the little adhesive they have. The unease is noticeable as Kyle keeps pumping in air; they only have enough to cover a few holes, if they come across more. Finally, the six-person raft is full and they toss it onto the pond. Just the sight gets you thinking of all the variables they have to think of on the open water: the weather, currents, temperature. You had a friend in high school who swam across it once. She didn't get even halfway but having to pulled out, vomiting, and near-hypothermia. Open seawater is different than a pool. Unpredictable and quick to change.

"It seems sturdy." Nereida winds an arm around her husband's waist, pressing a chaste kiss to the underside of his jaw. "Don't worry about it."

"As long as it stays sturdy."

"It will," she assures him.

The cut has crusted over by the time evening settles and you have to will yourself not to pick at it. You find yourself alone with the horse, watching the sun set behind the trees, as everyone else eats.

"You probably don't like being tied up here, huh? You'd rather be running around." The coarse mane engrosses your fingers. Cherry bobs her head and a wet muzzle brushes your elbow. It tickles and you smile softly. "I wonder what will happen to you once they leave," you whisper. "Horses can't fit in a raft, huh?"

"No, they can't."

A hand presses into her neck beside yours, the person's arm extending over your shoulder. You crane your neck at Kyle but his eyes are on the animal, thoughtful, brows lowered. You wet your lips and step to the side to bring more space between your bodies.

"Not hungry either?" you ask.

Finally he looks at you, lips quirked at the side. "Nah. I had a big lunch." He stops petting her and crosses his arms, chin tilting. "Ever ridden a horse before?"

"Once or twice. As a kid."

His eyes almost lean dark green in the cast of orange light, but it must be a mere illusion. "Care to go for a ride?"

His eyebrow rises expectantly. You glance back at the cabin and then at Cherry. "Why not?"

He instructs you how to get on. You grip the knob of the saddle and flex your core, hoisting yourself with more strength than you've had to use in a few days. Kyle sits behind you and grips the reins after untying her. The last time you were on a horse was for a friend's birthday party; you trekked through a ranch on a white pony. Cherry is much taller than that one was, or maybe you're not fond of being so high up. You thread your fingers through her mane.

It is a silent ride at first as you try to ignore the sting on your butt, unused to firm leather seat. He must notice your discomfort because he tells you to relax and lean back. You do, until your spine brushes against his chest. It helps a little.

Cherry trots calmly through the trees, towards the circle of stumps that marks the east.

"Do you think she will be able to take care of herself?" you break the quiet.

"I'm sure she will be fine. Smart girl, huh, Cherry?"

The sun has disappeared but it isn't quite dark yet. "Are you scared?"

A breathy chuckle emits from behind you. He must realize what you are referring to—scared for the journey. "Yeah, always. I mean—I'm scared about Ari. He's the last family I got, and as old as he thinks he is, he's still young and naive. I still have to make choices for him."

"I was terrified of losing Joseph," you admit, and swallow. "He was so young and fragile. It felt like...like trying to keep an egg from cracking when your hands are made of stone. But at least I never had to take him to another country."

"That was your nephew? Joseph?"

You nod.

"Tell me about him."

You rack your brain. "Well, he was seven. And he..." You smile to yourself. "He was the pickiest eater in the world, even when we were all starving. I could not get him to eat meat unless I practically burned it. And he liked to look at bugs. I did, too, when I was young. I used to dig up worms when it rained to show him." He hums a gentle laugh behind you. You find yourself lost in the thought of it for a second. "Sometimes I...I think about how once I die, there will be no one left to remember those little things about him. Then, he will be completely gone, you know?"

You don't know why you're telling him this. You shake your head. "Sorry."

"Don't be. We gotta talk about shit like that or else we'll go crazy."

"I'm pretty sure I'm already crazy."

"Probably." A deer passes to the left and Cherry startles, but he is quick to soothe her with a flick of the reins and a stern—easy. She settles. "Are you scared?" he asks after a moment.

"Of what?"

"Of traveling so far."

"Well, I don't know if Ghost..." you trail off, absorbing the tone of his voice. You stiffen. "Wait, what do you mean?"

"I mean how we're all leaving in a month."

"Wait—stop." You grip his hand over the rein with more force than necessary, urging him to bring Cherry to a halt. You twist your spine and gape at him. "What are you talking about?"

He eyes you with a frown, and rubs his neck. "Shit. I thought he already told you."

"No, he didn't. Tell me," you demand.

He clears his throat. "He, uh, agreed to come this morning, but only if we take another month to prepare and shit. Get his daughter ready, sort things out."

You try not tremble in anger as his words sink in, clenching your hands as your breath picks up. "Take me back," you breathe out, brain racing. "I want to go back now."

The ride back is silent. You feel shaken. Your nail digs deep into the nick on your thumb unthinkingly until there is a smear of blood over your fingers. The others are getting ready for bed when the two of you return, moon bright. You bite your tongue until Ghost leaves to his room, then you follow him, closing the door as gently as you can behind you.

He is halfway through peeling off his socks and stuffing them in his boots when you approach. "What happened to being a man of your word?"

He looks up, resting his palms on his parted knees, looking far too relaxed for your liking.

When he doesn't respond, you add, "You were supposed to tell me. You said you fucking would."

Your voice is low but harsh.

He stands, a calm understanding washing through his eyes. "I was about to tell you."

You throw up your arms but try to stay quiet. "Bullshit. You're just saying that now. You've had all day to tell me."

"I was waiting for the right time."

"You think I can't handle it," you accuse, an ugly snarl on your face. "That I don't deserve to be apart of these conversations even after everything I have done for you, and for her. I saved her life! You get pissed at me for not telling you about stupid things, meanwhile you don't communicate something so important like we are leaving with them in a month to fucking Switzerland. Does Blue know? Or do you keep your own blood in the dark, too?"

He growls quietly and takes hold of your chin, tilting your gaze to his. His touch is firm but far from bruising. "I am not lying to you. I wanted to have a conversation right now, where it could just be us. And no—I haven't told her. How I explain this to my child is not your concern." There is a command in his voice that forces you to calm down some, but your breath is still warm through your nose. He moves his hand to gently thumb a strand of shortened hair off your forehead, staring at it for a second, before gripping your chin again. "There is nothing I think you cannot handle. Now, who told you about this?"

Blotches of red crawl over your cheeks. "It doesn't...it doesn't matter."

He is visibly unsatisfied. He taps his thumb against your chin. "Tell me."

"It was...Kyle," you concede in an exhale. "He assumed I already knew."

His eyes darken. "It wasn't his place to assume."

"He didn't mean to." You reach up to pry his hand off, and he relents, leaving your jaw feeling sore. You rub it. "Why a month?" You try to change the topic.

He takes a deep, steadying breath and looks away, jaw flexing. "She needs time. I want to prepare her for all possible outcomes. I still don't think she is ready, but that doesn't matter. There won't be another opportunity like this in the future. I have to make her ready." He sits down on the edge of the bed and sits his elbows on his thighs, collecting his thoughts before adding, "And the weather is a big factor. Just because we have means to get across the water doesn't mean it will happen safely. The current is most predictable in July and August. We will wait until then."

You mentally sort through everything he is saying, willing yourself not to linger on the fact that you are beyond scared. Scared to leave the place you have finally felt safe in. Scared to clearly be the odd one out again. A tag-along. Everyone else in this group has a loved one looking out for them. You have yourself. You don't know if you have Ghost, really—not when Blue is the one he loves. His allegiance can only go so far.

"Okay," you whisper, more to yourself than to him. "A month, then. What about shelter? The nights will be our most vulnerable."

"We'll look for the safest places for the night. There'd be seven of us, so plenty of eyes to keep watch."

"And what if we run into a horde?"

"Well, we have plenty of ammo now for that." He flicks his eyes up to yours. "Thanks to you."

You nibble your cheek, palming your chest as if to calm your heart.

"A month," he reminds you. "We will account for everything."

"Okay," you say again. There is a tinge of embarrassment over your outburst, but he doesn't seem fazed, as if you hadn't just barged in the room yelling at him. "Okay."

A click of his tongue. "Any more questions?"

"Not...not for now, I guess."

A few silent beats pass. The tension has left the room, leaving you with a wave of fatigue. Ghost must notice because he rises, gesturing to the bed. "Go on, then."

The bed is yours again. Too exhausted to question it, you slip under the quilt, curling into a fetal position by the slanted ceiling. It's best to enjoy the warmth before you're back on the move. A week journeying through the woods was the worst you'd ever endured, barely surviving. Now, it'll be months, or however long it takes to reach the goddamn Swiss mountains.

The light flicks off. There is a groan in the mattress and heady warmth spills over you. Your eyes fly open. "What are you doing?"

"Getting some sleep."

You turn around to see him lying beside you, flat on his back, with his arms crossed behind his head. "Together?"

"Clearly neither of us fancies the floor."

You flush, feeling his firm thigh brush against yours. "Just... keep to your side."

"I'll be a gentleman, if you're worried."

"I'm not," you mumble. "How do you even sleep in that thing, by the way?"

"Like a baby."

"Don't you think it's weird that Kyle has seen you without it and I haven't?"

"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Twix."

"And mental sanity doesn't suit you, Simon."

"Don't recall giving you permission to use that name."

"What, only your old captain gets to use it? How close were the two of you, exactly?"

Teasing him feels better than you're willing to admit.

He grunts. A pillow is thrashed against the side of your face. "Go to sleep."

"Yes, sir," you bite into the pillow.

Your instinct is to flinch closer to the edge, though it is difficult given the small size of the bed and the unnatural size of him. Your knees float off the mattress. Still, his sprawled-out position leaves points of connection. Your back, his elbow. Your feet, his calf. Small touches that do a surprisingly good job at soothing the mess in your brain.

You awake. Warm and rested.

Safe.

Morning light streams in, turning the backs of your eyelids red. Your face nudges forward until your nose brushes against fabric—a shirt. Awareness settles in slowly. Your toes stretch and brush against another set of toes. You realize you’re curled close against someone.

He’s still on his back, his right arm draped across your waist, fingertips resting on your exposed hip. Your breath hitches, and you do your best not to flinch. Your face is nuzzled into his chest, close enough to discern ribs from muscle. His steady breathing and gentle rumbles indicate he’s still asleep. You’re ready to peel yourself away when you notice your leg is on top of his, practically trapping him.

Fuck.

You stay still, devising a plan to extricate yourself without him noticing the position you're in. Then, in one swift motion, you leap up, removing all contact, and breathe hard as if ripped from a nightmare.

His eyes open and he swears. "Jesus. What was that?"

"Just a dream," you lie. "Sorry for waking you."

You jump out of the bed and practically run out before he can say anything; before he can realize how odd it'd be for you to have a dream when you haven't had one since... since staying in his room.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and grip the counter, knuckles whitening in the attempt to erode the feel of his warmth that seems to linger. A lump is forced down your throat as you lean back against the wall and close your eyes for a moment. When they reopen, you look down and lift your shirt, only to find the indent of strong fingertips brandishing your plush hip. Jesus. Your stomach knots and unknots.

"You didn't like that," you whisper to yourself. You brush your thumb over the marks, gently at first, then palming them hard as if to erase them. You drop your shirt and look at the mirror. "You did not like that."

Before someone can stumble upon you talking to yourself, you comb your fingers through tousled strands and slip out. It seems most others are awake. How could you and Ghost have slept so long? Usually, the two of you are up with the sun.

"Hey. Morning," you greet when you spot Blue on the porch, belly down, as she plays checkers with Kyle's nephew. She glances over her shoulder. Something in her bright eyes seems...off, but you can't put your finger on it.

"Hi. Is Ghost up yet?"

"Hm? Oh, uh—not sure. I didn't check, really."

"Okay." She looks back at the game and says nothing else. You feel as though she saw right through you. Or maybe that boy has told her everything. Surely he knows about Ghost's plans? Kyle had to have told him. Maybe that is why Blue seems upset, but like he said, it isn't your place to say anything.

You are itching for a hunt.

It feels urgent, for some reason. Like you want to get out of here before Ghost can be up, too. You find Kyle and he suggests that the two of you take Cherry so you can get go further south where he claims there is a meadow to look for deer. It is difficult to ride with him behind you and a bow on your back, so he wears it for you. You can feel his eyes on the back of your head.

"Awfully quiet this morning. Penny for your thoughts?"

"I talked to him," is what you give. "Last night."

"Ah. How'd that go?"

"It was fine. I mean, I am getting used to the idea."

"That's good. It'll be worth it, you know. Once we get there. Finally get to have a semblance of a normal life."

A normal life. You almost snort at the thought.

The morning grows longer, and not even the haircut can save you from the sweat that gathers. You make it to the meadow after an hour of horseback that leaves your thighs bristling. He helps you down and ties Cherry to a tree. You wade through tall, bright grasses that sway in the humid breeze. It looks vaguely familiar, stirring something in your gut that has your boots frozen for a moment.

Kyle looks back at you, noticing that you've stopped following. "Good?"

"I just—I think I've been here once before. When I was on my own. I came this way." Your eyes scan the surrounding trees, where the meadow feeds into the forest, and an a gnarly oak with distinctive branches catches your eye. "I definitely have been here. I slept in that tree."

You push into the meadow, shaking off the memory. Staying close to Kyle, you listen as he lightly shares memories from the military, careful not to startle any potential deer. He talks about his time in Afghanistan, mentioning that his brother was also there, but at a different base. Kyle didn't even know his brother had died until weeks later because he was out in the field.

"After Afghanistan is when I met Ghost the first time."

"Oh?"

He nods. "He was my lieutenant when I went to Russia. I was scared shitless of him at first. I mean, he had a bit of a reputation and I was only 22."

"He was good at what he did," you say.

"More than that. People said he was up to some shit outside of what he did, but that was just rumors."

You think you spot a streak of gold through the grass, but it is just a stalk of wild wheat. You look back at him. "What do you mean?"

"May have heard a thing or two about him killing a guy off-duty. Of course, unconfirmed, otherwise he wouldn't have been enlisted again."

He killed someone? Like actual murder? You're about to ask more, your mind flashing back to your face pressed against him an hour earlier. Then you spot a deer. Kyle sees it too and motions for you to stay quiet. Your boots are nearly silent as you draw an arrow, squinting to see clearer. There are three deer: an adult female and two fawns. You draw the string and aim for the adult, the easier target.

"I'll get the doe," you whisper.

"Gotcha."

The beady black eyes turn your way, and you hesitate for a moment. There's movement, a flash of grey, and the doe snaps her eyes in another direction. What is she looking at? Your brows furrow, arrow following her gaze, when the answer appears: a Grey launching toward the deer. The three deer run off, and you release the arrow, aiming for the Grey's head instead.

"Motherfucker. Ruined the kill," Kyle mutters.

You weave toward the corpse, surprised to see such a fast one alone, indicating a new infection. The stench is pungent, enveloping you in a thick cloud. You shudder. The Grey writhes, your arrow lodged in its neck instead of its brain. You draw another arrow and aim when a hand suddenly grips your shoulder.

"Twix," Kyle breathes in your ear.

"What?"

You look away from the Grey and follow Kyle's gaze, your eyes widening in horror as you realize the terrible smell isn't from this single creature. It's hundreds. A dark, grey mist that unfurls through the trees. A growing chorus of agony as their tattered bodies collide—some limping, others hurtling forward in a grotesque dance, but all converging on the meadow.

#simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #cod #zombie apocolypse au

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bunnygirllover45 · 7 months ago

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— THE THRILL OF THE HUNT.

♱ TRIGGER WARNINGS: Johann literally hunts down the reader, Small outburst at the end, and a lot of bullshit talk about hunting because I like it, DEAD DOVE. No violence was used.

Synopsis: You escape from Johann, he has to track you down. WORD COUNT: 1.6k

Johann wasn't exactly the thrill-seeking kind. He always preferred a slow-paced life, not filled with many excitements or tragedies. He wasn’t an adventurous spirit or a fiery soul in search of greater meaning. In his head, the only thing he needed was you.

And maybe that’s why this exact moment made his blood boil with newfound rapture, he could swear for a moment his skin bumped at the feeling of his heart throbbing so quickly against his ribcage. The thrill of the hunt, like his father used to say, made mere men become beasts, some because it was vital for their survival, others because of the rush of power it gave them.

But he couldn’t quite understand it until now. For him, hunts weren’t that exciting. The game was always too easy to track down, the footsteps effortlessly concealed. The gun didn’t feel heavy enough. His breath didn’t quicken at the mere chance of letting his prey slip away; he’ll always find a way to reach them again, after all. Animals have their habits; they’re easy to decipher once you know their true nature.

This is the type of hunt he’s been craving for so long. Johann had to press a hand against his mouth to prevent a low chuckle from escaping. Oh, how right his father was. This was truly trilling to the core, the kind of thrill that made a foreign heat rise towards his head and seep into his very brain tissue.

Humans aren’t like animals, their behavior is a little more erratic, animals can be divided between highly intelligent beings and straight-up dumb ones, but humans? All of them had their quirks, you couldn’t easily guess how prepared someone could be under certain circumstances. “Isn’t that so fucking interesting?”

Lowering himself to the ground Johann reached to touch the freshly shaped footstep that his precious prey left behind. If they’re leaving such a pretty trail behind they’re expecting me to find them, what a tease.

“You know what kind of animals roam these types of terrains?” His voice was loud enough to carry its sound through the extremely quiet, when the hunt begins, the forest goes quiet, no need to scream. “Bears, moose, sometimes even wolves. Had to detangle a lot of ‘em from traps before, not without properly securing they won’t be able to bite, ‘course.”

His heavy boots made the rotten wood and debris scattered around the forest soil yield under their weight, no need to change onto more quiet shoes, his bunny wouldn’t be able to hear him coming, surely their heartbeat was the only thing resounding inside their ears. Reaching into his pocket he took out his watch, starting a countdown. “I’ll give you two minutes to gain distance, cover your tracks, you can try hiding if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend staying still, it makes you easier to spot.”

“Once the two minutes are done I’ll begin searching, I'll make a bird calling each 45 seconds, and once three minutes pass by, I’ll stop making bird callings and hunt in earnest, ‘kay? Just want to make the game easier for you, it isn’t fun if I’m the one with the upper hand all the time even if this is my subject.”

With a deep sigh, he crouched down again, his hands fidgeting inside his pocket until he found a cigarette, the last one actually. Grabbing his lighter he lit up the tip, taking a slow inhale before letting the smoke escape from his lips.

His free hand reached to grab the gun he always had with him, it was an old friend of sorts, stuck by his side in all the worst situations, a lot of people meeting their death at the end of this same barrel. Maybe it should have your name, after all, people do name their guns sometimes.

The forest grew more eerily quiet, the sun setting down in the distance while Johann quietly awaited the starting gunshot of the race, he didn’t really need to put the time on his watch, he could already count the time down to the millisecond inside his head. “Forty-eight, forty-nine…” His gloved fingers tapped against his lips, hands tightly clad in leather gloves, perfect for the harsh Austrian winter.

A part of him wished you didn’t even make the effort to run away, maybe finding you curled up against a rock or a tree just waiting for him to find you was more exciting than actually pursuing you, after all, that meant you truly gave up on the idea of leaving him behind—still, another part of his brain screamed for you to run, so he could find you and make sure you won’t try pulling up bullshit like this again.

Slowly he stood up, the watch making a low beeping sound before he began to walk, settling the gun back onto the strap around his thigh. Holding the cigarette in between his lips he began to prepare the clothes you were going to use once he caught you, after all, little you decided to escape both barefoot and barely dressed, the worst thing in this forest beside him was the cold. Holding the spare jacket he always brought with him inside his bag and a blanket he continued to walk nonchalantly, not even sparing a single stare in any direction that wasn’t just dead front and center.

Johann's stare drifted onto the floor, a little disappointed that you didn’t take his recommendation into account, there, clear as day, were your pretty little marks for him to follow like a bloodhound. Johann even took the time to carefully make sure he didn’t accidentally step into any of them, not wanting to overshadow the loving tracks you left behind for him with his heavy boots.

He knew very well he was taking all of this too lightly, this was a high gamble where he could lose everything or gain all, but still the elated sense of happiness and bubbling excitement made him more self-confident, too sure you wouldn’t get away too far, and even if you did, he’d stay in the damn forest all the time necessary for you to realize you need to go back onto his loving arms.

Stopping dead in his tracks he turned around as he heard a small sound coming from behind a fallen stump, dead bark peeling off the tree’s corpse. There you are.

And there you were indeed, curled up in a ball, back pressing against the rough bark as you held your arms around your torso, bracing yourself from the harsh winter cold, from the shiver that ran down your shoulders towards your legs or the sight you so pathetically defenseless made him smile, a blush creeping up onto his features.

“You didn’t even run far enough to let me do any bird calls, are you that tired, baby?” He kneeled down in front of you, but as soon as you jolted up in surprise Johann’s hand shot to grab your wrist with unnerving quickness. His dark eyes bore into you, a small smile gracing his lips, but there was no emotion behind that expression of his. “That’s okay, next time I’ll give you some proper equipment, some shoes wouldn’t hurt.”

His thumb caressed the skin of your wrist, while his other hand threw away the now almost half-smoked cigarette that Johann held in between his lips. Eventually he reached to grab your head in between them, rubbing your cheeks with such tenderness that it could be even soothing in a different situation. “There, you did good. Not good enough to grant you a reward, but you did have me a little scared back there.” His smile widened as he lied through his teeth. You frowned, tired, freezing cold and also breathless, but still with enough energy to try and pry his hand away from your wrist, it was useless, he was latched onto you like a handcuff. “Fuck yo—” Before you could even finish he reached to clasp his free hand onto your mouth, the sudden movement making you stumble backward, head pressing against the tree. “Fuckin’ language.” He whispered between his teeth, staring at you dead in the eyes. “You should be grateful I didn’t put a damn bullet in between those pretty eyes of yours. Runnin’ away from me like that? After all I did for you? I let you away from my sight for just a second and you go jolting away like a fucking rabbit.”

Taking a deep breath he lowered his head, slowly pushing his hand away from your mouth, his face leaning closer to you, the only warm feeling gracing your warm body being his hot breath against your face. “Sorry ‘bout that.” He pushed your lower lip with his thumb, pressing a soft kiss onto your flesh as some sick and twisted kind of apology.

“I won’t be as lenient next time, ‘kay? You know I care about you a lot, meine Liebe, don’t want you getting hurt.” He forced a smile, leaning his forehead against yours, but again his voice was masked by the thumping sound of your heart against your ears. “Let’s get you back to the car, I’ll get you all warmed up and cozy.”

You just let him grab you, his hands effortlessly grabbing you and carrying you bridal style as both of you made your way back toward the car, you stole a few glances at Johann’s face, finding a small smile and that darn blush in his cheeks that showed how much he enjoyed himself, maybe a twisted part of him was truly pleased by all of this, even if it just started as a rebellious act of trying to escape from your part.

“Hear that? It’s a White-tailed eagle. Birds of prey, always hunted them with my father as a child.” Suddenly the forest wasn’t so quiet anymore, the hunt has ended.

#ah yes #is that #“the author's thinly veiled fetishes“ moment #anyways hope u guys don't mind me nerding about hunting...#male yandere #yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #chrona... writes stuff?#johann the bastard

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faestunna · 13 days ago

Text

giver (no woman like you)

PAIRING: roy goode x fem!reader

WC: 8.2k

WARNINGS: mentions of parental issues, male violence, misogyny, guns/weapons, sexual insinuation, hunting/killing animals (for food), reader is stubborn and unaware, death, violence (shooting), drinking, pining/yearning, use of ‘whore’ for prostitute, unprotected sex (p in v), fingering, bath/shower sex, dirty talk, praise kink, riding (girl on top), nipple play, creampie, cute cuddling

A/N: well…this is it, everybody. big thank you to @spikedfearn for a discussion on how roy’s praise kink, @amaranthine-enihtnarama, @iceemochaa, @remmicks-salvation for the motivation to write, @fuckoffbard for literally everything, @confetti-cakemix and my lovelyyyy wifey @eternalstrigoii for beta reading! this fic is based off of this request, so thank you anon 😌 roy goode is my no. 1 jack role so this is long overdue! this takes place before godless, so no need to watch/know the show. please enjoy!

masterlist

You had a habit of finding yourself in places where you didn't belong. As a child, it was your father grabbing you by the back of your frock after he found you wandering near the library. "Girls don't need to concern themselves with books," he'd said. Didn't stop you from reading almost every one of them.

It was back in Courthill when he caught you watching the deputy's target practice.

“You should be courting the boys, not shooting at ‘em.”

So, it was no surprise that you found yourself as another lonely wanderer through the vast Western frontier. You’d slipped out the back door of his farmhouse that had never been a home. And considering there hadn’t been a single sign of a search for you in the past five years, clearly, you weren’t missed. Maybe you’d been presumed dead.

It was no matter to you now. Courthill was long behind you, and living on your own as a young woman in the West had taught you more than your father ever had.

You’d done bad things, but no worse than any man. You’d killed, but no more than a woman’s survival called for.

Now, as you found yourself wandering in some forsaken town during the hottest month of the summer, you couldn’t help but remember your father’s words. There was no telling if you were even in Texas anymore. Your only possessions consisted of a sack swung over your shoulder carrying spare clothes and a canteen.

The scorched dirt crunched underneath your boots. This town wasn’t yours and you weren’t about to stroll around it like it was, but no matter how low you held your head, you felt the glare of cautious, watchful eyes.

It wasn’t everyday someone would see an alluring woman like you dressed in her father’s trousers—a few sizes too big—boots that were stuffed at the toe to fit, and a gambler hat faded by the sun. The most noticeable accessory was the silver pistol on your belt. But it wasn’t the stolen clothes that gave it away.

It was your hair. Uncut and hanging just above your waist. And the fact you hadn’t made an attempt to hide it under your hat showed you weren’t trying to be someone you weren’t.

You were just another runaway.

There were whispers, none of which you could make out, but enough to know you weren’t exactly welcome in this place.

You had to leave. Soon. But the next civilization wasn’t for another eight miles—too far to go on foot in this heat.

“Who is that?” A young boy asked his mother; she shushed him, and turned him away.

Like the sight of you was a walking sin.

The rim of your hat hid your eyes as you walked past them. A sharp turn to your right led you to another street lined with wooden buildings bent from the Western wind. This road was quieter and emptier; you preferred it that way.

Then, like a miracle, you heard the sound of a deep, throaty snort. Your gaze shifted to an alley between a small house and the telegraph office where a hitching post stood in the dirt. Tied to it was a black mare, standing strong despite the sun beaming down on her.

Bullseye.

You were careful not to make any sudden sounds as you approached the post. She shifted her weight, head hung low just like yours as steam faintly curled from her nostrils.

“Easy, girl,” you hold your hand out gently.

On her back was a worn leather saddle and two sacks hung over her hips. Braided reins wrapped around her snout. This one belonged to someone, and as a stranger to this town, you had no place in taking her.

A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do, you thought to yourself.

Once you were close enough, you set your hand on her cheek, gently rubbing the soft fur with your thumb. “Long day?” You half-cooed, scratching underneath her chin. The mare snorted in response.

Looking over your shoulder to see that no one had noticed you yet, you began to sort through the sacks. An empty canteen. A couple of golden, shotgun shells. A stale, half-eaten piece of bread wrapped in cloth. A handful of silver dollars. You took the money, but everything else was nothing of value to you. You threw the sacks to the ground so the dust floated in the air like a cloudy sky you hadn’t seen in days. A bead of sweat dripped down your cheek as you hurriedly tied your own bag to the saddle, moving to undo the knot around the hitching post.

If your heart hadn’t been beating so hard that you could feel it in your eardrums, you might’ve heard the quiet footsteps behind you.

“Afternoon, ma’am,” a low, gentle voice called out to you.

You almost gasped, your fingers still fumbling with the reins. Turning on the heel of your boot, you noticed the figure at the end of the alley.

A man dressed in black half-smiled at you.

“Afternoon, sir.”

“Is there, uh,” he began to slowly approach you, and you readied yourself to pull the gun from your side. “something I can help you with?”

Perhaps he was just a kind man looking to help a random woman in trouble. But you didn’t plan on finding out.

“Oh, not at all,” you smiled warmly. “Thank you.”

You finished untying the knot of the reins, quick to get out of this town as soon as possible.

But before you could secure it in your hand, the man behind you clicked his tongue against his teeth. In almost an instant, the mare rushed to him, the reins slipping from your hands with a burning sensation. You hissed at the feeling and immediately pulled the pistol from your hip.

The horse stopped by his side. The man looked over to see your gun pointed directly at his chest. Aimed for his heart.

Roy Goode had met a lot of strange people in his life. He’d been to a lot of strange places, and never had he met such a woman like you—standing in your stolen boots and holding your pistol at him; you could take his life in an instant, and he doesn’t doubt it. He takes the reins in his hands and twists it around his palm.

“Thieves don’t do too well here,” he said, though it didn’t feel like a threat.

Dust swirls in the space between you. “I didn’t know it was yours,” there’s an edge of defensiveness and even shame to your voice. “I’ve stolen worse from worse men.”

There’s a ghost of a smirk on his face. The man studies you for a moment and nods once. “That why you’re out here alone?”

If you had thought of something clever enough to say, you would’ve, but your mind draws a blank. You’re fixated on the pair of blue eyes watching you. Without noticing, you’ve lowered your weapon to your hips already.

“What’s your name?”

You glared at him for a moment. “And why should I tell you?”

He smiles. “It’d be kind, at the very least. Wanna know who I’m talking to.”

“(y/n). (l/n).”

The man nods. “Well, Miss (l/n), horses aren’t just toys to be stolen,” he says, gently petting the mare’s chin and running his fingers through her mane. “You want something that runs, you earn it.”

“And how would I do that?” You tilt your head.

The man mounts the horse with an impressive ease. He settles into the saddle like he’d been doing it his entire life. Now, the tilted smirk on his face widens. “Don’t suppose you’re any good with a rifle?”

You glance off in the distance for only a second.

You could bolt off right there and then. It’d probably earn you a bullet in the leg, but you were quicker than you looked.

Most men in the West would have shot you on the spot for messing with what was theirs. Not this one. You clicked your teeth at the realization that your options were severely outweighed.

Any good with a rifle? “Good enough.”

Whoever this man was, he wasn’t completely with the law.

Yet, he didn’t seem to think himself above it. You nearly objected when he paid a rancher on the outskirts of town for a horse, saddle and all, but who were you to deny a gift? Besides, it had a lovely chestnut coat that you admired.

The town was far behind you as you slowed the horses’ galloping to a gentle stroll beside one another. To anyone who didn’t already know you, the two of you actually made quite a nice-looking pair.

Canyon walls surrounding you stood tall, practically glowing a golden rust in the late afternoon sun. Gravel and dirt crunched underneath the horse hooves; small songbirds gently chirped off in the distance; the dry air whistled a tune. The sweet music of the West.

Neither of you spoke much.

There was a polite “thank you” for the horse and a brief conversation about sunburn, but other than that, you were complete strangers. Perhaps it was a way of leaving the scenery undisturbed, or maybe it was that you didn’t have anything to say until one of you was sick of the silence.

Fortunately, he gave in first. “So what’s a young lady such as yourself doin’ in these parts?”

“I’m not a lady,” You had no qualms against this man, but a part of you scowled at him. It wasn’t the first time someone thought they’d figured you out because of what was between your legs. “And I’m from Courthill. Texas.”

He whistled. “You’re a long way from home.”

“How long?”

“About two weeks that way.” He pointed to the left.

For the past few days, you wouldn’t have been able to pinpoint your location on a map if it was laid out in front of you. It was odd to think that home—a place you never wanted to see again—was so close yet so far.

He spoke again. “I don’t suppose you made the whole journey by foot.”

You scowled, turning your head so he wouldn’t notice it. As of now, he’d only shown you kindness. You couldn’t shake the stubborn, defensive barrier that came with being a woman on her own.

“I had a horse,” you shifted the reins in your hands to avoid a large rock in the path. “Couldn’t keep it fed, so I sold it to a woman who could. A Miss Alice Fletcher.”

A brief silence settled between you before he broke it.

“Surely, there’re ways for a- uh, woman to, uh,” he cut himself off, gently stumbling on his words. You knew damn well what he was going to say. “You know…”

“Do I look like a prostitute to you?”

If your hair had been tied up, or you’d worn a thicker jacket to cover up the curve of your chest, Roy would’ve fairly assumed you were a thieving, conniving, worn-down man like him. But you weren’t. And he enjoyed seeing you in pants rather than a skirt. He didn’t even try to picture the latter.

There was dirt on your cheek. Mud smudged over the knees of your slacks. A small, red scar on your collar bone.

“No, ma’am.”

Good. That’s that. But he spoke again, just above a mumble like it was only meant for himself.

“You’d make good money as one.”

You sighed. A spiteful grin on your face. “So, would you.” It was meant to be offensive, something degrading and sarcastic. He hardly took it as one.

“Why, thank you.” He perked. You shook your head at your lame insult.

Then, he motioned to the hat on your head and the boots on your feet. “So I’m guessin’ those ain’t yours?”

Well, you’d hoped it wasn’t noticeable that they were a size too big. Your eyes trailed across the scenery, an embarrassingly obvious way of forming a quick lie. “A farmer from Oklahoma gave them to me.”

Of course, he saw right through it. “That don’t look like a farmer’s hat to me.”

“I didn’t realize I was being interrogated.”

“You did try to steal my horse.”

Touché, unfortunately. Without a moment to spare—because you really didn’t feel like opening yourself up to this man—you changed the subject. “Why’d you bring me along?”

He cocked his head. “Is it my turn now?”

You ignored the smirk on his face.

With a shrug, he continued, “There’s a man I’m lookin’ for, lives down in Tucson.” That nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. You pulled back on the reins and he turned at your sudden halt in the path. “Somethin’ wrong?”

“I don’t even know who the hell you are,” you sighed. It might’ve been better to speak a little quieter in a valley where anyone could be hidden, but you weren’t exactly aiming for security. “Look, I appreciate the horse, and I’m sure it’s a lovely ride to Tucson. This has been fun and all, but I’ve got other matters to deal with. You can’t even tell me the man’s name and I’m supposed to shoot him down for you?”

He didn’t necessarily smile at you; his lips only tilted slightly. It was his eyes that looked amused at your sudden burst.

The world you lived in wasn’t kind to women who used their mouths. You’d learned that the hard way from your father first. There were plenty of men down the line who’d shown you as well, mostly with their fist to your cheek. You weren’t wrong to feel angry or misled, but you hadn’t meant to raise your voice with a stranger.

Maybe he’d shoot you right there. Leave you for dead in the middle of nowhere.

But there was no firm slap across your face nor the ringing of a gun piercing a bullet in your side.

Just the surprisingly gentle tone of his voice.

“Now, that’s a mighty fine stallion, so you’re welcome for the horse. And yes, it is a lovely ride to Tucson. I think you’ll enjoy it. I wouldn’t say this has been fun—is this what you consider fun?” You scowled. “But I enjoy the company. And seein’ that you’ve made no attempt to outrun or rob me—again—I don’t think you do have other matters to attend to.

“The man’s name is Les Moore. He’s a banker-turned-bandit. We’ve got unfinished business I don’t plan on disclosin’, but I do plan on shooting him myself. I simply need someone to watch my back. And my name is Roy.”

He paused again, but this time, it left a noticeable weight in the air.

“Roy Goode.”

You knew that name. There wasn’t a soul throughout the West that didn’t know that name. You’d heard it in folktales and stories around campfires, seen it written in thick, blank ink on wanted posters across a hundred different towns.

Even further, you knew that the man it belonged to had a certain friend you didn’t want any association with.

“If you’d like to go your own way, be my guest.” He continued. “But you don’t seem to know these parts and a lot of men stronger than you have died here. It’s up to you…ma’am.”

A long silence followed.

Your teeth dig into the inside of your cheek because, deep down, you know he’s right. And you hate being wrong. The two of you stood still in the middle of the canyon. Even your horse sighed with impatience, but Roy kindly awaited your response.

“Fuck,” you said under your breath.

Then loud enough for Roy to hear, “Fine. But know this, Roy Goode,” You clicked your heels against the stallion’s belly. “Ain’t no man in the West who’s stronger than me.”

Not a single bone in Roy’s body doubted it.

“Careful, now.”

You clenched your jaw so visibly that Roy could see you were in no need of his advice. The rifle rested so comfortably in your hands, he had to wonder how many times you’d done this.

“I know how to shoot, Goode.”

“I believe you,” He dryly chuckled. “So take the shot.”

He had a point. It only pissed you off more. You shifted quietly enough that the small, dirt-colored rabbit off in the distance never noticed your presence. At this point, it would’ve been Roy’s voice that gave it away.

“Shut up,” you hissed.

With your left eye squeezed shut, you focused your sight on the rabbit. Not even your heart could beat hard enough to throw off your aim, but a gentle breeze blew a strand of hair into your face and ruined your line of vision.

“Let me do it,” Roy moved to take the pistol from his side before a shot rang from beside him.

The rabbit dropped to the ground with a gentle thud.

You grinned at your new partner in crime. “You were saying?”

An hour passed before the sun sat low in the sky, just above the line of the land, casting a golden hue across your surroundings. The rest of the sky was somehow an inky shade of black, illuminated with more stars than you’d ever seen in your life. Strange you thought to yourself. Embers from the small fire Roy had started with spare branches and weeds floated above you, glistening amongst the stars.

He watched you take the blade hidden in your belt, dragging it against the rabbit’s fur and pulling its skin from the meat. The women he knew would’ve gagged at the sight of blood or ran at the simple thought of killing an innocent animal.

But not you.

“Now, where’d you learn to do that?”

You chuckled, a faint smile coming to your face, at a memory. “I can’t go givin’ you all my secrets.”

There was something about you that knew survival. It was gritty and dark, and though he would never admit it, Roy ached to know more.

He hung the meat above the flames on a spit, gently twirling it so the skin had an even, roasted color all over. Your mouth watered at the sight of it. Once it was ready, the two of you ravaged it with desperate fingers like starving wolves. It was, in no way, a good meal. Dry and flavorless, and split between the two of you, one rabbit was hardly enough. But it was the first time in days that your stomach had been able to settle over anything.

“I lived off of lizards for a time,” Roy said once there were only bones left. The two of you wore soft, tired smiles that came with good food and good company. You’d licked your fingers clean and now used your leather sack as a make-shift pillow. “Can’t shoot the fuckers. I had to chase after them with a blade.”

You laughed softly. Roy enjoyed the way a smile—not a flashy, pretty one put on to appease the men around you, but a distant, reminiscent one—looked on you.

“I’ve been there. I was near Mexico when all I had were tree leaves and cactus meat. Boiled it with river water.” Roy hummed a chuckle. The horses, tied to a withered tree, shuffled nearby. You glanced over your shoulder at them. “I like to think they’re talking to each other.”

“They are,” he said, throwing the last of the bones into the dirt. “June’s got a lot of stories to tell him.”

For a brief moment, you thought it odd that he referred to the horses like they were the same as him—or that he was one of them.

You arched a brow, “You named her June?”

Roy could see that you were amused. “Thought it was pretty.” He almost shrugged.

You hummed in fairness. Glancing back at your horse, you realized it didn’t feel right to leave him nameless. And despite Roy having bought it, the stallion was yours. “Johnny.” You said plainly.

“Come again?”

“I’ll name him Johnny.”

Now you were talking like you were one of them too.

Roy wondered then who Johnny was to you. Or maybe it was someone from a past life. He gazed at the remains of the fire before glancing over at you.

Maybe it was the gentle light in the vast darkness, but there was a newfound softness in your face. He could see the tiniest of imperfections—small scars won in battle, a minuscule bump on your chin—of which most women would cover with powder.

But not you.

He’d seen beautiful women before. Plenty of them. And here you were, resting near the flickering fire and under the iridescent moonlight, forcing him to question if he’d ever really understood beauty before he saw you.

“Johnny and June.” He said out loud in thought.

You met his eyes, unaware of how long he’d been looking at you. “It has a nice ring.”

Roy nodded. “That it does.”

Three days of riding had taken the two of you to a small town called Tombstone, just a day’s journey to Tucson. Roy’s name was known around here, but, thankfully, his face wasn’t.

With a pair of crinkled, ten-dollar bills, he reserved two separate rooms in a lodging above the general store. As he paid, the clerk didn’t miss her chance to shoot a half-confused, half-cautious glare your way. “Each room’s got a tub,” she noted, motioning to the smudged dirt on your cheek.

You gave her a tight smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”

Roy handed you a key and kept one for himself as the two of you scaled the stairs to the second floor. “Hungry at all?”

“You got the money for dinner?”

He shrugged, “Enough for more than rabbits and lizards.” You reached a long hallway. He pointed to the second to last door marked with a 6. “I think that’s your room there.”

“This says four,” you read the engraved number on the key. The correct door was only two away. Roy only hesitantly chuckled to himself. You glanced at his key, “And you’re three.”

“Right,” he said, awkwardly but gratefully nodding. He seemed to know numbers well enough when it came to money.

Without saying more, you started to fumble with the keyhole of your door. The lock clicked open before Roy spoke again. “There’s a saloon on the corner. Meet me there a little after the sun sets? Give you some time to rest up.”

You were surprised to instantly nod at his request. “Sure,” you smiled before you went your separate ways.

The room wasn’t much by anyone else’s standards, but it was more than you’d seen in weeks. A wire-framed bed with two quilts and an oil lamp sat to your right; a wardrobe for clothes you didn’t have stood tall in the corner. A metal basin in the other one. The windows were adorned with dusty lace curtains that filtered the sunlight into the room.

You locked the door behind you and tossed the sack on the ground, immediately collapsing onto the bed. The springs squeaked underneath your body, but the mattress was comfortable enough.

Better than rocks and dirt.

Before you let your eyes close, you watched the ceiling, noticing the slight cracks in it. They began to form a shape, soon morphing into a familiar face. Blue eyes that always seemed to gaze at you when you weren’t looking. A pair of soft lips that hardly ever smiled, but on the canvas of the ceiling, they did.

You laid on your side and forced your eyes shut.

But even in the darkness of your mind, a place of purgatory between dreams and wake, you saw him.

When you woke, you swore you could feel something grazing your arm. But you turned over to see that you were still alone in the room. The sweet, golden light of day was gone now, replaced by the ghostly, glowing moon. A gentle hue of purple sat over the horizon.

It hadn’t been dark for long. You thought this while mentally praying you hadn’t kept Roy waiting too long.

You hurried to grab your hat and leave the room, rushing down the stairs and out the door. Just as he’d said, a saloon stood tall on the corner of the street. A few men grouped together with smoke curling from their mouths watched as you approached the entrance.

“Evening…ma’am,” they said hesitantly at your appearance. You only nodded.

With one step into the bar, you seemed to catch the attention of nearly everyone inside. You noticed then that there didn’t appear to be a single woman. Even the man at the piano stopped playing his song, only missing a beat before starting again.

Silence. Your boots clicked against the wood floor.

You glanced around the room for your traveling companion before a man with a thick beard approached you. His broad frame seemed to block you from entering further.

“Ma’am.” He grinned, revealing yellow teeth and two silver caps. His eyes drifted up and down your figure. “I think you may be in the wrong place. Sally’s cafe down the street doesn’t close for another hour.”

You tightly smiled back. “I assure you, sir, I’m in the right spot.”

You began to move forward again before his firm hand pressed itself over your stomach. The contact, unexpected and unwelcome, made you suddenly feel trapped.

“Good men don’t go puttin’ their hands on young women,” a voice said from behind you.

The man slowly dropped both his hand and his grin. You turned to see Roy standing just as he had back in that alley. He offered you a small smile.

“You with him?” The man sneered, glancing back and forth between you and Roy trying to discern the dynamic. You shook your head.

“He’s with me.”

As the man backed away, retreating to his spot at the bar with his friends, Roy’s footsteps halted at your side. He pulled out a chair from a table nearby and held his hand out like a gentleman. You kindly took the seat.

Roy sat across from you, placing his hat on the table. “Two whiskeys,” he ordered once a server came by. “What’s your finest meal?”

“I’ve got a beef and bean stew.” The server offered.

“Two of those,” you smiled. He turned away, leaving just you and Roy alone again.

And despite the other men in the room cautiously eyeing you, not a single soul seemed to exist then. The server returned with two glasses of whiskey before the bar guests called him back over.

“That happen anytime you go somewhere?” Roy asked with the whiskey at his lips.

You twirled your glass, careful not to spill a single drop. “For the most part,” you shrugged, though you don’t appear to be at all fazed from the gentle smile you wore. There was a distant, amused gleam in your eyes where Roy could see a thousand thoughts running in your mind.

“I don’t need saving, you should know,” you added a little quieter.

Roy wasn’t offended. Not at the very least, but he thought it odd that you hadn’t fully appreciated his incursion. Now that he considered it more, he would’ve liked to see you handle yourself.

“Well, I respect that,” he said. You nodded in gratitude and he blinked.

“You’re a respectable woman, Miss (l/n).”

Your body froze as whiskey hit your throat like flames. “What makes you say that?”

He gave a small shrug. “There aren’t many women out in the West who carry themselves with…strength.” He held his hand up defensively and chuckled. “I mean no offense, I think all women are respectable. More than any man, that’s for sure. Hell, my mother died when I was young, but I knew she was formidable.”

You knew that kind of pain. Your heart clenched, but your expression didn’t change.

“I guess, you somewhat remind me of that about her.”

You’d been complimented before, much more in regards to your looks, but there were many who’d commended your skills with a pistol or aptitude for words. No one had gone so far as to say you were formidable.

And deep down, you’d always considered yourself so.

But it was different to finally hear it from someone else. Someone other than your mind who could see you for what you were.

You knew you were strong. And Roy Goode knew it too.

“My mother died when I was young, as well,” you added. “Don’t remember her much, and my father didn’t like to talk about it.”

He studied you for a good moment. Then, knowingly, “You ran away?”

“As soon as I was eighteen,” you hummed. “Should’ve done it sooner. Woulda saved me a lot of trouble.”

The subject of parents was a risky place to go with someone like Roy Goode, but there wasn’t a bone in your body that was afraid of it. “What about you,” you amused. “Mama died and you come across Frank Griffin?”

His eyes snapped up to yours like a threat, but you weren’t afraid of him. At all.

“Everyone knows who Frank Griffin is,” you downed the rest of your drink. A little more would go to your head soon. “I’m not stupid.”

Then, Roy’s eyes softened.

“You can read,” was all he said.

“What?” Did he even hear you?

Roy quickly caught himself and shook his head. “Nothin’.”

The server returned to the side of the table and refilled your glasses. Once he was out of earshot, Roy rested his elbows on the table. “I met Frank when I was younger. He and his brother saved my life.”

You arched a brow. “Frank Griffin saved your life?”

“Careful, ma’am,” he finished his second glass in one gulp. “Don’t go sayin’ his name too many times, or you’ll summon someone worse than the devil.”

“Guess he can’t be too bad if you’re with him.”

Although you expected Roy to chuckle, or at the very least smile, at your comment, he didn’t. He instead thickly swallowed as if he’d suddenly gone nervous. You could see his knuckles tense.

It was maybe a miracle when the server then arrived with two steaming bowls of stew. The smell that it emanated was that of bitter salt and old potatoes, but as you dragged your spoon in it, it looked fine enough to consume. The two of you hesitantly and simultaneously took one mouthful before furrowing your brows in thought.

After a moment, you set the spoon down and shook your head.

Roy’s lips curled in disgust. “I think I almost prefer the rabbits and lizards.”

You instantly broke out into a synchronous chuckle, one that almost made your smiles reach your eyes. He tried to take another bite before swearing it was poison. A few other guests at the bar sent some questionable glares your way—your laughter was nearly louder than the piano.

But the two of you could hardly notice anyone else when you had the other right across the table.

It was surely late enough to retire back to your rooms by the time you’d finished at the saloon, but the combination of your earlier rest and the whiskey running through your veins left you both awake.

The street lamps had been lit as the two of you strolled down the side, passing by the few townspeople who’d decided to enjoy the pleasant evening air.

For the first time in a while, it wasn’t blistering hot, even with the moon in the sky.

Your conversation from dinner hadn’t ended for a single moment during your walk. “You’re some kind of horse whisperer, then?” You asked after Roy had told you he ‘understood them’.

“Maybe I am,” he chuckled, hands lazily in his pockets. “Maybe we share the same kind of brain. I can hear them.”

You shook your head with a grin, the whiskey still hot in veins. “You’re something else,” you mumble. “You got June well-trained, I’ll say that.”

But Roy tutted. “It’s not ‘trained’—your first mistake.” You nodded for him to continue. “I respect her and she respects me. It’s a relationship.”

“She respects you?” You asked in amused disbelief.

He hummed. “It’s a balance, like an exchange.”

Though you can still sense the humor in your voice, you momentarily ponder that what Roy said was deeply beautiful. You’d never given it much thought, but riding a horse was much more than mounting it and yelling at it until it went.

Roy had a profound tenacity for kindness that you hadn’t encountered in very many, if not any, men. In a way, it puzzled you. He was a complicated, tangled string that became a fascinating image in all of its knots. You were vexed by it just like the constellations in the sky as the two of you gazed up at the end of the road.

“I do hope Heaven is real,” you say out loud. You didn’t actually mean to.

But Roy knew exactly what you meant.

“Me too,” he said softly, carefully shifting his gaze to you for only a moment—taking in how perfectly moonlight hit your skin, shadowing and highlighting all of the right parts.

You were the type of woman someone carried a picture of with them for the mere hope they’d see you again.

He looked down at his boots in the dirt. “Doubt I’d make it there.”

You turned to him. “You don’t think so?”

“Well, bad men seem to do well enough down here,” Roy smiled softly to himself. “I don’t think I know anyone who’d make it up there. Good, bad…I used to think there was a difference. It’s just two ends of the same spectrum.”

“And what about me?”

Roy looked at you then, almost puzzled. Bewildered. “What?”

“You said you don’t know anyone who’s good enough for heaven.” The slight tilt of your lips was more intoxicating than the whiskey. “What about me?”

Despite the burning in his pulse, Roy held himself back from saying what he wants: Wherever it is, I hope it’s with me.

Instead, he professed, “Well, you just might be an exception.”

And for the first time since you met Roy Goode, you let yourself feel the blood in your body rush to your heart. It moved to your cheeks, and you mentally thank God that it was too dark to see how red they’d turned.

But there were worse matters on hand than the flush on your face. It was the horrible ache between your legs that hadn’t been relieved in…too long.

“C’mon,” you mused. “We should get back before it’s too late.”

His bashful smirk matched your own.

Roy’s eyes don’t pull from your figure for a single second as he follows you up the stairs…the sway of your hips with each step, how you glance over your shoulder to see if he’s close behind.

And each time you look, he’s exactly where you expect him to be.

The sound of your boots comes to a halt as you stop at the door marked four, your fingers brushing over the handle. Roy’s presence lingered behind you like a ghost.

“Today was a hot one,” he says quietly, as if anything too loud would have you running away. “Left me feelin’ grimy.”

Like you’d said: You weren’t stupid. “Best to wash it off, then.”

He nods back slowly with a soft smirk you haven’t seen him wear yet. You wonder then what it’ll be like to undress it.

You push the door open with a sudden ease from Roy’s weight pressed against you. His hand graces over your hip as he closes the door witht the heel of his boot. Once his touch becomes firmer—but still respectful—you speak again.

“You’ve helped me an awful lot these past few days.” You didn’t expect yourself to speak so softly. His other hand sets his hat on the side of the bed. “Buying me that horse, this room…”

In the corner, the large metal basin sits empty. Waiting.

“You treat every girl who robs you like this?”

A quiet chuckle comes from the depths of his chest. “Just this one.”

Your eyes glance at his, before drifting downwards to where your hand ghosts over his belt. A shaky, almost inaudible breath falls from his lips. “I almost feel like I owe you.”

“Oh, no,” he drawls. “Darlin’, you don’t owe me nothin’.”

He tilts your chin upwards so your eyes meet his again. You don’t even notice you’ve taken your bottom lip in between your teeth, and he nearly moans just at the sight of that.

“I’m a giver,” he says softly, his thumb dragging over your lip. The metal in his belt clanks as you fumble with the buckle.

He leans in even closer. “And I could give you something more.”

So close. Close enough that he can undo each button of your blouse, so slowly you swear he’s trying to make your skin crawl. Close enough that he can feel your lips brushing over the corner of his mouth.

It’s not an invitation. It’s a seal of approval.

And so with it, Roy lets his body move before his mind can stop him—not that it ever would. You mold so perfectly against his lips like he was made to kiss you and no one else. It’s warm and wet when he drags his tongue, brushing over your teeth and finding your own.

You’ve been kissed before, but never like this. Never so sweetly yet vigorously. He pulls your top from your shoulders and lets it fall to the ground, your trousers soon after. You toe your boots off before unbuttoning his own shirt.

He pulls from the kiss to drag his lips across your jaw, grazing over your neck.

“Been wonderin’ what was underneath all this.”.

“You like what you see?” You giggle.

He stands back, and you’re left vulnerable and naked. The air is cold without his touch. You almost feel unsure of yourself.

Then you realize he’s looking at you with the hunger of a starved wolf.

“Darlin’, I ain’t sayin’ I’m gonna ruin you—would never ruin you,” his chest rises and falls with a heavy, steadying breath. “But you just might beg me to.”

Your knees almost buckle. He moves to switch on the faucet to the tub, and you take the moment to appreciate the parts of him you can see. His belt hangs slightly open, the zipper of his jeans pulled halfway down.

You run your hand through the water once it reaches a high level in the tub.

“‘S perfect,” you hum, a warm smile on your face that soon disappears when Roy lifts you from your feet.

He sets you inside the tub, leaning over the edge. Cupping the water with his hands, he runs it over every inch of your body, making sure there isn’t a single dry spot apart from your face. When his fingers graze your skin, you shudder.

“Aren’t you gonna join me, Goode?” You ask with a tempting smile.

“Lady’s first.” He takes a soft rag by the side of the tub and lathers it with a citrus soap, rubbing it smoothly over your figure.

You sigh contently. “No point in washin’ the sin off me now if we’ll be making more later.”

Your eyes meet his. Temptation mounted his face with an alluring darkness settling over his eyes.

A pressure began to build in the space between your legs before you realized it was no phantom feeling, but instead Roy’s two digits submerged under the water. He’d dropped the towel in the water with his mind focused on something else now. His fingertips brushed over your pearl before completely pressing against it.

He acted as if there was no time to waste, setting a consistent, circular motion over your clit. Your eyelids fluttered close blissfully.

“Fuck,” Your brows knitted together, a soft, restrained curse fell from your lips.

Then, he pulled his hand away.

Your eyes shot open again to meet his. He warned, “Don’t hold back from me now, baby.”

You nod as he pressed a little harder against you. You swear his hand is made of iron—hot, smooth metal that knows just how to perfectly work the most beautiful sounds from you.

As you writhe in the water, eyes squeezed shut with your mouth gaped open, Roy’s eyes remain on you.

“Someone’s gonna hear you, honey,” he presses his forehead against your temple. “They don’t deserve to.”

You instinctively lean against him, grinding your hips into his hand. The pads of his fingers drift down to your puckering hole, but no more than that.

“Please, Roy,” your hand reaches out of the water to curve around the back of his head, pushing his mouth closer to yours.

He chuckles. “I told you, you’d be begging for me.”

Then, like he was trying to make you cry, he pulled away and rose to his feet so he towered over you. His bottom lip, swollen from your kisses, hung heavy and glistened with your drool as Roy’s hands pulled his belt from the loops. It fell to the ground with a loud clatter, his jeans following soon after.

You stood from the tub and reached for him, your hands drifting down to the last thing covering him from you. And once he was fully bare, the two of you stood still for a moment.

Shamelessly, you drifted your gaze down his body, taking in what it was like to see Roy Goode in all of his glory.

Glorious was the right way to put it, for sure.

He smiled as he watched you scan him before taking your lip in between your teeth again.

“C’m’here,” he says softly, taking your hand in his.

You stepped out of the tub, dripping water on the wood floor. It’d surely leak through to the ceiling above the poor woman downstairs.

Before you could say anything, Roy’s mouth landed on yours again, his fingers running through the dry roots of your hair.

“Can’t get enough of you.” His words came out muffled and broken through the kiss.

“It’s yours,” you say, placing your hands on his chest and breaking the kiss. A small, gentle push has him settling on the floor, and you’re quick to take your seat on top of him.

His eyes softly close when your folds envelope his cock with an insatiable warmth.

“I’m yours. From the moment you showed me,” you relax and feel his solid shaft right under that swollen pearl. “Kindness when I did you wrong.” Your fingers lace with his. “I’m all yours, Roy. So take it.”

His right hand lifts your hips the slightest bit, allowing him space to take his cock in his left hand. He strokes it gently with a tight fist. The tip of it bumps against your hole, and you can feel it leaking against you.

“You ain’t real,” he whispers, eyes focused on where you two touch. And in a moment, you become connected. “Are you?”

One swift move of his hips pushes his full length past your folds. Your jaw drops open, but it’s the overwhelming feeling of him splitting you open that leaves you surprisingly quiet.

Roy doesn’t seem happy at that. He juts his hips upwards at a different angle so a sweet yelp cuts through the air. “Fuck, that’s good,.” He pulls you so close that your flesh nearly melts around the bone. You’re putty in his hands. “Pretty cunt’s grippin’ me like a vice.”

Everytime Roy’s hips draw from you, only to vigorously push themselves into you again, you swear you see God.

The skin on your knees splits against the splinters of the floorboards. A pleasurable pain. You steady yourself with your hands on his chest.

“‘S my turn, now,” your words slur together, eyelids heavy from how sweetly the tip of him kisses your cervix. “Gotta give you something too.”

He doesn’t object. His hands settle like a loose weight over your hips as you start to move yourself. Your hips grind against him, letting his cock rub against every inch inside of you. The motion is too familiar. For a second, you swear you’re riding off into the sunset with heaven in your pocket.

Your eyelids flutter close when you begin to bounce. And though you can’t see it, Roy can. His chest under your hands lets out heavy breaths as he gazes at how you swallow his entire length like it’s nothing.

But he knows it’s not. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he feels his body go loose. He lets himself give in to you. “Ride it.”

Gravity pushes you down just for you to lift yourself back up again. Your tits bounce in the most mesmerizing way, and Roy’s hand reaches up to grab the flesh of them. His thumb rolls over your nipple.

“You’re beautiful,” he grunts out, bending his legs so you can rest your back against them. But your movements don’t stop.

And neither does the way Roy looks at you like you’re the only thing worth living for.

When you catch his eyes on you, you clench around his girth, pulling another sharp moan from him. Suddenly, his hips begin to meet yours in a pleasurable rhythm; the sounds of skin slapping, heavy breaths, and your delicate yet guttural moans make the most beautiful music.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart,” Roy pleads.

Your mouth curls, “Who’s begging now?”

He chuckles. A soft tension around his cock grows into a desperate need to finish off how good you feel around him.

“You got it, baby.” His drawl leaves your hips stuttering, and he can tell from how you’ve tightened around him, you’re feeling just the same as him. “Make yourself feel good on it, just like that. Wanna see you turn to pieces all over me.”

Suddenly, your head is too heavy to hold upright. It lulls back onto your shoulders, all of your energy going towards the way you ride him.

“You feel it? Gonna make a mess for me?”

You nod, rapidly and loosely.

“We’ll just have to clean you up all over again.” He mutters to himself, and you can hear the smirk on his face. It stays there even as his brows furrow together, a mixture of bliss and pressure.

You feel the pad of his thumb press against your clit again. You instantly break at the contact. He feels your orgasm wash over him, a lush shower of warmth that brings his own release.

It mixes together inside of you like the sunrise bleeding into the remainder of the night outside your window. It’d be illogical to sleep now, but you can’t find it within yourself to keep your eyes open as your cheek rests against Roy’s chest.

His hand lazily rubs over your spine. “S’pose Les Moore will have to wait to die another day,” he whispers.

You chuckle, “Don’t waste your bullets on that man. I’ll do it myself.”

Roy cocks his head. A few days ago, you would’ve protested at any mention of doing his bidding. And here you were, now, ready to make yourself a wanted woman.

There were many women he’d slept with. Many women who’d opened their doors, shared their beds, held him in their arms. Many women who’d sing him to sleep thinking it’d make him maybe even love them.

And sure, he’d been with whores. He’d paid good money to see fine women dance like there was no God above. Maybe even paid them off enough so they wouldn’t have to suffer under any more men with a heavy fist.

Many women who’d liked the color of his eyes. Who’d gasped and shuddered at the sound of his name. Who’d fawned over the sight of him.

But never a woman like you.

He tells himself to remember that forever as he carries you to the bed.

You’ll wash in the morning he thinks when he pulls the covers to your chin. And when Roy moves to draw his own bath, he hears your tired voice from behind.

“Don’t go,” you call out to him.

He hums. “I’m only right here, darlin’.”

Your eyes are closed shut, lost in a dimension between sleep and wake. “Here,” you say softly, motioning to the spot in the bed next to you.

He ignores the sheer layer of sweat clinging to his skin. He ignores that there’s still dirt in his hair from earlier in the day. He ignores the grimy feeling underneath his nails and the ache in his feet. Roy carries himself to the side of the bed.

The sheets are cool against his skin as he takes the spot beside you. Then, he feels the warmth of your arm draped over his chest. He stills.

“You never held a woman, Roy Goode?” you tease with a tired smile.

“Sure, I have,” he says. “First time it’s felt right, though.”

You move your head so he can tuck his arm underneath it. He feels your soft, mindless clouds of breath against his skin.

This is it he thinks. Heaven.

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meadowfics · 4 days ago

Text

hiding from rage

kang dae ho x f!reader

warnings: threats, angst, enemies to lovers, homicidal rage

based off of this request linked here

SPOILERS FOR SQUID GAME SEASON THREE BELOW -> DON'T CLICK 'KEEP READING' IF YOU DO NOT WANT SPOILERS!

don't say I didn't warn you.

the starry night maze stretches before you, full of brick and gravel walls that seem to pulse under the eerie glow of a moonless sky.

you're surround by the kind of air that clings to your skin and makes every rustle of feet sound like a threat.

you’re a seeker on the red team, so there is no threat for you.

your heart is pounding not just from the game but from the festering wound of betrayal that’s been eating at you since the escape plan fell apart.

daeho, your daeho, screwed it up.

no ammo.

no way out.

just you, him, and a group of survivors left to fend for themselves and survive even longer in this hellhole because he couldn’t deliver.

you can still hear your own voice screaming at him, the fight that tore through the camp like wildfire. you wanted to leave, to escape this nightmare, but he failed you.

worse, you’re terrified of losing him.

that fear twists inside you, a psychosis that’s turned your mind into a broken record:

his fault, his fault, his fault.

the hide and seek game is your chance to make him pay.

your knife gleams in your hand, its weight a promise of retribution.

the rules are simple: find the hiders, eliminate at least one before the timer.

for you, it’s not about the game...it’s about daeho.

you’re not just hunting; you’re hunting him.

the red team’s objective burns in your mind, but the blue players? they’re nothing.

you barely register them as you stalk through the maze, your boots crunching against the gravel, your breath sharp and ragged.

some blue players stop and run from you, not realizing that you are not chasing after them.

all you see is daeho’s face, his lies, his failures.

the mantra in your head grows louder:

his fault, his fault, his fault.

you move like a predator, your senses sharpened by rage.

the maze is a tangle of dead ends and sharp turns, the brick walls cold and unyielding under your fingertips.

you hear whispers of movement, the faint scuffle of feet, but you ignore them or hope that it is him that will pop up.

blue team hiders are irrelevant.

except for one.

the shaman.

you spot her first, her silhouette darting behind a wall, her long hair catching on a jagged brick. she’s quick, but you’re quicker.

your knife finds her before she can scream, and she crumples to the ground, a blue team casualty.

you don’t even pause to look at her.

she’s not daeho.

she’s not the one who broke you.

you just needed a kill in order to get out of this game alive.

just incase you couldn't go through with getting daeho.

your mind is a storm, a whirlwind of anger and fear and something deeper, something you don’t want to name. you’ve always been scared of losing him, even before this mess.

daeho, with his silly promises, made you believe you could survive this place together.

he lied.

he lied about being a marine, about having the skills to get you out.

you could tell, even back then, that something was off...his stories didn’t add up, his confidence too forced.

you trusted him anyway.

now, because of his lies, people are dead.

good people.

people who counted on him, on you.

the guilt is a blade in your gut, but you turn it outward, let it fuel your hunt.

his fault, his fault, his fault.

you round a corner, and there he is.

daeho.

he’s crouched behind a low wall, thanks to an ankle injury that led a blood trail right to him.

the blue blends into the "sky" above.

you know him too well...his broad shoulders, the way he tilts his head when he’s listening for danger.

your heart lurches, a traitor to your rage.

you don’t hesitate. you charge, your knife glinting as you leap over the stairs and tackle him to the ground. he hits the gravel hard, a grunt escaping his lips as you pin him down, your knees pressing into his chest.

you straddle him, your knife raised high, its blade catching the faint starlight.

you’re shaking, not from exertion but from the storm inside you as he holds your wrists to stop you from stabbing him.

“you bastard,” you hiss, your voice trembling.

“you lied to me. you lied to all of us.”

daeho’s eyes are wide, but not with fear.

there’s something else there...regret, maybe, or something softer.

it only makes you angrier.

“y/n, stop it! listen—”

“no!” you snap, the knife trembling in your grip.

“you don’t get to talk. y-yo-you don’t get to make excuses. you said you were a marine, daeho! you said you could hep us get out. now they’re dead. they’re dead because of you!” your voice cracks, the weight of those losses crashing over you.

you see their faces... your old friends, your allies, gone because daeho couldn’t deliver the ammo, couldn’t hold up his end of the plan.

“i could tell you were lying about that stupid tattoo and being a fucking marine,” you continue, your words venomous, “i knew it, but i let myself believe you. now look at us. look at this.”

you gesture wildly at the maze, at the blood on your hands, at the knife poised to end him. your chest heaves, your vision blurring with tears you refuse to let fall.

his fault, his fault, his fault.

the mantra is deafening now, urging you to bring the knife down, to make him pay for every mistake, every life lost.

he’s looking at you, and there’s no defiance in his eyes, no fight.

just… him.

“y/n,” he says, his voice low, steady, cutting through the chaos in your head.

“i’m sorry.”

you laugh, a bitter, broken sound.

“sorry? sorry doesn’t bring them back. sorry doesn’t fix this. you lied, daeho. you lied about being a marine, about knowing what you were doing. you got us into this mess, and now you’re hiding like a coward.”

he winces, but he doesn’t look away.

“i know,” he says, and there’s a rawness to his voice that makes you pause, “I am one. I lied. i wasn’t a marine. i… i wanted to be someone you could rely on. someone who could protect you. i screwed up, y/n. i know i did and i’m sorry.”

daeho's words hit you like a punch, but they don’t soothe the rage. they stoke it.

“you think an apology fixes this?” you scream, leaning closer, the knife still raised as his strong hands stop your wrists from plunging the knife into his chest, “you think saying sorry makes up for the blood on your hands? for the people we lost? i trusted you, daeho. i trusted you, and you let me down. you let all of us down.”

he doesn’t flinch, even with the blade inches from his throat.

“i know,” he says again but softer this time, “i know i failed you but y/n, listen to me. please. i never wanted to hurt you. i never wanted any of this. i lied because… because i love you and I wanted you to think better of me.”

the world stops.

the maze, the game, the knife in your hand.

it all fades, leaving just you and daeho and those three words hanging in the air.

your breath catches, your grip on the knife faltering.

“what?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“i love you,” he repeats, his eyes locked on yours.

“i’ve loved you since the moment we got stuck in this nightmare. i lied because i wanted to be enough for you. i wanted to be the guy who could get you out, who could keep you safe but i messed up, y/n. i messed up bad, and i’ll carry that for the rest of my life. but i swear, i never meant to hurt you.”

your mind reels, the mantra stuttering.

his fault, his fault— no.

it's not.

that broken record is weaker now, drowned out by the pounding of your heart. you want to scream at him, to tell him he’s lying again, but you can’t.

you see it in his eyes, the truth he’s been hiding all this time.

he loves you.

whoever above help you, you love him too.

you always have, even when you were screaming at him, even when you were terrified of losing him.

that’s why his betrayal cut so deep because he’s not just anyone.

he’s everything.

“you don’t get to do this,” you say, but your voice is shaking, the knife lowering slightly.

“you don’t get to say that now, after everything. you don’t get to make me feel this way.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel anything,” he says, his hands slowly moving to your hips, not to push you off but to ground you, to keep you there with him.

to others, this position might look suggestive.

“i’m just telling you the truth. i love you, y/n. and i know i don’t deserve you, but i’m begging you...don’t do this. don’t let this place turn you into something you’re not by killing me.”

you want to hate him.

you want to drive the knife down and make him pay.

fortunately, his hands are warm on your hips, his eyes so painfully honest, and you feel the fight draining out of you.

the tears you’ve been holding back spill over, hot and angry, and you drop the knife.

it clatters against the gravel, useless now.

you've already killed the shaman, you didn't need to kill another person to survive.

you collapse forward, your hands fisting in his jacket as you sob, your forehead pressing against his chest.

“i was so scared,” you choke out, the words spilling out in a rush, “i was so scared of losing you. and then you lied, and you failed, and i thought… i thought i’d never forgive you. i love you, daeho. i love you, and i hate you for making me feel this way.”

daeho's arms wrap around you, strong and steady, pulling you closer but being mindful about the door behind him which leads into the cliff.

“i know,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your hair.

“i know, y/n. i’m so sorry. i’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you, i swear.”

you lift your head, your eyes meeting his, and the world narrows to just the two of you.

the maze, the game, the blood... it all falls away.

you’re still angry, still hurt, but you can’t deny what’s between you.

you lean in, or maybe he does, and your lips crash together in a kiss that’s all fire and desperation.

it’s not gentle; it’s raw, full of everything you’ve been holding back...anger, fear, love.

you’re still straddling him, your hands tangled in his hair, his fingers digging into your sides as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

when you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, your foreheads pressed together.

“we’re not done fighting about this,” you warn, your voice low but fierce, “you don’t get to just kiss me and make it all go away.”

he nods, a small, rueful smile tugging at his lips.

“i know but i’m not going anywhere, y/n. not unless you tell me to.”

you stay like that for a moment, the weight of everything settling between you.

after a minute, you climb off him, offering a hand to help him up.

he takes it, his grip warm and solid, and you both stand, brushing gravel from your clothes.

the game is still ongoing, but you don’t care.

daeho’s alive, and so are you, and that’s enough for now.

you make your way to the main room, the heart of the dorms where everyone alive regroups.

the other players are there, some nursing wounds, others whispering about their own hunts.

shit, you discovered that your closest friend gave birth during the maze game!

you and daeho sit in a corner, away from the others, your knees brushing as you face each other.

the air is heavy, but it’s different now...less like a storm and more like the calm after.

“we need to talk about this,” you say, your voice steady despite the ache in your chest, “about your lie. about what happened.”

he nods, his expression serious.

“i know. i… i made up the marine thing because i thought it would give you hope. i thought it would make you trust me and like me. it was stupid, and it cost us. i cost us. im a coward.”

“you cost lives,” you say, and the words are sharp, but there’s no venom in them now.

just truth.

“people died because we didn’t have the ammo, because you didn’t know what you were doing. i can’t just let that go, daeho.”

“i don’t expect you to,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

“i’ll carry that guilt forever. but i’m going to do better, y/n. for you. for us. i swear.”

you study him, searching his face for any hint of another lie.

all you see is daeho...flawed, human, and yours.

“you’d better,” you say finally.

masterlist

#kang dae ho #kang dae ho x reader #player 388 #player 388 x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game season three #squid game s3 #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #seong gi hun #seong gi hun x reader

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rainrot4me · 10 months ago

Text

Outrun, Undone

Summary: Your body hurt, heaving and clawing to escape. They were catching up, laughter echoing through the dense trees as you ran, praying for your stamina to hold. But you knew you weren’t fast enough, and so did they…

Characters: Masky & Hoodie x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Chasing, predator and prey, primal sex, blood, injury, fear, threesome, double penetration, vaginal fingering, anal, blowjob, vaginal, overstimulation, power play, fighting, aggression, mocking, degradation, forced submission, pussy spanking, oral fixation

Words: 8.2k

Fight or flight is described as an instinctual reaction that occurs when the body perceives a threat, rallying for survival.

Psychologically, it changes you, gripping for any out or sense of security as it pushes its own comfortability. It’s primal, animalistic, and desperate; mind clawing for any serenity. Your mind and body were screaming, like every inch of your consciousness was being ripped apart the harder you fought. You wanted to cry and scream and get away, but they wouldn’t let you. They were going to make sure you lost this bet.

The woods felt like they went on forever, large pines and ominous maples cutting off your direction and forcing you into a maze, the schlick of mud under your shoes echoing with every quick step. You were soaked with sweat and rain, hair clinging annoyingly to your face and blocking your vision. Your clothes felt heavy on your skin, making it hard not to get overstimulated and tired. “Fuck-” You gasped, rounding a mound of roots to find a patch of brambles, head spinning and looking for another direction. The loud thumping of boots was heavy behind you, branches and leaves snapping as you heard hollers paired with eager laughter calling out your name, searching for you. There was no other direction. You hauled forward.

It was your fault, really. You roused them on, claiming stealth and agility were better tactics for a killer than brute force and power. The boys chuckled, arms crossed and stupid grins shining as they teased. It was always so odd to see them without their masks, especially in such good moods.

“Oh yeah? And who says that?” Masky poked at you, leaning back into the door of the rental truck you had all lived in for the past week. This mission was exhausting, another hitman job for the Operator that you really couldn’t bring yourself to be passionate about. The boys weren’t too thrilled either. Sleeping cramped into a single cab as the only girl was devastating. The smell of no showers and lack of proper meals was getting to you now, a two-day headache pounding at the base of your skull and making you nauseous. At least they let you have the back seat to yourself.

“Uh, says the one who’s gunned down more than both of you?” You scoffed, kicking some gravel from the campsite parking lot. “Don’t you ever notice how I’m the one having to pick off the stragglers when you two come in guns blazing? I swear, you two only think with your revolvers instead of your actual brains.”

Hoodie chuckled, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he leaned against the truck bed. “These brains don’t do much thinking anymore anyways.” You rolled your eyes, “Obviously.” Looking out across the field meant for hunting, a dense treeline hung just over the clearing as the sun began to set, deep oranges and pinks pushing through the leaves. You couldn’t remember what state you were in, somewhere north and cold, early autumn setting in as the breeze whipped against your cheeks. It was going to rain tonight, you could see it in the way the leaves upturned, the thick smell of distant downpours on the bark stirring in the air. “Just saying. I could outrun you both and still have the energy to take down someone. You two wouldn’t last a second without your precious little weapons strapped to your hip.”

The boys tensed, eyes narrowing as they looked at each other, a silent challenge welling up. “How about a game then? Put your little stealth tactic to the test.” Masky huffed, a stupid grin matching the eagerness in his eyes. Hoodie nodded along, pushing off the truck bed as he stepped closer, his boots crunching into the gravel.

“The woods out there. It’s only about fifty acres worth, but it’s dense. Good enough for hide and seek, huh?” Hoodie’s voice sounded a little more chipper than his usual monotonous one, laced with excitement and almost giddy. “We’ll give you ten minutes, put your money where your mouth is. If we can’t find you, we’ll buy you a hotel room for the rest of the trip.” You glared, heart thumping at the idea of finally getting a shower and some heat, fingers fidgeting at your sides. “But, when we catch you, and we will, who knows what we’ll ask for?” Masky shrugged cockily. “Guess we’ll be thinking about it while you’re runnin’.”

The boys pressed forward, shoulder to shoulder as they stared down at you, nauseating smiles making your heartache. You glanced back to the tree line. Crossing your arms, you rolled your eyes, stupidly accepting their bet. You were going to win, you knew you were, but all they could do was smile. “Ten minutes starts now, sweetheart.” Hoodie fiddled with his old-style military wristwatch, wiping the glass as he clicked some buttons to start a timer.

“So I just… start runni-”

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” You tensed, taking steps back before spinning on your heels, zipping your jacket up as you began to run, slipping into the trees.

When you began to run, that’s when the excitement truly swept in.

The ten minutes had long passed, your feet carrying you deep into an unfamiliar forest where every tree looked the same. But you had to keep going, if for nothing else, then to create distance.

It was getting too dark to see, the sun hanging low on the horizon and dense night setting in. The silhouettes of trees stretched ahead, endless in every direction. There was no trail or path to follow, only the thick underbrush and ferns that whipped at your legs as you ran, branches scratching your skin. You had no clue where you were going.

The rain had begun as well, thick droplets soaking your clothes and face, making your hair cling to your skin. Your legs burned, muscles tensing as you dodged trees, mud clinging to your shoes the further you went, your breath already quickening. When you reached a small clearing, you paused, catching your breath as you searched the shadows, listening intently for any signs of movement. Nothing caught your attention besides the heavy patterns of rainfall, leaves, and branches whipping in the wind as you set off again, catching your pace.

Adrenaline couldn’t differentiate this from real danger. You dealt with these boys every day, watching how they worked and killed, studying their every move. But now that you were on the other side of the fight, there was no clue just how real they were going to make it. You knew they wouldn’t kill you. They were all for bets, but they weren’t sore losers. They might catch you, they might hurt you, but they wouldn’t kill you. And, somehow, that excited you.

There was something so rousing about playing the victim for once. It made you feel vulnerable and small, but oh did it make you desperate.

Climbing over a fallen pine and sliding down the short ridge beyond it, you crouched close to the ground, pressing close to the roots and bushes as you caught your breath again. You had to think one step ahead, had to conserve your energy; any chance for a break was a good one. They wanted a chance, so you’d give them a chase. But you had to be smart too.

Snap.

You froze, slow breaths shaking as the condensation fogged at your mouth. You clenched close to the ground, careful not to move as you heard the thumps of boots more clearly now, a matching pair. You clenched your jaw, bracing your hands against the side of a tree as their voices grew too.

“Come on, little mouse,” Masky called out, the giddiness in his voice making you cringe. “You’re not very good at hiding your tracks.” Shit. The rainfall had roused the ground with mud, your imprints being left everywhere and leading right to where you crouched. You had to move.

Rain and sweat dripped off your nose, teeth clenched as you shook, the cold breeze cutting against your skin. Your pupils blew wide as you scanned the ground, snaking your body up quietly as you took eager steps in the opposite direction of the boys. The mud squelched, your body aching as you pushed off the tree, steadying your pace back into a jog to not make too much noise. You heaved, letting your pace grow the further you got, the small steps turning into a desperate sprint as you whipped through the trees, the wind burning your cheeks raw. You were panting, sucking deep breaths of air, and fighting against the strain in your chest.

“There!” You cursed, Hoodie’s voice ringing through the trees as you sprinted, fists clenched as you dug your feet into the ground. In your attempt to get away, you had done exactly what you wanted to avoid, catching their attention. You heard the sound of their boots taking heavy steps in the distance, far enough but definitely still too close for comfort. Your heart thumped, adrenaline pumping. You tried to look back, to gauge just how far they were, just how fast you needed to run. You couldn’t see when your ankle snapped against a root popped from the ground, flinging your body down.

The ground was damp, mulch and rocks lodged into your knees as you clattered to the dirt, heaving for breath. You didn’t remember which direction you were trying to go, but it didn’t matter as you pushed your aching body up, lunging back into a sprint. Rain and fog blurred your senses, the stout smell of wet earth suffocating you with every labored gasp. You groaned, palms and clothes covered in mud and grass, your chest aching from the abrupt contact. The boys howled with excitement, their chanting and loud laughs making you nervous, and desperate to get away. The worst part, however, was the fact they had now put on their masks.

The three of you had grown comfortable, there was no desire to cover their faces around each other, saving the covers for jobs. But now, the stupid masks were snugged on, concealing their expression and making this situation all the more terrifying. Now, you realize they saw you as a job, a mission to catch and take, no longer just a little game. You wanted to cry, the anger shooting through your veins as you ran, heaving for air and distance, your brain screaming to get away. They were going to catch you.

You were so used to being on the other side. You were the one chasing, the one seizing runaways. But, something about being the one having to get away, the thought of you fighting within an inch of your life against your friends. It got you stirred in the worst kind of way.

You sprinted, half-running half-sliding down the steepening slope, your shoes catching on vines and mud as you went. You had no clue where you were going or why the terrain was suddenly changing, but you continued to press forward, feet flinging out from under you as you sprinted. The slope picked up, rocks and thicker soil breaking under your steps, clattering down the side of the hill you were pressing down, leaning back to claw into the mud as you lost your footing, pummeling down. Your foot caught on a root, hauling your shoe off your foot and snapping your body with it.

You met the clearing at the bottom face-first.

You landed hard, a thick stream of water splashing against your face as you gasped. The air knocked from your lungs, rolling onto your back as the water flowed around you, the tiny stream picking up from the rain. Rocks and moss stuck to your clothes, your teeth grit as your chest ached. You had to get up, you had to keep running.

But the chuckles from above you made you whine, footsteps crunching down the muddy slope as they paced just out of your sight. “Aww, think before you run. Don’t go panicking now.” You could hear the smile in Hoodie’s voice despite your dizziness.

Out of pure adrenaline, you shoved yourself up, looking towards the slope, but finding nothing there. You spun on your heels, surveying the trees and sides of the hill, nothing sticking out. You hissed, looking down towards your hands as dirt sunk into the cuts, your palms torn and bleeding down your wrists, mixing with the rain. Your socks were soaked with mud, your feet aching and pounding with pain as your foot had been welted raw. But you couldn’t find them. For how large and annoying they were, you couldn't find them. You had to keep moving.

Turning away from the slope, you dug your heels in, pushing away from the stream. It was hard to focus, hard to keep your mind from spinning as you clawed, legs burning every step they ran. Your head felt light, too nauseated to notice the flash of yellow in your direction.

A hand seized around your throat from behind, the other gripping into your hair as you cried out. You flung, fighting back against the tight grasp Masky held, kicking your knees. How the hell had he gotten to you? You swung your arms, reaching back to claw at the fists wrapped around you, elbow flying back to make contact with his ribs.

Masky gasped, grunting heavily as how grip loosened, reaching for his side. You slammed back hard, taking the opportunity to shove your shoulders back, knocking the brunette off balance and releasing you. In the process, you took the chance, sprinting away and pressing through the rain, gasping as you heard his yells behind you.

Gripping the side of another steep hill, you clawed at the roots and rocks protruding from the side, launching yourself up the side of the ravine and scrambling up onto flat ground above. Your socked foot caught on a rock, slicing through the fabric and through to your skin too, making you hiss and clench your jaw. Don’t look back, don’t stop, don’t be afraid-

Hoodie grunted as you slammed into him, chest knocking against him so hard you landed flat on your ass. He wasn’t so easy, not allowing you to get back up as the taller man pinned you down. You thrashed wildly, arms and legs flailing as his fists gripped your jacket, raising your chest to slam you back down against the ground, knocking the breath from your lungs. You gasped, tired arms reaching up to claw at his hoodie, tugging the soaked cloth, and trying to reach his skin. Hoodie laughed, his fingers digging into your sides as you groaned, panting your exhaustion. Masky was following behind, grappling up the side of the hill and chuckling his amusement. You were panicking, flailing under the man as you whined.

“Didn’t last very long at all, huh?” Hoodie mocked, pushing your legs out of the way as you tried to kick him, your hands still clawing. The man just pressed harder, reaching up to clench your jaw, angling your head closer to the ground and into the mud. It was disgusting, your pants and whines making him smile as you gripped his hoodie, feeling for anything you could use.

When your fingers brushed his pistol holstered snugly against his side, you strained your jaw, reaching as far as you could. Hoodie was focused, eyes locked onto your face as his fingers clenched around your throat, tightening excruciatingly as you gasped, head already spinning. Your breathing was labored, the intensity of his grasp faltering your reach as you strained, the eagerness in his grasp making you dizzy.

You whined, pressing your shoulder down as you finally wrapped a finger around the end, tugging the weapon out of its holster. Masky was close now too, boots crunching in the mud as your vision blurred, rain and lack of oxygen snaking a darkness into the edges of your sight. You snagged a finger around the cold metal of the gun, hauling it up and bringing it down quickly, slamming against the side of Hoodie’s skull. His groan rang, his grasp on your throat letting free as he hauled back, gripping at the side of his head.

You scrambled up, panting breaths of moist air as you pushed back in the mud, hauling yourself up. Masky tried to press in, your hands were quick to shoot up and aim the pistol, a finger placed steadily on the trigger. The man stopped, mockingly holding his hands up and laughing, angling his head to the side in amusement.

“What? Is the little mouse scared now? What happened to all that big talk earlier?” You cringed, panting loudly as puffs of condensation clouded around your mouth. You were shaking wildly, mud and rain crusted deep into your clothes and skin, soaking you to your core. “I thought this was some game, not a real chase.” You grit your teeth, snarling your desperation through angered words.

Hoodie was up now, looming close to Masky’s side as he watched, an expression showing he was ready to pounce. He wanted more, you could see it in the way his fingers flexed and palmed against his jeans. You shook, keeping the pistol aimed between both of them. You didn’t give them a chance to get to you again. Turning on your heels, you lunged into another sprint, chest, and legs aching at the sudden burst. The boys latched on, not giving a second thought before chasing behind you, desperately trying to match your pace. You were faster than them, but there was no way you would be able to beat them again physically. With a hurt foot and weakened body, they would overpower you in an instant.

Mocking chants and laughs echoed loudly behind you, the rain and wind snapping at your skin. You limped through every step, trying to keep a good pace as the pain began to sink in, mud clinging against your cuts. Your mind was racing, excitement and pent-up energy exerting themselves in every ache and stretch. So many times on missions you were forced into uncomfortable situations, clawing and begging to prove yourself, to show just how useful you were.

But now, you weren’t chasing anymore. You were the one running, the one begging and sobbing to be shown mercy. Masky and Hoodie weren’t capable of mercy, they didn't know the meaning of the word. So now, the role flipped on its head, you were truly aware of just how much you needed to get away.

You swung your arm around as you felt bodies close in, gripping the pistol tight and aiming high as you took a shot. An ear-piercing ricochet rang through the trees. Curses shouted, loud gasps as the bullet whizzed past their heads, and maniacal laughter soon followed. “Shit, Hood! Mouse’s got some bite!” Masky panted, exhausted tone showing as he continued to run. Hoodie growled his approval, grappling off of trees and closing in again. You’d been a fool to think they’d scare so easily. Of course, your violence would just get them more excited.

Clattering across a stretch of gravel and mud, you cursed, the gash in your foot screaming with pain. The limp caused you to be ill-timed, Masky taking the falter and seizing you, your bodies clattering to the nasty ground.

Masky chuckled, your hair knotted in his hand as he forced you onto your chest. Your fingers dug into the mud, desperately trying to push yourself up as you flailed, pistol gripped tight. Limbs burned, lungs gasping for air as you felt a knee press between your shoulder blades before you could move. He crushed you against the gravel harder and harder. Masky pressed down close, dragging your head to the side so he could groan into your ear. Hoodie was already on you too, the sole of his boot crushed atop your hand to pry the pistol away, tossing it a few feet away. Masky’s knee pressed hard, the mask covering his expression, but you could hear his excitement all too well.

“All that running just for us to still catch you, little mouse. I say we deserve some compensation for all that work.” You clenched your teeth, tears welling in your eyes not only from the exhaustion that was creeping in but from the terrible pain shooting through your body. Everything hurt, sleepiness hanging on every limb. They must have noticed as the Hoodie knelt down beside your head.

He caressed his fingers over your skin, marveling at the softness of your cheeks cool with the rain, before nudging your jaw with his fist. “I think I know a pretty good reward, eh?” His hoodie was soaked, the usual mustard color a dark brown as Masky loosened his grip on your hair, tugging your shoulder over as his knee lifted. You tried to gauge their expressions and understand what they were so giddy about as you lay on your back, face, and clothes splattered with mud and rain. “I’d say I have to agree with you there, man.”

As Masky stood, you tried to sit up before large pairs of hands shoved you back to the ground. Your bodies pressed close, Hoodie wedging himself against your side as Masky gripped your arms, pressing them down against the rocks. That’s when you felt it, the heat in his jeans pressed against your hip, your skin exploding with warmth. You tried to look through his mask into his eyes, shimmying your hips as Hoodie did the same, gripping the side of your face to keep your head down. They were overpowering you, binding you down to submit, forcing you to stop. You didn’t want to. They wanted a fight, and you weren’t so willing to lay down and take it.

“Keep moving your hips like that and watch what happens.” Masky barked, snaking a knee between your legs as he pressed close, breathing muffled as he held you. Your body was useless, their arms and hands gripping tight and hauling you close, gasps ringing at every fist tightening. “You’ve lost, alright? Just fuckin’ give up.” Hoodie jerked your jaw, pressing your shoulder to the ground as you kicked your legs, Masky’s knee slid up against your core and held it there even when you squirmed. “Even after all that runnin’ you’ve still got energy? Fuck.” Masky angrily laughed, tugging at your jeans and undoing the buttons, your heart immediately jumping from your chest.

“Masky-” Hoodie clasped a hand over your mouth, tugging your body up against his own as he pressed beside you. Masky let go of your hands, Hoodie quick to take them in one hand, and hold them above your head as the latter worked on shimmying your pants off of your thighs. The rain made you twitch as drops hit your bare skin. “We won, remember? Gonna have to show you just what girls with big egos get, yeah? You could use a little humbling…” The hooded man smiled, snaking a hand around your throat and clamping down, your airway choking closed as you gasped. It felt like a rush, every inch of your body overwhelmed as they gripped at your skin. You were falling apart, fighting and fear leaving your body, anxiousness and excitement slowly creeping in the lower Masky’s hands dipped against your thighs.

“Every inch of you is a tease.” He snapped, your muddy jeans discarded as fingers dug into your skin. The man acted ravenous, fingernails clawing against your damp skin as he nudged himself between your legs, your head swaying lightly as Hoodie pushed his grip on your throat harder. “Been dying to get a good look.”

You couldn’t deny how many times you caught them staring. Every time you stripped down to your underwear to bathe in the creek or laid out in the truck's backseat to get some rest, their eyes lingered, awkward silence hanging in the air. It was obvious now. That same ravenous look was caught behind the eyeholes of their masks, your heart skipping as Masky hooked his fingers into the waistline of your panties. Jerking against Hoodie’s grasp on your wrists, you let your back arch off the ground, panting against the fingers gripped onto your throat as Masky slowly slid the cloth down.

Rain soaked your face as Hoodie took his time sliding a hand up your shirt, palming at your moist skin and dragging your jacket off of your shoulders. “You’ve always had such a loud mouth, y’know that? It’d be nice to see it occupied with other things.” Hoodie chuckled, letting his fist off of your throat to slide up to your lips, your gasps and coughs music to his ears. He was quick to slide two fingers past your teeth, shoving them down to the knuckle and pushing down your tongue. You gagged, head rearing back but his fingers followed, pressing down into your throat with a cough. He let go of your wrists, snaking a fist into your hair as he held his fingers still, your throat constricting around the digits as you reached back to grip his hoodie, tugging him closer. Masky watched close, your warm cunt throbbing as the cold air ran goosebumps across your skin.

“Christ.” Masky hummed, pressing your knees apart as he adjusted himself between them, his cock constricting tight against his jeans. He slid your folds apart with his thumb, swiping the digit through your wetness and spreading it, smiling at the way your hips instinctively jerked. You whined, senses overwhelmed as you choked again, gagging as Hoodie began to pump his fingers. “If you can’t even take my fingers, how are you supposed to take my cock? Do better.” Hoodie was so much more gruff than Masky, barking his command and pushing you further than you knew he could go. The man was always the quieter of the two, his shadow-like demeanor starkly contrasting Masky’s. So when it came to primal instincts, the two flipped like a coin. Masky took a much more silent authoritative stance, while Hoodie was all bark and bite. The two worked perfectly together, you realized, in murder and sex. Perfect contrasts no matter the circumstances.

Your cheeks shot red, your eyes watering the louder you heard him huff. You tried to let your throat relax, you tried to breathe steady. But when you felt a finger screw into your cunt, forcing its way into your hardly prepped warmth, you cried out.

Masky’s nails dug into your thighs, his knees shoving your legs open as he twisted his middle finger, angling to press up against the gumminess of your walls. “So warm, damn…” He grunted, letting his thumb press against your clit and rub aching circles against the nub. Hoodie didn’t give you a moment, however. His fingers were soon tugged from your lips as he snagged your hair back, pushing your cheek against his jeans, face-to-face with his boner. How were you going to take that? You tried to stammer, tried to press your hands on his legs, but he was already undoing his belt. “Hoodie-” You hissed, your sentence cut off as you jerked your hips up when another finger crammed itself into your tight cunt, digits spreading and scissoring you loose. Your eyes shot back and forth, focused on fingers tugging down their zipper but also on the hungry way fingers dug into your folds.

You were overwhelmed, the rain and wind snapping at every naked part of your body and sending chills. And the boys were eating you alive.

“Wait, please- I’m sorry! Ah! I was wrong okay-” Hoodie’s palm was back around your mouth, your pants and whines muffled behind the hand as he tugged his jeans down with his boxers. Your eyes shot wide when he tugged his cock out, shoving his waistband below his balls and giving his length a few good tugs. Masky chuckled, pressing the heel of his palm down onto your clit as he rhythmically curled his fingers up, your cunt soaking them. “If you’re so sorry, then show it, sweetheart.” You gawked at the girth wrapped in Hoodie’s fist, unsure of how you were even supposed to take half of that in your mouth. But take it you would. It didn’t matter if you screamed, bled, or passed out, Hoodie was going to make sure you would melt on it.

You were trembling, as vicious as you were, you were excited. Hoodie and Masky could see it. They had no intention of hurting you, but they had every intention of breaking the little ego you held onto. You held their gaze, rain streaming down your face as you whined. “Open up.” The brunette didn’t give you much of a choice as he pressed his cock to your lips. You gasped around the tip, his hands wrapping into the back of your hair and pressing your head closer. Hoodie groaned as he went deeper, your throat convulsing around him with a barely suppressed gag. You felt like you were losing air, taking a last deep breath before Hoodie stopped, your lips wrapping tight around the middle of his girth.

He held steady, Masky keeping you distracted with his fingers, but you couldn't fight the dizziness in your head. Hoodie drank up the way your eyes slammed shut, the way your hands gripped into his clothes and pawed for release; he couldn’t stand it. Masky couldn’t either.

When you caressed your tongue along the bottom side of his cockhead, Hoodie growled, fisting your hair tight. He snapped your head closer, pushing your throat open around his girth and tugging you back off quickly, snapping his hips back again to set a sickening pace. You choked, slobber pooling around your lips and glistening on his length as he fucked into your throat, giving you no time to breathe. You dug your nails into his hoodie, clawing for something to hold onto as he rattled your head. Every squeeze of your throat just spurred him on, the resistance only making him more eager to fuck you open and raw. “God, you must be real sorry, huh?” Hoodie growled, letting one hand shove up your shirt up and tug your bra off of your tits, gripping onto the mounds.

Masky watched, smiling wildly behind the mask as his cock throbbed against his jeans. Your cunt had soaked his fingers loose enough to slip another in, his free hand shimmying his belt undone and tugging his zipper down. The man took a shaky breath when his cock met the cold air, twitching and eager as he unscrewed his fingers from your cunt, surprised at the way your hips tried to follow them. The loud sound of slobber and gagging on Hoodie’s cock made Masky excited to hear more, pumping his cock in his fist covered with your arousal as he pressed a free hand back to your folds. “Don’t pass out now, little mouse.”

You couldn’t hear him over the sound of your own head roaring, throat tensing and convulsing at every press of Hoodie length into your mouth. He was so rough, so aggressive in his actions, desperately clawing for more as if he had been begging for this for forever. You finally felt like you could get the hang of it, finding a good position for your mouth until-

Smack!

You nearly screamed when you felt a palm slap down on your cunt, snapping against your cunt and sending your hips shooting off of the muddy ground. Masky laughed, his fist jerking his cock as your eyes shot open, trying to pull your head back off of Hoodie’s length. He growled, snapping your head back down onto his cock and shoving your nose into his pubes, snapping at you to stay still.

Masky raised his hand again, your stomach tightening as you watched through tear-beaded eyes when his palm made contact with your clit again. It stung, your throat grunting and sobbing as Hoodie gripped either side of your head in his hands, fucking his hips into your warm mouth. You tried to press your thighs shut, Masky shoving them apart as he slapped again, spanking your cunt and grinning at the squelch. Pained whines muffled around Hoodie’s cock as he rubbed his fingers against your clit before hauling his hand up, smacking back down to watch your hips jerk. You dug your heels into the dirt, trying to press away, but Masky’s hands were already gripped around your hips and tugging you back.

Your head was light, oxygen barely seeping through as Hoodie completely ignored your wails, hips jerking, and balls slapping against the side of your face the deeper you drank his cock down. “So good…” He muttered, gasping as he hunched over your head, driving his hips at an exhausting pace. Your jaw hurt, eyes raw with tears as you lulled your tongue against the underside of his length to desperately hurry his orgasm along.

Your mouth was so full, so warm and tight, and took the brunette the best you could. Hoodie whined when he felt his balls tighten and abdomen tense, ecstasy shooting through his body as he throbbed in your mouth and spilled down your throat. You clung to his hoodie, unable to swallow as quickly as he pumped into you, cum and slobber dribbling down your chin. You gasped as you felt the intrusion leave your mouth, desperately trying to catch your breath as seed dripped down your chin. Masky didn’t give you time, barely able to swallow before you felt a tension pushing into your cunt.

“I think you still owe me an apology, right?” The man between your legs chuckled, pushing your hips down to the soaked ground as he slowly sunk in, stretching your cunt uncomfortably. Hoodie was panting, wringing the last of his orgasm from his cock as he hauled your head up, craning your neck to face him. He shoved his mask up, the fabric bunching at his brow as his flushed cheeks glistened with sweat. You whined as you felt Masky’s cock press deeper, your walls throbbing around him as Hoodie caught your lips, breathing deep as he panted into your mouth.

“Mmn, fuck-” Masky chirped, raising your ass off the ground as he pressed against your tightness, sinking into your gooey warmth. Hoodie ravaged, gripping your jacket and shaking it off your arms, fingers tugging at your shirt until you could hear the seams popping and snapping. Masky bottomed out, you gasp giving Hoodie enough access to shove his tongue past your lips and suck on your own. Groans and whines swapped, Masky watched, stomach twirling with arousal.

He slowly tugged his hips back, your thighs trembling as you peeked out, groaning when you watched Masky slide his own mask off of his face, the object clattering into the mud. His hips didn’t get far before they snapped back, nails tugging your hips back to meet with a stifled moan. Hoodie shuffled behind you, adjusting himself to your back pressed against his chest as Masky started his drowsy pace into your puffy cunt. You whimpered with every inch, panting desperately. Your pussy gripped him tightly as Masky pressed all the way inside—before withdrawing completely and plunging back in again. You screamed, the sound choked with frantic need as Hoodie replaced his lips with his fingers again. Masky pulled your hips back, fucking mindlessly until your knees tightened around his sides. He snaked a hand between your legs and rubbed your clit, grinning as you shook from head to toe and went limp against Hoodie’s chest, the pleasure shattering you.

“Too much, little mouse?" You managed to shake your head, defiant little thing. Masky snapped his hips again, pace slowly and sickeningly increasing, thrusts getting harder but not faster. You mewled, sucking on Hoodie’s digits as he played with your nipples, massaging your tits with every heave of your chest. “Don’t get needy now, sweetheart,” Hoodie noted the way your hips craned to meet Masky’s every move, stomach tightening to get a better grip around his cock. You groaned, flexing your hands as they both laughed at your desperation. You were irritated. They wanted badly to ruin you, to make you theirs. But when it finally comes time for you to enjoy their part, they won’t let you. You felt yourself snap as you hauled your bodies forward.

Masky grunted as you shoved your hands against his chest, kicking your feet free from his hands and slamming the big guy on his back. Hoodie was quick to follow, stunned at the sudden movement but sure to find his place snagged onto your back as you straddled Masky again.

“You’re a fucking prick.” You groaned, pressing your nails into his face as your knees dug into the rocky mud-caked ground. You all were nasty, sweat and rain dripping from your brows but you were so horny it didn’t matter.

Masky pressed back, tugging at your wrists to let off of his face. It was only when he shoved your jaw back did you saw the gleam of metal in the rain, the dark pistol smeared with mud but close enough to grasp. You pressed forward, shoving Masky’s forehead down as he snapped, Hoodie gripping your hips to drag you back.

You tried to claw, to reach the gun, but the boys were stronger. “Little cunt. You never learn, huh?” Masky barked, gripping his cock tight as Hoodie angled your hips to sink back onto the length. You choked out when they slammed your hips together, Masky setting a brutal pace up into your cunt as Hoodie pressed you down, jerking his own growing cock now.

“I don’t know where you- ah- where you get this attitude from,” Masky growled into your ear, your chest pressing down against his as he quickly tugged his cock in and out of your drenched warmth. You whined through every echoed slap, the rain, and sweat making you both slippery, and every thrust of his hips reverberating off the density of the trees. You reached out, stretching your shoulder as far as it would go to reach the pistol just at your fingertips. You groaned, pressing your sore hands into the mud for one final stretch, your index brushing the metal and tugging it in your direction.

“Fuck you.” You growled out, tugging the gun into your hand and turning to aim it at the side of Masky’s temple. You wanted a reaction, for his pace to hesitate or his eyes to stutter, but they never did. He just kept tugging your hips down, mercilessly shoving the air from your lungs with every press of his cock against your sore walls. Your noses brushed as you stared deep into the other’s eyes, a silent challenge. If anything, he went faster.

Hoodie chuckled behind you, letting his cock slide between your ass cheeks every time they bounced in Masky’s cock. He was grunting, pressing your lower back down to get a better arch out of you. “Cute.” He smiled.

Masky glanced, acknowledging the weapon pressed so aggressively against the side of his head, but keeping his attention on you. You wanted to yell, to tug the trigger just enough to watch fear creep in, but your thoughts got abruptly lost.

Masky let your hips go, tugging a fist into your hair as he slammed your lips together. You grunted into the kiss, anger fuming between the two of you and tearing your resilience apart. The kiss was aggressive, teeth snagging on lips and tongues shoving against cheeks as Hoodie took his chance to rest his hands on your hips. “Shit.”

Hoodie tugged his cock back, your hips riding Masky on their own and setting your own pace, cunt gushing and squelching at every move. You hadn’t even cum yet, and the desperation was getting to you.

“Stick your tongue out.” Hoodie reached between you two, cutting your kiss short as he selfishly shoved two fingers into your mouth, Masky growling at the loss. The brunette just laughed, a cheeky grin flashing as he tugged his fingers back, swiping them between your asscheeks.

You hissed, hips stuttering their pace as you felt Hoodie press his index finger against your asshole, swirling the muscle eagerly. “Hoodie.” You grit, craning your neck to look back at him, Masky letting his hand fall to your upper thighs. The brunette smiled, slowly nudging his index finger through the tight ring and making you sit up straight. Masky growled, reaching up to wrap his arm around you, tugging your shoulders back down, your neck in a headlock against his chest.

He slowly began to thrust his hips up again, achingly slow to distract from the feeling of Hoodie stretching your asshole. You wanted to growl, to fight back, but your eyes just rolled. Masky smiled as he watched the pistol slowly slip from your grasp, clattering back against the gravel as he fucked lazily up into your cunt, the warmth a lot more gooey than before. You could feel your abdomen flutter, clit brushing against Masky and sending your thighs tensing. “Please…" you moaned. "Coming… make me come…”

Hoodie craned his index, stretching the rim of your asshole and jerking your ass apart. Masky’s breath startled, resilience cracking as you came on his cock, cunt tightening and throbbing around his length. You convulsed, breath hitching as they brought you to your peak, shuddering violently in Masky’s arms. He couldn’t take it, he had to pull out.

You moaned out, whining when Masky slipped from your cunt and groaned loud, regaining his composure. Hoodie still worked your ass, the sting and stretch were painful but strangely so addicting. He let a second finger tease the rim, your hips sensitively jerking against the feeling as another finger slowly sunk into your ass. Your cunt clenched on nothing, tensing through your orgasm before Masky realigned himself, squeezing his cock back in. He could’ve come from how warm and gummy your walls were after cumming.

“You ready for both, mouse?” You felt dizzy, head straining as Masky kept a hold on your neck, locking you down against his chest. You tried to nod, mumbling your eagerness as Hoodie successfully pressed another finger past your rim, your whine making them grin. The brunette gave you a few good tugs before pulling his fingers out, stroking his length as he pressed the tip to your rim. You groaned against Masky’s chest, biting into the cloth of his shirt as he thrust his hips, trying to give you a good duality as Hoodie slowly pressed in.

It stung, the stretch and fullness making your fingers grip into anything you could get, nails indenting into Masky’s sides. Hoodie cursed, fingers digging into the mounds of your ass and tugging them apart, trying his best to sink in through the constraint. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re tight as hell- shit-” You sobbed through the tension, trying your best to relax as both of your holes slowly filled, your abdomen swirling with waves of arousal. You felt dizzy, panting in Masky’s scent as Hoodie finally snapped in the rest of the way, the stretch making tears spill down your cheeks.

“Fu… Fuck me…” You choked out, craning your hips just enough to make Hoodie whine, nails cutting into your hips. The boys got the hint, Masky slowing down his pace to match Hoodie’s stuttered one, the brunette fighting against the constraint of your ass while he bluntly thrust. You moaned anyways, Masky’s cock snagging your g-spot and ramming there, his grin telling. He couldn’t resist leaning forward to steal a kiss again, biting into your plump lips.

Hoodie couldn’t get over your mouth, however. He needed to be in that warmth again. So, he leaned forward, pressing his fingers against the side of your cheek and pressing them into the corner of your mouth, Masky tensing at the foreign taste. He looked like he was going to say something, but you shut him up with a plop of your hips, raising your ass up to fuck against Hoodie’s cock and ride right back down onto Masky’s. “Be nice.” You gasped as Hoodie curled his finger into the side of your cheek, tugging the skin back to make drool pool against your lips. Masky growled, rolling his eyes before snagging your lips again, loud groans and hisses panted into the other’s mouth. You felt so full, holes stuffed so nauseatingly well you could feel the way their cocks brushed together inside of you.

You could feel it again, the way your gut clenched. Masky clenched your thighs, his cock aching inside of you as Hoodie snapped his hips, riding close to the edge again. You tried your best to angle your hips back, giving them both the best angle to tug their cocks in and out. “‘M coming- Fuck! Please, please, please…” You panted through every snap of their hips, their cocks squeezing and stretching your holes so wide you knew you were ruined for anyone else. Your head was so tired, cunt throbbing and aching for release the harder they went, chasing their own.

“Pull out, Hoodie…” Masky choked, getting the last few thrusts he could as he felt you tightening, his cock teetering dangerously close to the edge. Hoodie whined, the tip of his cock popping in and out past your rim and dragging him closer too, both of the boys a whining grunting mess with you sandwiched between them. “Ma- Masky… Hoodie…”

Both of your holes clenched down as you came, the intensity of your orgasm washing over you so strongly that your eyes lulled to the back of your head. Your stomach twisted, the knot unraveling as you released on their cocks. Masky moaned lowly, biting into his lip as he forced his cock out of your swelled cunt, ropes of cum dripping from his tip as he stole your lips. Hoodie followed quickly, pushing your ass off of his cock as he started fisting his length quickly, pumping tight at the base to shoot his seed across your back. He whined through his orgasm, smearing his cum across your ass and lazily smiling at his work.

You all panted, shoulders slumped and bodies sore. You felt like you couldn’t move, every muscle inside and out aching from the exertion you had gone through.

Rain still poured, the chill seeping into your bones as you shook, water and sweat dripping from your nose. You felt so spent, cunt and ass ruined and throbbing wildly as you let your head go limp on Masky’s chest, the man grunting underneath you. “Fuck…alright, mouse.”

You were far too sleepy to care much as they shoved their limp cocks back into their jeans, everyone’s clothes soaked and cold as Hoodie wrapped his arms under your limbs, hauling you up. “C’mon, sweetheart…” Even they sounded tired.

You slipped in and out of sleep on the way back to the truck, Masky collecting your items as they went and tossing everything into the bed as the engine roared. Hoodie laid you in the backseat, climbing into the passenger as Masky peeled back towards the interstate. You were too tired to ask where you were going.

You only stirred back when the obnoxious luminescent lights showed into the truck window, blinding you. You squinted, tossing your hand in front of the light as you sat up, the backseat suddenly opening.

“Don’t make me regret buyin’ this,” Masky growled as he tossed a blanket towards you, you just now realizing how nasty with mud you all were. You smiled as Hoodie helped you out, shuffling you close to his side as the boys dragged you around to the shabby door of the motel they had found. You flinched as you remembered your foot, the crusted blood and mud staining the underside of your sock as you limped through the rusty door.

It wasn’t anything nice, definitely not five stars.

But as you three tugged off your clothes and cleaned as much of the mud off as possible, it didn’t matter. The boys cringed at your cuts, mumbling their apologies and helping you clean them up, too. Exhausted, the three of you crawled into the way-too-small bed, the boys on either side of you as they cradled in, sticky and sore body parts finding their comfortable spaces.

It wasn’t anything fancy, but it was better than sleeping in the back of the truck. You smiled when their breathing labored, faces cradled into your shoulders while you slowly blinked your sleepiness away. You didn’t want to acknowledge what this night might mean for the future, at least not tonight. You’d much rather sleep.

But as Masky and Hoodie slid their arms around your torso, legs interlocking as you all finally relaxed, maybe it didn’t seem so bad anymore.

You’d have to learn to watch your tongue, though. For your sake.

This was an anonymous request!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thank you to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

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27spoons · 2 months ago

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There's No Pleasure in Resisting | Natalie Scatorccio

pairing: natalie scatorccio/fem!reader

request: could you write smut or fluff with wilderness nat and reader? they do not have an established relationship, but a bunch of girls stranded in the wilderness is bound to lead to lesbian stuff? (anon)

wc: 2800

warnings: smut (afab!reader), fingering (nat receiving), minor hair pulling and biting, canon-typical survival stuff (mentions of starvation/discomfort), banter as foreplay, technically fluff by my standards

a/n: set in mid s1, pre-doomcoming, travnat never happened. regretably, i made the ending fluffy instead of angsty. who am i and what have i done with spoons

ao3

Two months, three weeks, and four days since that stupid fucking plane went down.

Two months, two weeks, and six days since you were supposed to be back home.

You weren't even supposed to be on the plane. You were Van's backup goalkeeper, the same person who had never missed a single game unless they were literally dying. You had played maybe two games the entire season. The only reason you even agreed to go was because it was free (thank you, Mr. Matthews), and you'd do anything to get out of Wiskayok.

Now you had an actual role to play. Survival. It's hardly the same as sitting on the bench and watching everyone else do the hard work while you cheer them on. You're no hunter. You don't have first aid training. You don't stitch pelts together or know what berries won't kill you. Mostly, you just do what you're told and try not to be a burden.

The cabin is loud, and you miss having your own sleeping space. Desperately. So, you slip away when the others start getting pissy about dinner again (namely Mari, who constantly whines about the lack of seasoning). They won't miss you.

You wander for a while before ending up at the lake. It's quiet, almost peaceful. True, it's hard to find peace out here, but you'll take the reprieve when you can. There's a stillness out here that sometimes you could find in the late nights behind the school after a soccer game—smoking a joint or sipping on warm beer with the rest of the team.

This isn't that. But it'll do.

You stand on the shore for a beat or several, staring into the massive body of water as you idly skim stones across the surface. It's not that hot—nothing is out here—but it's warm enough. Warm enough that your sweat sticks to the pits of your shirt and makes you want to claw at your skin. At least in Jersey, you were close enough to the ocean that the heat was never totally intolerable. Here? Here, you sweat like you're in a sauna the moment it hits seventy.

Without even really considering it, you strip down to your bra and underwear and wade in. The water's colder than expected, but so worth it. You would have never disrobed so easily when you first crashed out here. But by now, you've seen just about everyone half-naked, if not fully nude.

You float on your back, eyes closed, letting the cool water lap at your skin and erase some of the noise rattling around inside you. It's the first time you feel even remotely clean in days—maybe weeks. If you were worried about the plane crashing, you would have brought more than just a travel bottle of shampoo and body wash.

Oh, well.

The sun is warm on your face, cool water prunes your skin the longer you remain in it, and the stillness suddenly doesn't feel as oppressive as it did mere moments ago.

You're almost asleep—just barely hovering in that place between consciousness and rest—when you hear a familiar dragging of boots across the rocky shore. You don't need to crack an eye open to see who it is—you've come to memorise the distinct gait that everyone walks with.

When the sound stops, you crack an eye open and see the familiar sight of Natalie Scatorccio standing on the shore. The hunting rifle is slung across her back, hands on her hips, and a smirk on her face.

"This is how horror movies start, y'know?" she hums idly, tossing the rifle onto a large rock before untying the laces on her combat boots. "You'd be the first to die, too."

You bark out a laugh at that, turning your head to look at her as you continue to float. "Yeah? You gonna be the one to kill me, then?"

Nat scoffs as she removes her right boot, "Nah, I'm not giving you the easy way out. I'll let a bear maul your ass before I shoot you."

Her second boot gets tossed beside the first, and she pulls her socks off with an overdramaticized grimace. "Jesus. I think my feet might be starting to rot."

A sound of disgust leaves your mouth before you can stop it, face contorting at the thought. "Oh, gross. That's your own fault for wearing the same socks and nasty-ass boots since the plane crashed."

"Yeah, well," Nat grumbles, kicking her socks away like they've personally wronged her. "Didn't exactly pack a summer wardrobe, so."

You shrug lazily, letting yourself drift a little farther out. "That's your own fault for failing to bring into the equation that we would crash…" You gesture to your surroundings vaguely, "somewhere. Should've planned ahead."

A dry laugh spills from her as she peels her sweat-stained shirt over her head, tossing it onto the pile with her boots. "My bad. Should have packed less booze and more… jackets, or whatever."

She doesn't hesitate much after the shirt comes off—you've seen it all before, anyway. Her red sports bra is a little damp with sweat, sticking awkwardly to her skin as she tugs it into place. Her hands, adorned with rings of various shapes and colours, move to her belt next, undoing it with a practiced flick of her fingers before pushing her pants down and off. She stands there for a beat in her stripped boxers, pausing long enough to glance at you floating just beyond reach.

"What? No comment on my hot new summer look?" she asks, cocking an eyebrow as her feet disappear under the waters surface.

You crack a grin, letting the current push you back towards her. "If that's hot, I'd hate to see what you'd call tragic."

"Tragic is what I'd call your little… floaty starfish routine," she fires back, wading in until the water is just above her hips.

"Rude," you say dramatically, mimicking Jackie's voice. "Some of us like pretending to be at peace."

"Peace is a myth," Nat snorts, moving to float on her back. "Don't know who lied to you and said that it was."

"Oh, that's cynical Scatorccio, even for you."

She doesn't respond with anything more than a roll of her eyes, letting the water move her around as she lazes in the lake with you.

It's nice, admittedly. There are no expectations right now, just two teenagers relaxing for what feels like the first time in years.

The corners of her mouth twitch, but she says nothing else. Just tilts her head and watches you. Her legs drift towards you as she floats around, casually brushing yours under the water—except not really. Because when you don't move, she does it again.

And whether it's the water or of her own volition, she's drifting closer. Her thigh bumps yours, slower this time, and then lingers. Not aggressive. Not even bold. Just enough to make you aware of every inch of space between you, or lack thereof.

You glance at her. She's staring at the setting sun, still pretending it's nothing.

You could say something. Crack a joke. Splash her. Look away.

You don't.

She doesn't look at you, but her body shifts just enough that her thigh presses flush against yours. Unmistakably intentional, but you don't comment on it yet.

Maybe it's because you haven't touched anyone in months, and you're starting to get an itch. Maybe it's because it's Nat and she's hot. Maybe because it's Nat and she's a decent fucking human that you've had a crush on for ages, but you find yourself licking your lips as your eyes trace the slope of her jaw.

Then, slowly—almost lazily—she turns to face you. Her eyes flick over your features as her brow creases, like she's taking mental note of how the setting sun reflects in your sclera, or how your damp hair sticks to your forehead.

Without much thought to the action, she reaches a hand forward to brush some loose hair out of your eyes, then lets it linger on the side of your face.

"Y're quiet," she murmurs.

You blink once. Twice. "So are you."

Natalie snorts, and for a second, it's light again. Almost nothing. But then her thumb swipes across your cheekbone, and you know you're fucked.

She doesn't pull her hand away when you think she will.

Instead, her eyes flick down to your mouth and back up again, giving you an unreadable look that makes your stomach twist. Her fingers twitch slightly where they rest against your cheek, like she's fighting some internal debate.

Whatever it is, she loses.

You don't know who leans in first. Maybe it was mutual. Regardless, it doesn't matter. Not when her lips are on yours, warm and wanting. It isn't dramatic, like something out of a movie scene where the guy gets the girl. It's not hungry. No, it's tentative. Careful, like you're both exploring the other and ensuring this isn't a mistake.

There's a beat of that gentle exploration before Nat exhales hard through her nose, then starts kissing you for real. It's open-mouthed and desperate, like she's needed skin-on-skin contact as much as you have. Her hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair and pulling you towards her.

Your hands find her waist without thinking, thumbs brushing along the edge of her boxers as you draw her in. You don't know when you started treading the water or when she draped her free arm over your shoulder, but you do clock the moment she shifts in the water and begins to draw you deeper into her orbit.

The lake laps gently around you, cool against overheated skin. Natalie's legs bracket your hips now, water beading off her shoulders and rolling in small rivers down her torso. Her arms dangle loosely around your shoulders, like she's trying to play it casual, like this isn't about to turn into something else entirely.

"Not gonna drown, are you?" she murmurs, eyes flicking to your mouth, still trying to keep up that facade of nonchalance she tries so hard to maintain.

You scoff, "Not unless you hold me under."

"I can make that happen if you're into it, y'know?" Her fingers tangle in your hair, tugging on the wet strands. "I'm willing to work with you."

You huff a laugh, but it breaks halfway into a gasp when she rolls her hips forward.

"Jesus, Nat," you whisper, breath catching as your fingers dig into the curve of her ass. "You always this charming?"

"Only when trying to get someone off," she says deadpan as her lips move to your jaw, tracing a bead of water with her tongue.

You grunt at that, feet touching against the stony lake floor. "You trying to get me off, then?"

Nat laughs softly against your ear, sending warm puffs of air against your slick skin. "Was that not obvious?" She punctuates the words with a steady roll of her hips against yours, teeth catching on the lobe of your ear as she does.

"You could make it more obvious, I think." Your hand slips around her front and beneath the waistband of her boxers, finding a warm heat that's slick from more than just the water.

She sucks in a sharp breath at your touch, and her hips jerk forward reflexively, grinding against your hand.

"Fuck," she hisses, voice shaky as her nails dig into your scalp. "God, shut up—"

And then her lips are on yours with a feverish desperation, kissing you as though the world were ending—maybe it is. Maybe it already has, given the plane crash and the hell you've since walked through.

Her lips are rough from sunburn and too many days without balm, but it doesn't stop her. Doesn't stop you from biting on her lower lip, either.

While your tongue runs along the seam of her lips, your fingers slide seamlessly through her folds to tease her aching cunt. Usually, you'd probably draw this out. Make her work for it. Maybe see if you could get Natalie Scatorccio to beg—but you're feeling kind today.

Your middle finger slips into her around the same time you bite down on her lower lip, earning a soft hiss at the duelling sensations of pleasure and pain. A full-bodied shudder runs through her, her hips stuttering forward as her hands scramble for purchase—one clutching at your shoulder, the other so deeply wound up in your hair you worry she'll rip it out from the root.

"Jesus," she breathes against your mouth, eyes screwed shut as though the feeling is too much to look at.

You curl your finger inside her now, testing the waters before you add your ring finger to the mix, and start slowly pumping them in and out of her. She's tight, warm, and impossibly wet around your fingers, muscles clenching rhythmically around your digits as they tease her slowly, searching for that one spot that makes her whine and fall apart beneath your touch.

You find it on the third pass. All it takes is just the slightest shift of angle, a curl of your fingers upward—and her whole body goes taut.

"There—" she gasps, voice cracking like a snapped branch or sudden gust of wind through a warm summer's day. "Fuck, right there—"

You keep the pressure steady, pressing up into that spot with every stroke, your palm grinding against her clit in time. Her thighs twitch around your waist, as though she's still trying to pull you in deeper.

She's panting now, trying to bury her face in your shoulder, but the involuntary moans keep escaping despite her best efforts. Her nails scrape down your back the next time you crook your fingers, hips jerking helplessly against your hand as you work her open, coaxing her closer to the edge with every perfectly timed thrust.

"Yeah, that's it, c'mon." Your own breathing has picked up, coming out in sharp puffs against Nat's temple as she clings to you. "You're already so close, aren't you? I got you. I got you, Nat. C'mon. Come for me."

And, for once in her life, Nat listens the first time she's told to do something. Her orgasm washes over her like the water lapping against your bodies, her heels digging into the backs of your thighs as she tries to hold herself steady. She isn't loud—not that you expected her to be—but she doesn't need to be loud when you can feel her walls clamping around your fingers, her body unable to decide whether to keep your fingers inside or force them out.

Nat slumps against you after the final tremors leave her body, forehead resting heavy on your shoulder. You don't rush her despite the constant need for movement out here. Instead, you press a gentle kiss to the crown of her head and hold her there, your fingers still curled lazily inside her.

Eventually, she lifts her head (with great effort) and meets your eyes with a lopsided smile. "C'mon. Your turn."

Before you can respond to that, she's already moving, untangling her limbs from around you and dragging you toward the rocky shore with a hunger in her eyes that has nothing to do with the minor starvation starting to set in.

The rocks dig into the backs of your knees as she pushes you gently down onto your back, but you barely register the sharp dig of stones against your skin as she hovers above you, hair wild and eyes wide.

"Y'gonna let me return the favour?" she murmurs, dragging her lips against the hollow of your throat as she speaks. "Or y'gonna be difficult about it?"

Usually, you'd fire back with some sort of fiery remark. Something about how she's being far too cocky for someone who literally just came on your hand—but then there's a loud rustle in the trees.

"—I'm just saying! You could be less of a bitch about it sometimes, Shauna!"

"You can't keep not pitching in! People are noticing, Jackie!"

Nat freezes.

So do you.

There's a beat of dead silence before Nat collapses sideways beside you with a frustrated groan, dragging her forearm over her eyes. "Un-fucking-believable. This goddamn uptight, prudish little bitch and her—"

You have to bite back laughter as you sit up, readjusting your soaked underwear. "You think they saw?"

"No," Nat scoffs, and you swear you can hear her rolling her eyes. "But they're going to. We've got about sixty seconds before they start acting like they invited skinny-dipping."

You lean over and press a quick kiss to her shoulder as she drops her arms from around her eyes, glaring at you heatlessly. "Rain check?"

Her lips twitch upward despite everything, and you wonder what kissing her on dry land would taste like.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "Rain check."

a/n: natalie scatorccio in boxers and a sports bra save me..... natalei scatorcio in a boxers and sports bra sav me........ nataliescatoriucopsaveme

#natalie scatorccio #natalie scatorccio x you #natalie scatorccio x reader #natalie scatorccio smut #nat scatorccio #nat scatorccio x you #nat scatorccio x reader #nat scatorccio smut #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x you #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets smut #ladles (fics/blurbs)#steak knives (nsfw)#from the cutlery drawer #platter (requested)

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spencersmopbucket · 2 months ago

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Fatal Attraction (1) | Paul Lahote

Pairing: Paul Lahote x Reader Summary: When you, Edward Cullen's scorned ex lover, return to Forks to answer a desperate cry for help, you don't expect fate to be easy on you. However, you certainly didn't expect to find your mate or to find that your mate is a 6'5 hunk of mortal enemy.

Part 2

For someone in your situation, you really should've been far more unpleasant than you were.

You were 104 years old. You were born in (hometown), which was very, very far from where you were now. And at this point in your life, you wandered around aimlessly, sight seeing beautiful things (many of which you'd already seen), hunting to quench a thirst you wished would just die out, and hurting.

You were hurt. You were angry. The only reason you hadn't taken to the Volturi to end yourself was because they'd want your abilities and would force you into the Guard.

You had a lover up until around two years ago.

Edward and his coven were incredible. They were the type of family you so badly wanted to be a part of. They perfectly understood each other -- protecting, cherishing, and loving each and every person in the family. You were part of it for decades, the one person to fully understand the most complex of the group.

When you'd met Edward, you were a nomad. Your bleached skin sparkled in the sunlight of the mountain top, basking in it, enjoying the warmth as it heated up the porcelain surface. But someone was near. The scent was pungent in the middle of the forest.

Linen. Old books. A faint touch of cedar. Your nostrils flared, your red eyes darting around to find the source.

He revealed himself when he was ready to.

A beautiful man with golden eyes. Bronze hair. A curious yet tense look on his face.

For a long, breathless moment, neither of you moved. The forest was silent around you, save for the occasional whisper of the wind.

"You shouldn't be here," Edward said finally, his voice low, cautious but not unkind.

You tilted your head, studying him with equal curiosity. "Is this claimed territory?"

The man analyzed your red eyes, clearly finding that your carnivorous habits differed from his own (based on his bloodless, golden eyes.)

The man analyzed your red eyes, clearly finding that your carnivorous habits differed from his own (based on his bloodless, golden eyes).

"Not claimed," he said carefully, "but protected."

You let the words sink in, weighing his meaning. Protected. By him? By others like him?

"And you're the protector?" you asked, your voice light but edged with curiosity.

A faint smile ghosted across his face, almost reluctant. "One of them."

You hopped up onto a tree, sitting on the limb. Your booted feet swung as you studied him. You were silent for a few moments, just taking him in. Trying to make sense of him.

"If you're protecting a little town in Washington, your diet must be a bit unorthodox." You finally commented, picking at a piece of bark on the tree. "However, I already knew that. Your eyes." You noted.

Edward chuckled under his breath — a low, almost musical sound. "You're observant."

You shrugged lazily. "I have to be. Survival depends on it."

For the first time, a genuine smile broke through on his face. It was faint, but it softened him, made him look less like the wary protector and more like someone... lonely. Someone who might understand you in ways you had long ago given up hoping for.

Humming, you hopped down from the tree, slowly and curiously approaching the man. He simply looked down at you, his height greater than yours.

Extending a hand, your lips stretched over glinting teeth.

"Well, protector, I'm Name. And you are?"

For a second, he just stared at your hand — as if he wasn't used to such easy gestures, as if he didn't trust it. Then, almost hesitantly, he reached out and clasped your hand in his. His skin was like marble: cool, impossibly smooth, yet not unpleasant. Same as yours.

"Edward," he said, his voice soft but sure.

A jolt of something electric and sharp traveled up your arm at the contact — a feeling you hadn't felt in decades, maybe since you were human. Judging by the slight darkening of Edward’s eyes, he had felt it too.

You didn't pull away. Neither did he.

"Edward," you repeated, tasting the name. Your smirk deepened. "Fitting for a knight in shining armor, don't you think?"

That earned you another one of those almost-smiles — shy, fleeting, precious.

"I'm hardly a knight," he said under his breath, almost like he didn't mean for you to hear it.

You cocked your head, still not letting go of his hand. "No? And here I thought you were protecting the poor defenseless humans of Forks."

Softly letting his hand go, you stepped away.

"Alright," you cleared your throat unnecessarily. "I hardly like to intrude on other people's territory. I'll be on my way, Edward."

For a moment, he looked conflicted — as if some part of him warred against letting you leave. His golden eyes flickered, studying you with an intensity that made the cool air between you feel somehow heavier.

"You don't have to," he said suddenly, the words slipping out quicker than he seemed to intend.

You paused, brows lifting slightly in surprise.

Edward shifted his weight, almost awkwardly, a hand raking through his bronze hair. "I mean... you're not a threat. Not to us. Carlisle would want me to at least offer you... a place to rest. To be safe. If you need it."

You blinked at him, trying to read between the lines. Caution. Kindness. Curiosity. Loneliness. It was all there, laid bare even in his tightly controlled voice.

"You don't even know me," you said, your tone gentler now.

He smiled — truly smiled this time, though it was still small. "Not yet."

Your heart — what was left of it — twisted painfully in your chest. For the first time in a very long time, you felt something other than loneliness clawing at your ribs.

Hope.

And damn it, it scared you.

You forced a smirk back onto your face to mask the storm inside you. "Alright then, protector," you said, your voice light and teasing as you turned slightly, giving him a look over your shoulder. "Lead the way."

Edward hesitated for just a heartbeat — then he followed.

You and Edward were passionate. Happy. It was almost enough to ignore the fact that the love between the two of you wasn't a mating bond, and you both still had someone out there that wasn't each other.

You became a part of the family. You moved in to the house, got enrolled in school, curved your diet. For years, you had a life with the Cullen coven. You had a life with Edward.

Until the arrival of a new student. Until the arrival of her. The human pet.

The difference in his behavior was immediately evident. After the first day, he literally fled from Forks, declining your offer to join him. The first red flag.

After that, you slowly grew apart, until he finally broke your heart.

You had seen it coming. You weren’t blind. But still — nothing could’ve prepared you for the way it shattered you.

Edward didn't say much when he ended things. He barely looked you in the eye. And when he did, you saw it — the guilt, the confusion, the pull toward someone that wasn't you. It wasn't rage you felt when he left you standing there in the woods, empty and alone. It was something quieter. Colder. A grief so deep it hollowed you out from the inside.

You didn’t beg. You didn’t cry. You simply stood there, the mist curling around your ankles, and let it happen.

Let him go.

Because if you were anything, you were proud. And no matter how much you loved him, you would not fight for a heart that was already lost to someone else.

You packed your things the next night, not saying a word to the others — not even Alice, who had tried so desperately to reach you through the swirling storm inside you.

And you left Forks.

You wandered again, like you had before. Only this time, the world was duller. Colder. Not even the most beautiful sunsets or bustling cities could stitch together the broken pieces inside of you.

Two years passed.

Two years of wandering, of surviving, of refusing to fall completely apart. Until one day, a call came. A desperate plea from Carlisle.

A threat bigger than any before. An urgent need for help.

And despite everything — despite the way your chest still ached at the thought of that house, that family, that boy with the bronze hair and golden eyes — you answered.

Why was your help so important to the Cullens?

You were powerful. You had an ability, as Alice, Edward, and Jasper did.

The Volturi called it the "empathic flame." It was incredibly rare — in fact, the Kings were certain that you were the only vampire alive today that had it. That's what made you so valuable to anybody, let alone the Cullens.

You had the rare ability to manipulate and amplify another's emotions to the point where they physically manifested as flames. If focused enough, they could scorch an enemy, burning through skin and eventually destroying them. The fire wasn't just a byproduct of their anger, their hatred, or their fear — it was a direct result of your control. A unique and terrifying weapon.

At first, the power had been uncontrollable, like a spark that you couldn't quite quench. When you'd first discovered it, you'd learned the hard way: emotions weren't just fleeting feelings — they were forces you could bend, twist, and manipulate, sometimes with deadly consequences.

But it took years to learn to temper it, to refine it. Now, you could do things with it that most vampires couldn't fathom. You could turn a vampire's ferocity against them, suffocating their reckless aggression in a blanket of overwhelming fear. Or, you could use it on your own side — amplifying the calm in a battle-hardened vampire, focusing their clarity to make them nearly unstoppable.

The Cullen family had come to rely on you in ways they never expected.

You were the shield and the sword — a counterbalance to their strengths. Alice’s foresight, Edward’s reading of minds, and Jasper’s emotional control were a force to be reckoned with, but you were the wild card. A weapon that could end the battle before it even started.

Even when the Volturi had gotten wind of your ability — and they had, long before you ever left Italy — they understood just how rare you were. And just how dangerous.

That was why you had to be careful. Careful about when you used it, careful about how you used it, and careful about who you trusted. The Volturi would take your ability in an instant if they thought they could harness it for their own purposes. You knew that. You’d seen what they did to others who were "too valuable" to let go.

Stepping back into Forks felt like going against every shred of pride you had. If you weren't so empathetic, you wouldn't have. You hated it there. You hated the reminder of what had happened, how lonely you were. You hated the scent of human blood, which you'd been struggling not to turn back to.

You preferred somewhere rural. Somewhere that no one else would find you.

Of course, Carlisle had searched for you. He wouldn’t give up. He never had, and you should’ve known he wouldn’t now. The Cullens always had their way of worming their way back into your life, even when you wanted to stay gone.

But what made it worse? What made it more unbearable? The fact that you couldn’t kill Carlisle’s son. You hated him — or at least, you used to — but there was a reason why your heart still clenched when you thought about him. And that, that was the weakness you couldn’t rid yourself of.

Turning the corner onto the familiar road that led toward the house that had once been home, your thoughts drifted, unwillingly, to Edward. You could still hear the sound of his voice in your mind — the way he said your name so softly, how his lips always brushed against yours, almost too gently, as if you were something breakable.

And that... that was why you had left. Because you couldn’t stay in the same room as him. Not when everything about him made you ache with longing and resentment.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. The Cullens needed your help now. An enemy was rising, and even with your power, you weren't sure what the outcome would be. But there was no backing out. Not now.

You made it to the door and raised your arm to knock. Before you could even manage, the door opened. Arms were thrown around your frame, pulling you into a crushing hug.

You immediately recognized the scent. Alice. You smiled, rolling your eyes.

"Hello to you too, Al."

Alice squeezed you tighter, her voice a melodic giggle as she pulled away just enough to look you over. "I knew you’d come back eventually," she said with that same knowing smile she always wore. "Though I didn't think it would take this long."

You rolled your eyes again, though there was a soft warmth behind it. Alice had always been the persistent one, and despite your best efforts, you had never been able to completely escape her.

"I didn't have much of a choice, did I?" you teased, your voice more playful than you'd intended. The tight knot in your chest from being back here — back in their world — loosened just slightly. Still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was all going to be more complicated than you wanted.

Alice's grin widened, her eyes flicking to the side briefly. "Nope. But I’m so glad you’re here," she said as she stepped back, pulling you further inside.

As you crossed the threshold, the familiar smell of the Cullen house hit you — a mix of human and vampire, a blend that once felt like home. It was both comforting and suffocating.

"How’s everyone else?" you asked, trying to push down the inevitable tension that lurked beneath your calm demeanor. You couldn't ignore the pull to search for Edward, to see if he was here, to see if he’d even acknowledge your presence.

“Carlisle and Esme are in the kitchen, working out the details of the newborn army," Alice said, a flicker of concern crossing her face before it was quickly replaced with a smile. "And Edward... well, he’s been trying to act casual, but I think we both know that’s not happening.”

You fought the instinctive wince.

"Great," you muttered, your hand resting against the doorframe as your mind raced. "So, the world’s about to end and they need me, huh?"

"More or less," Alice said with a small chuckle, her eyes shining with excitement despite the gravity of the situation. "But we could really use your help. I know you’re hesitant, but..." She looked at you, really looked at you, and for the first time in a long while, her gaze softened with understanding. "We need you, you. Not just your power."

You swallowed hard, your heart clenching. "I’m not sure I can give that to you," you whispered, the words feeling like they were torn from your chest. “I’m not the person I used to be.”

Alice’s expression softened, her voice quiet. “I know. But that doesn’t mean you can’t help us. We’re all just trying to do what’s right. And... I think you’re still part of this family, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You looked at her, really looked at her, and in that moment, something deep inside you cracked. Maybe she was right. Maybe you were still a part of this strange, mismatched family, even after everything. Even with the wounds you hadn’t allowed to heal.

"Fine," you said with a sigh, the words heavy on your tongue. "I’ll help. But I can’t promise anything."

Alice beamed, her enthusiasm almost infectious. “That’s all we can ask for!” She gestured for you to follow her. "Come on, Carlisle’s been dying to see you. And... I think someone else might want to talk to you too."

Your stomach flipped. You knew exactly who she meant.

You were dragged through the house and into the kitchen, where everyone now stood.

You had to admit, the tension in your chest was loosening, if only just a little. But you were about to face them all—Carlisle, Esme, Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, and Edward.

Carlisle was the first to spot you, his face breaking into that calm, warm smile you remembered so well. "Welcome back," he said softly, his voice kind but serious. You could see the concern in his eyes, a gentle reminder of why you were here.

You nodded, trying to keep your composure. “Thanks,” you said, meeting his gaze with a quiet understanding. You both knew why you were here, and that made things just a little more difficult.

Esme came next, her arms open wide. You didn’t hesitate this time, accepting the embrace. Her scent was familiar, like the comfort of a mother’s love that you hadn’t realized you’d been missing. "It’s so good to see you," Esme said, her voice filled with warmth. "You’ve been gone too long."

You pulled away, giving her a faint smile. "I wasn’t planning on being gone this long, but..." You trailed off, not wanting to get into the reasons why you'd stayed away. Not now. Not yet.

Rosalie, standing next to Emmett, was next to approach. Her golden eyes softened slightly when she met your gaze. “You look exactly the same,” she said, her voice steady, but there was an unmistakable warmth there. You'd always had a special connection with Rosalie. She was one of the few who understood the weight of your past, the loneliness of it all.

Before you could respond, Rosalie pulled you into a hug, her arms strong but somehow comforting. "It’s been way too long, you know?" she added, her voice muffled against your shoulder. "Alice has been driving us all insane talking about you coming back."

You chuckled softly, pulling away as Rosalie smirked at you. “Typical Alice,” you said, glancing over at the pixie who was already looking smug.

Alice bounced on her toes. “I told you, she’d come back,” she said, her grin wide and mischievous.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, yeah,” you muttered. "I’m here."

Emmett stepped forward then, clapping you on the back with enough force to make you stumble slightly. You hadn’t forgotten his playful nature. "Finally! I knew you wouldn’t be able to resist our charm." He grinned at you, that familiar twinkle in his eyes. “It’s good to see you again, seriously. We’ve missed you.”

You chuckled, steadying yourself. “I’m sure you have, Emmett. It’s hard to miss this much muscle, after all. You missed me giving you a run for your money?” You said, flexing your arm.

Emmett gave a mock offended look, but it was clear from his laugh that he didn’t mind. “You’ve got jokes, huh? I’ll remember that.”

Jasper stepped forward next, his expression calm but his eyes full of understanding. You knew better than to expect a grand display of affection from him—he was always more reserved, especially with emotions like these. Still, his presence alone felt grounding, a reminder that some things hadn't changed.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly, his voice carrying an unspoken message of support. He didn't have to say more. His presence spoke volumes.

You smiled back at him. You and Jasper had always had an understanding. Both empaths, but one could use it a bit.. differently than the other.

Finally, you caught his scent before you saw him. He came down the stairs, his golden eyes immediately zeroing in on you. You looked back at him, a frown slowly forming on your face involuntarily.

Edward.

He spoke first.

"Hello, Name." He said, testing the words. He hadn't said them in years.

"Edward." You responded, your words clipped.

Then, another scent. Strong. It made venom fill your mouth, your fangs growing, touching the inside of your cheeks. You stiffened, cutting off your air flow.

That must have been Bella. Just as you suspected, she meekly stumbled down the stairs behind Edward, coming to his side. You'd never met the girl that ended your 11 year relationship, but you couldn't say you ever wished to.

Now, you had no choice.

Edward noticed immediately, his eyes flicking to you with a sharp intensity, and then back to Bella. The connection between you two was always like this —i ntuitive. But there was no time to address it now, not when Bella stood there, her presence suddenly undeniable.

Bella shuffled closer to Edward, her eyes flicking nervously between you and the others. You could see the slight tension in her posture, the uncertainty radiating off her. She had to know that you weren’t just anyone. You were him, Edward's past, and that was not something easily forgotten.

"Um... Hi," Bella’s voice was soft, hesitant. She wasn’t as bold as you'd expected, and it only made the whole situation worse. She looked at you with wide, uncertain eyes, clearly aware of the sharp tension in the room.

You cleared your throat, stepping away slightly.

"You smell very strong." You said, your voice heavy with thirst.

Bella flinched, her eyes widening at your words. The tension between you both thickened, and you could feel the weight of the room shift. Edward’s jaw tightened, his gaze narrowing on you, but you didn’t care. The thirst was there, pulsing in your veins, clawing at the back of your throat.

Bella, clearly uncomfortable, took a small step back, her eyes darting nervously toward Edward. She didn’t fully understand, not yet. But she could feel the weight of the unspoken words between you and Edward, the history, the pain. And now, the thirst.

"Sorry," Bella mumbled, her voice quiet and unsure. "I didn’t mean to—"

"No," you cut her off, your voice low, the irritation in your words unmistakable. "It’s not your fault. It’s.. Natural." You took another slow breath, the scent of her blood tantalizing, but you forced yourself to look away. The control was there, barely. But you wouldn’t lose it. Not here. Not now.

"You're.. Name." She addressed. "I'm Bella."

You managed a small smile. The little human.. She had a clear bravery. To address you meant that she must have known the story. Your story. Edward wasn't one to lie, but he was one to brood and feel guilty. You had no doubt that he told her, though no one in the room would address it.

You couldn't believe she introduced herself first. She must have known that you wanted to rip her head off. And Edward's. In one swoop.

"I am. It's nice to meet you, Bella." You said politely, nodding your head towards her.

Bella smiled nervously, though there was a hint of something else behind her eyes. She wasn’t naive. She knew exactly what you were, and what your presence meant. But she wasn’t backing down, either. She wasn’t running from the reality of this world, even if it scared her.

"Uh, it's... nice to meet you too," she said, her voice trembling slightly, but there was a steady determination in her gaze. It was clear she wasn’t backing down either. And that, if anything, was a small relief.

Edward shifted uncomfortably beside her, his eyes flickering between you and Bella. His silence was loud. You could feel it—his guilt, his helplessness. It was suffocating. And it made you want to scream. But you didn’t. Not yet.

You looked at him for just a moment, eyes narrowing. "So," you said, breaking the silence, "newborn vampires? Do you know who organizes them? What they're here for?" Your voice held an edge to it, but it wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. You could feel the tension in the room already, thick and sharp like a storm just waiting to crack open.

Edward’s jaw tightened, and he shifted on his feet, as if uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. Bella, still standing slightly behind him, looked from you to Edward, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern.

"They're organized by someone we’ve... encountered before," Edward replied slowly, his voice measured. "Victoria. She’s been working behind the scenes, creating an army of newborns to take us down."

You felt your teeth clench at the mention of her name. Victoria. The fiery-haired vampire who had been nothing but trouble from the start. You'd never encountered her, but you knew about her through letters exchanged between you and Rosalie.

"And what’s her game?" you asked, forcing your voice to remain steady. "What does she want with you all?"

Edward’s eyes flickered briefly to Bella, before looking back at you. "She wants revenge. For her mate, who I killed. And she’s using the newborns as pawns."

A flash of annoyance flickered through you at the mention of James. That whole situation had left scars on the entire family.

"You’re not worried about Victoria," you said, your gaze never leaving Edward. "It’s the newborns that concern you."

The thought of an army of them—powerful, uncontrollable, and bloodthirsty—sent a dangerous ripple of anticipation through you. It wasn’t just the Cullens who had to face them. No, you knew your abilities were vital in keeping everyone safe. If things got too out of control, you would have to step in.

Edward’s eyes darkened, a flicker of his old protective nature flashing through them. "We have a plan. Carlisle and the others have been training the werewolves to help us, but we may need your power."

Werewolves.

Your jaw dropped.

"You're working with dogs?" You hissed.

Edward’s expression shifted, a mix of amusement and defensiveness crossing his features. "They’re not just dogs," he said, a slight edge to his voice. "They’re allies. We’ve been working together for a long time now."

You couldn’t hide the disbelief on your face. "Allies?" you repeated, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "You expect me to work alongside them?"

There was no mistaking the tension in the air. The idea of working with werewolves — creatures you had never particularly seen eye to eye with — was almost laughable. The last thing you wanted to do was ally yourself with something that was, essentially, a natural enemy.

It was even worse than you were suddenly hit with the smell.

"Play nice, leech. We will in return."

You spun around at the sound of the voice, your fangs barely hidden, eyes narrowing immediately at the sight of the newcomer. A tall, russet-skinned man, his posture brimming with arrogance. His scent hit you instantly — wet fur, earth, and something raw, primal. It was unmistakable.

Jacob Black. You knew him too. You'd known him since he was just a child, clinging to the police chief's pant leg and pushing his father's wheelchair around.

You didn’t hide the distaste on your face. "So this is one of them," you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. "A werewolf."

Jacob’s lips quirked into a smirk, his eyes locking onto yours with a fire that felt almost challenging. "I’m not just a werewolf, sweetheart. I’m the one who’ll keep your precious Cullen family safe while you try not to bite someone’s head off."

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you stood taller, narrowing your eyes at him. "Don’t get too cocky," you shot back, the venom in your words as sharp as ever. "Just because you’re a ‘protector’ now doesn’t mean I won’t burn you to a crisp if you get in my way."

The air crackled between you two. The tension was palpable. You could practically hear Edward’s teeth grinding, his usual calm composure strained. But you didn’t care. You weren’t here to play nice.

Jacob took a step closer, not backing down in the slightest. "I’m not afraid of you, bloodsucker," he growled. "I’ve got bigger things to worry about than your little flame trick."

Your lips curled into a grin, your eyes glowing with a flicker of dangerous amusement. "You should be," you said softly, the words carrying a weight that made his eyes flicker. "Because one wrong move, and I’ll show you exactly how much heat my flames can carry. And trust me, you don’t want to test that."

Jacob didn’t flinch, though you could see the tension building in his shoulders. He seemed to consider your words for a moment, then chuckled, a low, mocking sound. "You're a real piece of work, aren’t you?" He took another step forward, his eyes never leaving yours. "I get it. You don’t like us. We’re not your kind. But the enemy isn’t here to pick sides. We’re all in this together now. Whether you like it or not."

You held his gaze, unblinking, but something in his words —his confidence— shifted something in you. Maybe it was the way he wasn’t backing down. Maybe it was the fact that you were both in the same damn situation. Either way, it was frustrating.

"I’ll tolerate you," you said, your voice low and dangerous, "because I have to. But don’t get comfortable, dog."

Jacob’s smirk didn’t fade. "Likewise, leech."

The next day, it was time to train. Though you could feel the nerves on the rest of the Cullen family, you were eerily calm. You knew you could handle this. After all, you'd singe anyone that had an issue.

The vampires arrived in the clearing first, the rain falling in misty waves. Your jacket was soaked. You all waited in silence for the rest of the Pack to arrive.

It made you want to puke, if that were possible anymore. Werewolves. You were expected to work with fucking werewolves. It was obvious that whatever class Edward once had was gone, if this were his idea. Your golden eyes glared at the rustling woodline, the scent of wet dog filling your nostrils once again. At least you were outside this time and not confined in a kitchen.

You crossed your arms, the dampness of your jacket doing nothing to quell the fire inside you. It wasn’t just the scent of the werewolves that had you on edge — it was the fact that you were about to be forced into working with them, cooperating with creatures that were the very opposite of you. A natural predator.

The rain continued to fall, a soft, persistent drizzle that only added to your growing frustration. Your thoughts turned dark, your gaze unwavering as you waited for the Pack to show up. It was almost too easy to imagine the worst-case scenario. Werewolves had a certain...wildness about them that made it impossible to predict their next move. And you? You were nothing if not calculated. Every move, every decision, was meant to ensure you came out on top.

Edward was standing slightly behind you, his expression unreadable as he too scanned the woods, likely picking up on your agitation. The tension between you both was palpable. Despite your control, your anger simmered beneath the surface. He had been a fool to think that working with them would be easy for you.

Finally, the rustling in the trees grew louder, signaling their arrival. You stiffened instinctively, but forced yourself to take a deep breath, calming your volatile thoughts before the rest of the Pack stepped into the clearing.

You didn’t look back. You didn’t need to. The Pack was here.

Jacob was the first to emerge from the trees, his large frame cutting through the mist. His eyes locked onto yours immediately, and there was that familiar, ever-present cockiness in his grin. Then, the rest.

Only some felt comfortable enough to come out of their natural wolf form.

This one was smaller than Jacob, but still imposing in his own right. His dark hair was messy and tousled, the light rain soaking through his shirt. He had an easy, almost laid-back aura, one that contrasted sharply with the energy around him.

You studied him, noting the slight, unintentional bounce in his step, as if he was a bit more at ease than everyone else in the clearing.

He caught your eye, giving you a small but friendly wave, though you didn’t return the gesture. You could tell he wasn’t as confrontational as Jacob or the others. He seemed almost... curious, his expression open but not entirely without caution.

"I'm Embry."

You stared at him for a moment, trying to piece together what exactly you were dealing with. Another werewolf? You could feel the heat radiating off him, the telltale scent of wet dog mingling with the unmistakable tinge of wolf.

"You're a kid. Don't you think you're too young to be fighting in a war?" you said, keeping your tone cool and neutral. You didn’t bother to fake any interest — but curiosity flickered in your chest. Who was this one?

Embry didn't seem to take offense to your words. In fact, he chuckled softly, the sound warm and easy, though there was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes. He didn’t look like the type to back down, not even from your cold tone.

"I’m not a kid," he said, his voice calm but with an edge of determination. "I’m older than I look."

You raised an eyebrow, still not fully convinced. His youthful appearance, that carefree attitude, didn’t fit the usual profile of someone ready to fight in a battle like this.

"I can handle myself," Embry continued, his gaze steady on you. "And besides, war doesn’t really ask if you're ready, does it?"

You frowned at that, the reality of the situation settling in. War didn’t care. But that didn’t mean you had to like the idea of a werewolf —especially a younger one — joining the fray. The tension between the Cullens and the wolves had always been a delicate one, and the thought of working alongside one of them made your stomach churn.

"Fair enough." You said shortly, turning back to the Cullens.

Or that was until you felt another presence.

The moment the rustling from the trees caught your attention, you knew someone else was approaching. Embry turned slightly, a playful smirk crossing his face as he watched the new arrival, and then, without missing a beat, the two were engaged in a rough, friendly scuffle—tussling with the kind of ease only two werewolves could manage.

You watched them for a second, your golden eyes flicking between them with growing annoyance. They were too casual for a situation like this. Too... careless. You hated the way they didn’t acknowledge the danger that loomed.

The tall, broad-shouldered figure had that unmistakable arrogance in his stride, the sort of cocky swagger that made it clear he thought very highly of himself.

But before you could even fully register his presence, the most bizarre thing happened. He locked eyes with you.

The air shifted. His movements faltered, and for the first time since he'd arrived, his attention was fully focused on you. The playful fight with Embry stopped. The playful energy, the jokes—all of it faded as Paul’s gaze hardened, his eyes flashing an intense, golden brown. You felt the air around you thicken, and a strange energy pulsed between you two.

"Paul?" Embry asked in confusion.

You didn’t know what was happening at first, but you felt it in the pit of your stomach—a magnetic pull, like gravity itself had shifted. Your breath caught in your throat, and before you could even process what was happening, Paul’s entire demeanor changed. His lips parted slightly, his fists clenching.

And then it hit you. He was imprinted on you.

You froze.

The shock on his face was instant. His expression darkened with anger, confusion, and disbelief all at once. His body stiffened, as though he were fighting some invisible force that had latched onto him. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, and his eyes flicked over your face, searching for something — anything — that would explain this absurdity.

"No," he growled under his breath, his voice barely audible but thick with the kind of rage you’d only seen in werewolves. "No fucking way."

He stumbled back as if he’d been hit, shaking his head violently, his muscles tensing as though the very idea of imprinting on a vampire — on you — was something he couldn’t bear.

Before anyone could say a word, Paul’s body spasmed with pain. The shift was sudden, violent. His body rippled and contorted, muscles bulging, bones snapping as he phased into his wolf form right before your eyes. He howled in frustration, a guttural, enraged sound that echoed through the clearing and into the trees, sending shivers down your spine.

The others reacted immediately — Jasper tensing, Edward’s gaze following Paul’s every movement — but no one dared to move. It was as if the entire forest had held its breath, waiting for Paul to do what he was so clearly struggling to do.

Paul didn’t look at anyone else as he ran, his massive wolf form bounding through the trees with a final, ferocious howl, the sound of his angry cries fading with every passing second.

Embry’s wide eyes met yours, his mouth slightly agape, but the words didn’t come. No one knew what to say. It wasn’t just shocking — it was unprecedented.

"He… He imprinted on her?" Embry’s voice finally broke the silence, his tone incredulous, still processing the absurdity of it all.

But the rest of the pack was still too stunned to speak. The Cullens stood in eerie silence, only their eyes darting between you, Paul’s retreating form, and each other.

The tension in the air was thick — raw. And you couldn’t help but feel it too. You weren’t sure whether to be irritated, confused, or... relieved. Relieved that you were finally set free from Edward.

Whatever it was, you didn’t know how to handle the fact that Paul Lahote — a wolf — had imprinted on you. A vampire.

#twilight x reader #twilight fanfiction #forks washington #quileute #werewolves #the pack #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote #twilight fandom #twilight saga #jacob black #edward cullen x reader #bella swan #rosalie hale #jasper hale #carlisle cullen #seth clearwater #embry call

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dollveis · 4 months ago

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⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀𝐅𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐇 !

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀you've got a fetish for my love

❝ ELLIE WILLIAMS ❞⠀ ✿ you always push ellie away because you're sure you couldn't work together, but maybe you can under the bed sheets. 3.3k words.

pairing. jackson!ellie x fem!reader content warning! mention of consuming alcohol, smut, vague plot tbh, the smut it's actually pretty light and there's more tension and making out than anything, a bit of fluff and maybe angst if you squint, kind of a enemies to lovers but they're not completely enemies (just don't get along), open ending, oral (r!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), top!ellie, bottom! reader, there's not really a dom/sub dynamic here.

☆ this is the first thing i've wrote in like a year and a half so bear with me please, this also has been sitting in my drafts for two years already and i finished it just now. i hope this isn't that bad! if there's any grammatical mistakes please let me know, english is not my first language, enjoy ♡

The party was obviously Dina's idea. She'd been going on about it for weeks now, how the younger crowd of Jackson needed a break, no one had barely time to just be and exist with all the patrolling, hunting and just surviving in general.

The party is already in full swing when you finally arrive, half the town's twenty-somethings crowding Dina's place. The warmth it's the first thing that hits you, the house is candlelit, the soft cracking of the fireplace and the strong scent of whiskey and woodsmoke fill your nostrils. The sound of laughter echoes from the living room, someone's half-drunk attempt at playing the guitar makes everyone laugh, you hear Dina's voice rising above it all, welcoming everyone, teasing people, just keeping the energy high. She really outdid herself, the whole place is alive in a way that Jackson rarely is.

And you hate it.

“Loosen up, drink a little, talk to someone who isn't your damn horse!” she said when she greeted you and saw that expression in your face, like if you were about to run back to your house.

You immediately thought you shouldn't have come. The party is loud, too loud. It's not that you don't like the people here, you do, for most part, but crowds make you restless and you've spent the whole day convincing yourself that this? this isn't what you need, you should've stayed home but Dina insisted, said you were wound up too tight.

Then your eyes land on her.

So now you were stuck there, standing stiff against a wall, drink in hand and watching the room from a distance like it might swallow you whole.

She's sitting in the corner, half sprawled on the couch, beer dangling from her slender fingers and her other arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, boots kicked up on the edge of a coffee table just if like she owns the fucking place. She's laughing at something Jesse just said, her head tilting back slightly, exposing the column of her throat. It's a rare sight— her guard down, her expression relaxed, warmth slipping through the usual sharp edges.

Ellie.

For a second you let yourself look, your gaze fixated on her. The way her shirt clings to her frame, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her tattoo catching the dim light of the place. The way her fingers absently trace the label on her beer bottle. The way her green eyes flick across the room, scanning, searching, until they land on you.

An hour passes, maybe more, two? you spend most of it trying to avoid her, talking to Dina, Jesse, anyone else but you feel her presence like a weight. Every time you glance her way, she's already looking, every time you move, she's just there and it's pissing you off.

There's a pause, a beat where neither of you look away. Then she smirks. Fucking smirks. She lifts her beer slightly, a silent acknowledgement of your presence, before taking a slow sip. She knows exactly what she's doing, she enjoys watching you bristle. You scoff and turn away, pulse kicking up in annoyance. You and Ellie don't get along, y'all never have, she's stubborn, reckless, too sure of herself in a way that grates on your nerves. Every patrol together turns into a heated argument, every introduction a silent battle. It's not like she's mean, if anything, it'd be easier if she was, but she's just Ellie, all sharp words and cocky grins, pressing your buttons like it's a game. And she's determined to win it. For some reason she never lets up, not with you.

Maybe it's a game of push and pull and you always push first.

You down the rest of your drink and push through the crowd, slipping down the back hallway, you don't run but you walk fast enough that it feels like it, you dodge Jesse's half-hearted attempt to pull you into some drinking game. You just need air, space—distance.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter glaring at the ceiling, “do you ever take a hint?”

The first door you find is half open, a guest room, mostly unused since the bed was neatly made. You step inside, inhaling deeply, relishing the silence, then the door shuts behind you, you don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

Ellie just chuckles, the sound low and amused, “Not when it's this much fun, to be honest,” and you don't even need to look around to know she has that stupid smirk plastered on her face.

You spin to face her, your eyes meeting her intense emerald eyes and your arms crossing tight over your chest, “What the hell do you want?”

She leans against the doorframe, her hand holding her chin like she was pretending to think, “dunno. . . maybe i just like seeing you squirm.”

Your jaw clenches and your fists close, “i'm not squirming.”

You hate how easily she gets under your skin, how quickly she turns the air electric. The room feels smaller with her in it, the tension between you palpable. And the worst part? She knows.

You see her smirk grow, a knowing look in her eyes, she looks at you like if she was able to read your thoughts and body language, like if she knew something you don't. She steps closer, “no?”

You can feel the anger growing inside you, “why do you always do this?” you snap.

Through her lips escapes a soft chuckle as her brow raises, “do what?”

“This. You act like— like —” you exhale sharply, trying to put your mind in order and find the right words, “like you're trying to get a rise out of me.”

You breath hitches, for a moment neither of you move, the tension is thick, suffocating, a rope pulled too tight between you, you're both too stubborn, too reckless, you'd burn each other out before you even had the chance to try.

Another step, now you can smell the mix of beer and whiskey on her breath, the faint scent of smoke clinging to her shirt, “what if i am?” she says, her voice now lower, rougher.

But you don't.

Your heart pounds, your skin prickles, and fuck, you should push her away like you always do.

You take a step forward, closing the distance completely. Ellie doesn't flinch, doesn't back down, if anything she leans in, her usual green eyes now dark and heavy lidded, her smirk fading into something different. Something dangerous.

You don't answer, you can't because she's right and you both know it. So when she tilts her head, gaze flicking down to your lips— when she hesitates, waiting for you— you do the stupidest thing imaginable.

“You gonna keep pretending?” she murmurs close to your ear.

You kiss her.

Ellie kisses like she fights, hungry, restless, all consuming. Her hands grip at your waist, pulling you impossibly close, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt like she's trying to stake her claim. The taste of her mouth makes your head spin. You should stop, you really should, you keep repeating that to yourself in your mind but when she presses you harder against the wall, when she nips at your lower lip and swallows the soft, sweet sound it pulls from your throat— you don't. You won't.

The kiss is not soft, not sweet, there's frustration, months of tension unravelling all at once. Ellie makes a sound low in her throat, something between a gasp and a groan, and then she's grabbing you, fingers curling around the back of your neck, pulling you into her, pressing you against the door. The alcohol on her tongue is dizzying, her body solid and warm against yours and fuck, maybe you should stop. Maybe this is a mistake— but when she bites at your bottom lip, hands slipping under your jacket, pulling, teasing, demanding, you know there's no going back.

Your hands move on their own, fisting into the front of her shirt, yanking her closer, until there's barely any space left between the both of you. You feel Ellie exhale sharply against your lips, a quiet, breathy curse before tilting her head to deepen the kiss. Months of pent-up frustration unraveling with every movement. Her hands now drag under your jacket, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, her rough and calloused fingers grazing over your bare skin. The touch sends a shiver through you, your breath hitching as she maps the contours of your waist, ribs, back and dangerously close to your chest.

“Fuck,” Ellie mutters against your mouth, voice husky and almost desperate, “you're—” she cuts herself off, biting at your lip again before pulling back just enough to look at you.

Your chest rises and falls in tandem, lips swallowed and face flushed. And, God, that sight was delightful for her, she could feel herself getting wet just by looking at you, her pupils are blown wide, green eyes dark and unreadable as they flick between your lips and your gaze. She's still gripping at your waist, still pressing you into the door, but there's hesitation now— like she's waiting, like she's asking, like she needs you to make the next move. You exhale, reaching up, letting your fingers tangle in the short hairs at the nape of her neck. She shivers under your touch, just barely, and something about that sends a thrill directly to your core, making you bolder and almost demanding.

Somewhere between kisses and touches she starts backing you up slowly, steady, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed and your stomach tightens.

You tug her back in, Ellie groans softly as your lips crash together again, her hands gripping tighter, wandering and exploring beneath your shirt, sometimes her hands traveling to graze your chest. She moves like she's trying to memorize you, like she's been waiting too long for this moment and doesn't want to waste a second of it.

Ellie pulls away slightly, breath ghosting over your lips, “tell me to stop.”

You obviously don't. Instead, you hook a finger into her belt loop and pull, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress, bringing her down with you. She lets out a breathless chuckle, bracing herself with her hands on either side of your head.

“Yeah?” she murmurs, voice teasing but still rough around the edges, like she's barely holding herself together.

And that's all she needs. She kisses you again, even deeper this time, slower, like she wants to savor it. The weight of her body presses into you, her thigh slotting between yours and pressing it softly against your core, the heat of her touch setting your skin ablaze.

You swallow, breath shaky, “yeah.”

She takes her time now, trailing her lips down your jaw, your neck and collarbone, her hands moving and groping deliberately, teasing your nipples over your shirt. You arch into her touch, finger gripping at her shirt, nails dragging lightly down her back.

Ellie exhales shakily, her lips barely brushing against your skin as she murmurs, “I knew you wanted me.”

And Ellie doesn't hesitate at all now, the second your words leave your mouth, she moves— lips tracing a slow path down your throat, hands now gripping your waist with just enough pressure to keep you grounded. The heat between you is unbearable, every inch of your body hyper aware of her. She really takes her time, dragging her fingers along the hem of your shirt but not directly touching, she's just teasing, testing. Like she's giving you again the chance to change your mind, like she wants you to stop her and you won't.

You laugh, breathless and heady, tilting your head back as she marks your neck with her mouth, “shut up and prove it.”

You tilt your head back, giving her more room to work, breath hitching as her lips graze over your collarbone. Your fingers curl into the fabric of her shirt, tugging her closer, needing more, she grins against your skin, clearly pleased, before shifting her weight just enough to pull your jacket off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.

The room is quiet except for your breaths and soft moans, the faint crackling of a candle in the dresser, the muffled sound of the party still going outside. It feels like another world, distant, unimportant. Right now it's just you and her.

Ellie leans back to look at you, her green eyes searching your gaze, “you sure?”

And that almost makes you roll your eyes, isn't the whole situation obvious enough?

That's all it takes. She kisses you again, her hands slip under your shirt, fingers warm against your skin as she softly gropes your tits, sending a shiver down your spine. You press into her touch, drinking in every sensation, every little sound she makes as your hands wander, lifting the hem of her shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. She groans when you drag your nails down her back and the sound sends a rush of heat directly between your thighs. A slow, aching need building, making your head spin.

You exhale, heart pounding and voice low, “Ellie.”

Clothes come off in slow, teasing increments— shirts and pants slipping, fingers tracing new paths along the bare skin. You shudder at the warmth of her mouth trailing lower and lower, her lips leaving marks you know won't fade by morning. She's restless, enjoying every reaction, every gasp and sharp inhale.

The bed creaks slightly as she shifts, settling between your thighs like earlier, her weight pressing you deeper into the mattress. When her knee makes friction with your wet and aching pussy, you gasp, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her back down to you, lips meeting in a heated, breathless rhythm. She moves like she wants to take her time, like she's been waiting for this moment as long as you have but neither of you have the patience for that.

Just heat. Just the press of her body against yours, just the slow, aching rhythm her tongue sets, the way she whispers your name like it's the only thing she knows. Just her.

When she finally, finally, presses closer, when her wet mouth meets your core through your panties, when her fingers tighten against your hip,it's nothing like fighting. There's no sharpness, no stubborn push-and-pull, there's no battle to win.

She pulled away her mouth for a moment, enjoying the sight of soaking wet panties, your own fluids mixed with her saliva. With her free hand she began to rub up and down your slit, the thin fabric of your underwear making the friction even more delicious.

The way she was edging is making you crazy, she finally decide to move the fabric aside, she iz quick to attach her warm mouth directly to your, already, sensitive clit as her two of her fingers make their way to the entrance of your needy hole. A gasp escapes your lips when you feel her calloused fingers teasing it at the same time she sucks and licks your clit. The humid sounds of her mouth making your arousal grow even more and she knows.

She finally stops teasing your entrance and she slips one finger inside you, slick dripping down to her wrist. She was quick to find your spongy spot and she presses exactly where you need and while a soft moans leaves your lips, she inserts another finger, feeling how your walls clench against her digits.

Her lips let your clit go for a moment, she speaks in a lustful, almost velvety, tone, “i prefer when you're like this and not fighting me back,” and you can't even fight or bite back, you just whimper in response and she grins before going back to work.

The feeling of her fingers pressing your g-spot as her lips latching onto your bud quickly turns to be too much, you don't even know where to grip, you feel like you need something to keep you grounded, your whines and whimpers music to her ears.

She leans in, pressing her forehead to yours, breaths mingling, eyes half-lidded as she watches you, “you're so fucking stubborn,” she murmurs, her voice rough and teasing.

And you don't know how much time passes but the room is warm, your breath stutters as Ellie moves against you, her fingers shifting slightly inside you, every touch, every word, sending a wave of arousal. She's steady, controlled, like she's savoring every second, like she's engraving this moment in her memory. You, on the other hand? You're unravelling, your hands grip at her naked back, your fingers pressing at her warm skin, desperate to keep her close, to pull her even closer. She responds with a quiet, breathy chuckle, but there's roughness to it, a slight tremor beneath her confidence that tells you she's just as lost in this as you are.

Ellie hums in agreement against your pulse, her grip tightening at your waist before she started to move again inside you, it was slow and measured but intentional, the way her fingers curl inside you pulls an embarrassing sound from you, but she swallows it with her mouth, kissing you deep, hungry. She doesn't let up, doesn't rush, just takes her time learning you, every sound, every shiver, every spot that makes your breath hitch. It's infuriating and intoxicating all at once, the way she knows exactly what she's doing.

You let out a shaky laugh, tilting your head back as her lips find your throat, “look who's talking.”

And when she finally pushes you past that point, when you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel her, when you're about to hit ecstasy— she murmurs your name against your skin, like it's a confession, like she's giving you something she hasn't given to anyone else. When the tension finally shatters, your fingers curl against her back, scratching her, pulling her down into you as everything blurs, melts, breaks. She helps you to ride your orgasm, cooing you with sweet words and praises even if everything you can say it's just “hah-ahh” and moan.

The aftershocks leave you both breathless, tangled in each other, skin sticky with heat and effort. Neither of you move for a long moment, just lying there, letting the world settle back into place around you. Ellie shifts first, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your shoulder before resting her head against your chest. Her fingers trace lazy forms over your side, absentminded.

You exhale, your body still trembling slightly, you lift a shaky hand to run through her hair, pushing damp strands from her forehead. Silence lingers between you, but it's not uncomfortable. It's new, uncertain, but not something you want to pull away from just yet.

The auburn haired girl lets out a slow breath, pressing a kiss to your marked collarbone before murmuring, “still think we don't work?”

You huff a quiet laugh, shifting beneath her, “i still think you talk too much.”

Your stomach tightens at that, at the way she asks like she already knows the answer, like she's bracing herself. You hesitate, your fingers playing with her hair.

She grins, biting lightly at your shoulder in retaliation before settling back down, “yeah, sure,” a pause. Then quieter, more serious, “you're not gonna run, are you?”

You don't know what this is, what it means, if it even means anything at all. Maybe you'll still fight on patrol, still push each other's buttons, still refuse to admit how deep this thing between you two really runs.

But right now, here, in the quiet warmth of this bed? You don't want to leave.

“No…” you finally murmur, feeling the way her body relaxes against yours at the answer, “not tonight.”

And for now, that's enough.

Ellie hums, pressing one last kiss to your skin before sighing, “good.”

#𔓘 vi's works. ꒱#ellie wiliams #ellie williams x female reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x fem reader #ellie x y/n #the last of us part 2 #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams headcanons #ellie willams x reader #tlou fanfiction

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divaofmads · 2 months ago

Text

A Love Meant to Burn

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Chapter I: The Hour Behind the Bullet | Chapter II

Summary: Y/N, whose father was executed by Joel Miller, sets out for revenge—only to find herself falling for the man she swore to destroy. Every answer is shadowed by deeper secrets as love and hatred intertwine. This is a passionate reckoning that asks: is salvation found in forgiveness… or in the kill?

Word Count: 5k>

Warnings!: Angst, Violence, death, and execution scenes, Themes of trauma and grief, Gunfights and post-apocalyptic survival elements, Moral dilemmas, revenge, and justice themes, Mature romantic/emotional content, English is not my first language so excuse my mistakes. I write purely as a hobby, not as a professional

A/N: This chapter marks the beginning of a story where Joel Miller has not yet appeared, but his shadow lingers in every line. His name is a whisper—etched into the back of a watch, a secret that stretches from the darkness of the past into the vengeance of the present. It doesn't just delay the encounter with Joel—it builds it into an unforgettable, strikingly dramatic moment. The reader knows the meeting is coming… but never when, how, or in whose hands it will unfold.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

As the moon vanished with the first light of morning, the mist still lingered on the mountainside. The air was dry, but the sharp chill remained; the earth had not yet shed its nightly frost.

With a bow on your back, a knife on your belt, and mud clinging to the soles of your boots, you walked silently. “Two hours, maybe three,” you said in a low voice. “But it hasn’t gone far.”

Footsteps behind you were followed by muffled laughter.

“My God, Y/N, did you just tell time from tracks?” Nico bent down to examine the ground with you. The sleeve of his jacket was torn, but his smile was intact. “Hunting with you always wrecks my self-esteem.”

“I’m just doing my job,” you said, without turning your eyes. “You’re the one who brings the noise, the jokes, the troublesome sounds…”

Nico placed a hand over his heart. “Was that a thank-you I just heard?”

“You’re welcome to imagine it that way.”

You stood up. Bow on your back, knife on your right hip. You wore a waterproof cover sewn from the sleeve of your father’s old jacket. He had been of the hunter breed, and you were determined to carry that legacy.

The tracks led you to an old gravel bed by the river. Small footprints stuck in the mud.

Not a rabbit. A fox.

“Eyes open, Nico,” you said. “This isn’t just a fox. There are feathers on the ground. This animal was attacked before. We’re in a predator’s territory.”

Nico drew his knife. “You mean a Clicker?”

“No. I know those tracks. This is different. Maybe a lynx. Maybe a hungry wolf. Be careful.”

You crouched, focusing on the scent. There was a faint smell of blood, mixed with damp earth. Your hand went to the head of your arrow. You were tense, but exhilarated. The dance within the hunt always fascinated you.

About an hour later, you reached a forest clearing. The trees thinned out, and the sky began to show itself.

At the edge of the forest, in the shadow of a tree, you spotted a grazing deer.

“A pair,” you whispered. “Female and male.”

Nico squinted. “Which one do we take?”

“The female. Slower. Her meat will be more tender. And the male won’t charge if we don’t threaten him. We need to stay unnoticed.”

You readied your arrow. Placed your left knee on the ground. Pressed your elbow firmly against it. Raised the bow with your left hand, and drew the string to ear-level with your right.

You held your breath.

Thwip...

The arrow pierced the deer just beneath the neck. The animal staggered, then collapsed. Nico’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every time… you blow my mind.”

You smiled and stood up. “Well… you’re allowed to be a little impressed.”

“Being impressed by you might be dangerous.”

You set up camp by the riverside that night. As the meat cooked over the fire, Nico watched you.

“I just don’t get it… how this world still manages to make you happy.”

You shrugged slowly. “Because there’s still a sky. I still have a friend I can smile at. I can still breathe. It’s that simple.”

Nico sighed. “Finding someone like you in this world feels like a miracle.”

You smiled, but your eyes drifted to the horizon.

In your gaze, there was a shadow your subconscious refused to name.

But tonight, there was no past.

Only firelight, laughter, and the warmth of survival.

The deer was tied securely with two strong ropes. Hung by its hind legs, it dangled slightly off the side of Nico’s horse. Its hide was still intact; the surface lightly salted to stop bleeding and keep flies away. That had been your suggestion. Salt not only preserved but also kept the meat from spoiling during travel.

“If we don’t make it to Redhill in three hours,” you said, tightening your horse’s reins, “this meat’s going to turn sour. I’d rather not have my father scolding me over dinner.”

Nico grumbled as he balanced the load on his own horse.

“Not just scolding… Don’t be surprised if he sends us to fix fences. Last time we were only ten minutes late.”

“And we hauled hay for three days,” you said, smiling with embarrassment. “My spine is still plotting revenge.”

As you crossed a narrow rocky path, stones crunched beneath the horses’ hooves. The sun was slowly pulling back behind the mountains, casting long shadows. The road to Redhill used to be a hiking trail. Now it was a lifeline—overgrown with weeds and scattered with forgotten footprints.

“Your father…” Nico said quietly, “has he ever offered you leadership? I mean… has he ever thought you’d take his place one day?”

You tugged the reins gently, slowing your horse. “My place is with the bow, the tracks. His is with people—untangling knots in their minds. My father keeps Redhill standing because he knows when to be soft and when to be firm. I haven’t learned that balance yet.”

Nico nodded, his gaze wandering to the horizon. “But you… when I watch you, I see exactly what a leader should be.”

You paused. His words echoed through the quiet forest like a bell. Then you offered him that familiar smile. “Because of what you just said, I might make you carry rocks until morning.”

Nico laughed and lowered his head. “There’s no punishment worse than you.”

“Oh, believe me, there is,” you said, narrowing your eyes and turning back to the riverside trail. “But right now, I’m bored. Too much silence.”

You took a deep breath. Your voice was soft at first, then carried over the wind. From the depths of a fallen world, you began to hum a song from long ago:

“What have I become, my sweetest friend?

Everyone I know goes away in the end.”

Nico rolled his eyes but smiled. He knew how much you loved to sing that song. He joined you.

As the horses moved on, even the birds seemed to sing along. Until Redhill appeared on the horizon, your laughter raced the wind. Just another evening. A quiet, simple, ordinary journey home.

But none of you knew.

None of you.

This would be the last peaceful journey you ever shared.

The path through the canyon leading into Redhill was familiar; the sound of hooves on dirt, the intermittent calls of birds, and the scent of earth carried by the drifting breeze... Everything was as it should be. Maybe that’s why it took you so long to realize something was wrong.

The deer was the prize of a two-day hunt. These kinds of tasks had become routine over the years. In a self-sustaining community like Redhill, surviving the hunt was only half the job—preserving the kill was just as vital.

You were in the lead, Nico behind you. The young man had talked endlessly like an impatient child; about his new bow, how he’d outshot you, how the second deer was still out there somewhere… But something was bothering you. Whenever you approached the Redhill valley, you could always catch the scent of fresh smoke drifting from between the hills. Burnt wood, simmering stew, a lit pipe... That smell wasn’t there this time. Only damp earth and silence.

“Y/N?” Nico asked, his voice laced with uncertainty. “Is it just me, or... are the sentries gone?”

When you fell silent, the silence itself felt like a scream.

The wooden archway at Redhill’s entrance stood ahead—its painted emblem half-burned. The watchtower beside the gate was empty. No laughter or whistles from above like usual. No children, no women, no crates of tomatoes... It was as if everything had vanished all at once.

“Maybe it’s harvest time. Everyone’s in the back gardens?” Nico said, hopelessly.

You didn’t answer. You dismounted in a swift motion; the stones beneath your boots weren’t dry—they were laced with ash. As your eyes scanned the valley, more came into focus. Broken fences, an overturned wheelbarrow… and then… blood.

Without another thought, you started walking. Nico followed, but your steps had slowed, grown cautious. Your hand instinctively went to your knife. You searched for a threat—but the threat was gone. Only the aftermath remained.

It didn’t take long to find the first body. It hadn’t been covered. The face was charred. A knife stuck out from the back. You didn’t recognize them, but the handmade Redhill clothing was familiar—crocheted edging, handwoven fabric.

The second... the third...

Your legs carried you on their own now. They trembled, but you kept walking. And then, in the center of the courtyard, in front of a still-burning tent, two figures appeared. Reuben and Caleb. Reuben’s arm was in a sling, his face smeared with blood and ash. Caleb had his rifle leaned against a wall, his head buried in his hands. When they saw you, their eyes widened.

“Y/N…” Caleb said as he stood. “Goddamn it…”

“What happened?” you asked. Just two words. But the crack in your voice carried a weight nothing else could.

Reuben tried to speak, cleared his throat. “Attack... The Vultures...” he said. “Marcus Flint was leading it himself.”

The words hung in the air. You didn’t hear them. Only saw the movement of his lips. Redhill had been attacked.

Your eyes scanned everything. Trampled fields. Shattered fences. Broken doors of shelters. It looked like an army had passed through. But Redhill wasn’t a battlefield. It was your home.

“My father?” you asked. Your voice sounded like it came from someone far away.

Reuben lowered his head. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Your knees nearly buckled. But you didn’t fall. Something inside you—a cold, sharp feeling—held you upright. In this world, falling was a luxury. And you no longer had that luxury.

“Take me to him,” you said. Your voice came out steady and cool. It didn’t shake. But something inside had snapped, like a wire pulled too tight.

Caleb stepped forward quickly. “No, Y/N… No. That’s not something you want to see,” he said gently, panic flickering behind his calm tone. “Remember him the way he was. As a leader… as your father. Don’t see him like this.”

You looked at him. Your eyes were cold, but a storm raged behind them. “Get out of my way, Caleb.”

“Y/N, please. His body… it’s unrecognizable. You don’t want to remember him like that.”

Reuben stood a step back, waiting for your decision. Unlike Caleb, he knew you. You weren’t weak. You never were.

You stepped forward, locking eyes with Caleb. “I’m his daughter,” you said, your voice like lead. “And if Redhill’s legacy is mine now\... then I will see the truth with my own eyes. Now move.”

Caleb looked away, his jaw clenched. Then he stepped aside. Over his shoulder, he looked at Reuben.

Reuben nodded slowly. “Come with me,” he said. “Be ready.”

Ready? What did that even mean now? Wasn’t surviving without being ready the very essence of this world?

Reuben led you to a cold shelter behind the stone storage buildings. The door hadn’t been this heavy even when the place was used to store medicine. Inside, it was dim. And there he was.

Your father.

Lying there, half-covered by a dark blanket. His hair was dusted with ash. His beard matted with dried blood. His eyes were closed. One side of his face was unrecognizable—bruises, shattered bones... But the other side... still him.

Your knees gave out, but you didn’t collapse. You knelt beside him. Your fingers trembled as you pulled the blanket back a little more. A massive lump formed in your throat—one you couldn’t swallow.

Your hand reached out and took his. Still warm. Thick, callused hands… The ones that first taught you how to handle a bow. That pointed out spring herbs, that rested on your shoulder when you made small triumphs… the hands of a leader.

“Dad…” you whispered. Just once. Knowing it was the last time you ever would.

Tears fell from your eyes, but there were no sobs. Your tears were silent. You were strong, but not ice. That day, the child in you died. And something else took her place: the beginning of a leader, shattered but standing tall.

After a while, you stood up. Your heart in pieces, but your shoulders squared. You turned to Reuben.

“Where are the rest of the dead?” you asked.

“We managed to gather a few,” he said. “But more might be under the rubble…”

“We’ll find them. Every last one,” you said. “Tomorrow. At dawn. We’ll hold a ceremony—for them… and for my father.”

Reuben bowed his head. Caleb looked at you from behind, his eyes still wet.

“Y/N…” he said in a hushed voice. “You… you’re now…”

You turned to him. Met his gaze.

“No,” you said. “I’m not ‘now.’ I’m still his daughter. And I’ll remind the world what Redhill means.”

When you stepped outside, the sun was beginning to set. Long shadows stretched across the valley. Ash and silence. But you walked. With each step, you became someone else.

The funeral… wouldn’t just be for the dead. An era was ending, and something else was beginning.

At dawn, as the sun lit the ridges of the valley, Redhill was wrapped in silence. The sun was rising, but yesterday’s cold still clung to the air. A coldness that came from deep inside.

You walked toward the main square, repurposed from the old quarantine center, every step echoing beneath your boots. The mud beneath your soles clung with a mixture of blood and ash. But your stride never faltered.

You wore a dark brown leather jacket—your father’s. Its inner lining still stained with blood. The scent of it had nearly broken you as you put it on. But you’d endured. Because you were no longer a daughter. You were a leader.

The people had begun to gather in the square. Women, children, elders… The wounded and the quiet fighters. Some carried arms in slings, others leaned on sticks. The same expression on every face: a fog of grief and fear.

The dead were laid side by side on a carefully prepared platform in the center of the square. Your father’s body was at the center. A single torch burned above his head. Nothing else. No flowers, no ornaments. This world was now made of simplicity.

When you stepped forward, there was a moment of silence before you spoke. The wind wrapped smoke around you as all eyes turned your way.

You took a deep breath. You could hear your own heartbeat. Then you spoke. “They were our companions. Our neighbors. Our brothers and sisters.”

Your voice didn’t crack. Your eyes didn’t water. Every syllable struck like a hammer. “When my father founded this community, he said survival wasn’t about fighting—it was about being together. He brought order to this land. He brought safety. We’ve protected the life we built here for years. But now\... they’ve taken it from us.”

You lifted your head. The eyes of your people met yours. In them, a spark began to burn.

“The Vultures didn’t just go after one man—they targeted a whole people. They stole bread from a child’s hands. Gunned down the sick and the old. These are not enemies. They’re filth. And we... we will not stay silent.”

Your words echoed off the stone of the square. A child cried somewhere in the distance. A woman bowed her head in silence. But most of them—most of them now held something else in their eyes: fury. A fury ready to act.

“Their leader, Marcus Flint—he tried to quench an old grudge with fire. He thought burning us would end it. But Redhill rises from ashes. And now I, as my father’s daughter, will carry on the fight he left behind. We will not only mourn our dead. We will not forget them. We will speak their names alongside justice.”

The crowd fell silent. Then Reuben stepped forward, dropping to one knee and bowing his head.

“Daughter of Y/F/N... Y/N. I know you. I see your father’s fire in your eyes. I stand with you. Just as I walked with him, I’ll walk with you.”

Caleb, on the other hand, took a hesitant step back. His eyes scanned the area, filled with worry, yet also the fear of being left behind.

“Y/N... this path... it could cost us even more. The Vultures aren’t an easy target,” he said.

You turned to him. Your shoulders straight, your gaze unwavering. “What more can we lose, Caleb? I lost my father. My people are dead. Our land is scorched. All we have left is our honor. Should we give that up too?”

Caleb fell silent. He lowered his head. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Alright... damn it. I’m with you. But we’re going to make a good plan. No rushing in blind. With our minds. Just like your father would’ve done.”

Reuben stepped forward. “First, we track The Vultures’ movements. Pinpoint their locations. We don’t strike… we dismantle. We isolate their leader. Then, you’ll be the one to end Marcus Flint.”

You narrowed your eyes and looked out toward the horizon. It was like a map formed in your vision. The dark towers of The Vultures… their arrogant laughter… your father’s final breath… That feeling inside you had evolved beyond vengeance. This was the first step toward justice. And Redhill would rise again—with you.

As evening fell, the mist leaning against the hills of Redhill slowly began to swallow the rest of the camp. Torches flickered like trembling flames, casting long shadows between the cabins. Most of the community had withdrawn into silence after the funeral, mourning their losses in solitude. Many were still under the spell of your morning speech. But you carried the weight of those words now.

The small wooden cabin you were in had once been your father's "map room." His old papers still lay on the desk; dried ink stains and yellowed notes remained. An old plan of Redhill, tucked into the corner of a map, was still in place. Your fingers traced the borders he once drew. Fragmented memories spun in your mind like clipped reels of film.

The door creaked open. Reuben entered. The old jacket on his shoulders had faded to the color of dust over time. His hands were covered in mud, sweat lined his brow. His face was as hard as ever, but tonight his eyes were soft. The loyalty he had once shown your father had shifted into a quiet respect for you.

He walked toward you and let out a heavy breath.

"People expect things from you now," he said. "Not just your name... but his resolve, his heart."

You turned your head to look at him.

"Do you think I have that in me?"

Reuben furrowed his brows. He paused, then nodded.

"Sometimes you're even more. But I can't ask you to be anyone else now. So... you need to know the truth."

You sat up straighter, perched on the edge of the desk. Your hands rested on your knees. You waited.

"You keep asking why the attack happened..." Reuben began.

"Marcus Flint, the leader of the Vultures, claimed our community was hiding a criminal. He said the man was a FEDRA agent. That he escaped and found refuge here."

You frowned.

"I never saw anyone like that. No one's sought shelter here recently. And if he was FEDRA, why pick Redhill? Would he really risk that much for a group hundreds of miles away?"

Reuben nodded.

"I know. I thought it was nonsense too. But he needed an excuse. There was bad blood between him and your father—goes back years. In the early days of the outbreak, they worked together for a time. But they clashed over a trade deal—meds and food. Your father stopped Flint from selling out his own people."

Your eyes fixed on a point in the room. Something stirred in your veins—heavy like poison. Flint’s name was no longer just a threat—it had become a personal wound.

"So this attack... it was old revenge," you said.

"Yes," Reuben confirmed. "It was his way of settling the score."

You both fell silent. The only sound in the room was the wind whistling outside. Cold air crept through the cracks in the ceiling, brushing your shoulders.

Reuben turned to leave, but paused at the door. He looked back at you over his shoulder. There was hesitation in his eyes. Then he reached into the inside pocket of his coat.

"I’ve got one more thing," he said quietly.

"It was by your father's body. I don't recognize it, but... maybe you will."

He stepped closer and opened his hand. Inside it was a wristwatch. Its metal band was scratched, its glass cracked—but it still resisted time. You took it. It was cold. Its weight seemed to come not just from metal, but from the burden of the past.

You turned it over.

An engraving: J.M.

You didn’t move for several seconds. Time itself seemed to stop. Your fingers traced the letters. The mark of a stranger... yet the only clue found beside your father’s blood.

"I don’t know what it means," said Reuben.

"But I felt you should have it."

Your eyes remained locked on the watch. Narrowed. You repeated the letters in your mind again and again.

J.M.

That watch was a whisper of fate. Maybe a name. Maybe the gateway to hell. But now, you had a target.

And you would find him.

Two months later...

The sky that morning was a pale, ashen gray. The earth still bore the marks of blood and gunpowder. But Redhill was breathing. Wounded—but not dead.

Y/N stood at the top of the wooden watchtower, overlooking the valley. Beyond the thorny bushes, broken fences, and ruined cabins, there was an effort to be reborn.

Caleb, working on wires pulled from a broken radio transmitter, spoke without looking up.

"If we can reroute communications to the northern outpost, maybe we’ll learn where Cascade’s storing the old meds. That’d be good leverage for trade."

"Set up the line, but be cautious. Not everyone out there trades," you said. Your voice was firm, but warm. Leadership sometimes weighed heavy on you, but you didn’t show it.

Reuben entered, making marks on a map as he walked.

"Y/N, the boy from the north is back," he said. "The scout you sent."

"Rory? Send him in."

The door opened and Rory entered—sun-scorched, tired-backed, but sharp-eyed. Young, but seasoned in the field.

"Ma'am," he said, nodding.

"What did you find out about the Vultures?"

"Strange things. Their headquarters doesn’t seem as stable anymore. We used to hear constant chatter over the radios. Now… almost silence. A lot of Flint’s people have left. There’s even a rumor—he clashed with his own men."

You listened to Rory’s words in silence. Then leaned forward, fingers pressing the table.

"We need confirmed intel, Rory. If Flint’s alive, he’s still a threat."

Reuben added,

"And if he’s weakening, that’s our window."

Caleb, more cautious, frowned.

"But what if it’s a trap? What if they want to lure us out?"

You raised your head, eyes hardened.

"If they killed my father to provoke me or this people, then they already chose war."

A few days later, under your leadership, a secret meeting was held. Maps, radio data, Rory’s hand-drawn sketches of their base were spread out before you. Where Marcus Flint was last seen, which lookout towers were still active, which water routes had been cut—everything was being charted.

You pressed your finger against a point on the map.

"We’ve pushed them this far. Now they’re on the brink of collapse. We need to wait for the right moment… but if we wait too long, they’ll regain their strength."

Caleb nodded.

"When do you plan the attack?"

"Two weeks from now. I’ll send Rory out again. If Marcus is at the compound and we can strike a deal with someone on the inside, we’ll open a door from within. If not, we’ll infiltrate from the north."

Reuben smiled.

"That’s how your father used to do it. He’d read the enemy first, then end the fight with a single bullet."

You dipped your head slightly. Inside, you carried both the burden and the strength of walking in your father’s footsteps. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore.

It was about Redhill’s future.

***

The wind whipped violently at the flag hanging on the border of Redhill, nearly tearing the fabric apart. The sky was covered in that hazy orange that comes just before darkness falls, as if even the sunset sensed the coming reckoning. In the center square of the community, there was a flurry of preparation. Weapons were being oiled, knives sharpened, bags packed. Every movement was silent but purposeful, because everyone knew: this wasn’t a mission—it was a journey of vengeance.

You had just returned from the old medical center. The first aid kit on your shoulder was filled with collected pain-relieving herbs, antiseptics, and bandages. Reuben and Caleb were waiting for you at the large map table.

"The first team will enter from the west at oh-three-hundred," Caleb said, pressing his finger on a red-marked spot on the map. "The second team will sneak in through the old warehouse door on the north wall. Rory said it’s still unguarded."

Reuben nodded. "There’s also someone inside they've made contact with. Someone Rory’s been in touch with... Might buy us a few minutes."

You placed your hands on your hips, looked at the map for a moment, then raised your eyes and met theirs one by one.

"Remember, Marcus Flint will die. But this isn’t just about him. We’re doing this for Redhill. For my father. For our people."

Reuben bowed his head, eyes shimmering with a sorrow almost proud.

"Your father built Redhill from nothing at your age. Now you’re rebuilding it."

When night fell, Redhill sank into silence. A team of twenty—the best warriors and trackers you had chosen yourselves—mounted their horses and rode eastward in silence. Aside from the soft clatter of hooves on earth, no sound broke the stillness. The moon split the sky like a blade, painting your path in silver.

You remained silent during the ride. Sitting tall on your horse, your hand rested on the shortbow at your side. Countless memories clashed in your mind: your father's voice, Caleb’s doubts, Reuben’s support, Rory’s intel… and the wristwatch. The one that started it all, engraved with those cursed letters: J.M.

After five hours of silent travel, you made camp near an old watermill. Rory had already gone ahead to make his final contact with the insider. The rest of the team knelt, checking their gear one last time. You scanned the entire group carefully.

At first light, you reached The Vultures' camp.

From the outside, it looked abandoned. The cabins were in disrepair, most of the watchtowers broken down. Rory had been right—Marcus Flint had lost most of his forces. Something had collapsed from within. But that didn’t make him any less dangerous.

The plan worked perfectly. The north warehouse door was still unlocked. While Caleb and three others slipped in from the north, you and Reuben entered from the west.

Behind the cabins, the space was littered with scattered rubble, rotting crates, and toppled barrels. It was as if time had forgotten this part of The Vultures' camp. But you hadn't. You lowered your footsteps as you moved forward, stepping into the narrow path leading to the backyard. Your shortbow, slung over your shoulder, was ready at your fingertips. Reuben was on your left, and young but fearless Nico on your right. Each of your breaths was silent but sharp. This wasn’t a walk—it was the beginning of the end.

The first guard was on the roof of the cabin to the left. As he turned his head to scan the surroundings, you suddenly drew your bow. Your fingers, guided by muscle memory, pulled the string to your ear. You held your breath. One second. Two. Three.

Shhhft.

The arrow hissed through the air like a snake and sank into the guard’s neck. He fell backward without a sound. The thud of his body hitting the roof jolted the camp like a disturbed ant nest.

"They saw us!" Nico whispered, but you were already in motion.

Two men burst from the cabin to your left. They held modified rifles, barrels rusted but deadly. As they fired the first shots, Reuben pulled you down by the shoulder. Bullets whizzed past just above you, followed by his return fire.

"Down!" Reuben shouted, bracing his rifle on the rooftop edge and taking aim.

The first man was thrown back with a bullet to the forehead. You handled the second one. You dropped to a position parallel to the ground, released your hand from the shortbow, and pulled the silenced pistol from your belt. Aim, breathe, trigger.

Tak!

The man hit in the shoulder staggered for a moment, then collapsed to the ground with a scream. His weapon fell from his hand. When you reached him, your eyes met. He was about to say something, but you stayed silent. Instead, you pressed the silencer to his head and finished the job with a second shot. This wasn't mercy—it was resolve.

“Nico!” you shouted. “On the right! Two just came out from the entrance!”

Nico was young but agile. He’d learned archery from you. He turned to the target, drew his arrow, and released it. The first man was hit in the shoulder, the second in the chest. They collapsed in front of the barrack.

“The camp's almost empty!” Nico called out, breathless. “These are just Marcus’s leftovers!”

“So they still don't take us seriously,” you said, your eyes locked on the large building at the center of the camp. “That’ll be their last mistake.”

As you passed between the shacks, three more men appeared. One had a shotgun, the others charged with knives. The first bullet came from Reuben’s gun, bringing the shotgun-wielder down. You slung your bow onto your back, gripped the knife from your belt in a reverse hold, and rushed in.

The first attacker swung at you before reaching, but his move was clumsy and fueled by rage. You ducked and drove your knee into his thigh. As he stumbled, you buried the blade into his abdomen. When you pulled it out and turned, the second attacker’s punch grazed your face. You rolled backward, bounced up from the dirt, and struck back quickly. You pinned him to the ground with your knee on his chest and pressed the blade to his throat.

Nico was wrestling with the last man. He was tall, trying to overpower Nico. In a blink, you intervened, stabbing the man’s knee. He fell with a scream, and Nico struck his head with a rock.

Silence. Only distant gunshots from the rooftops. And slowly, even that faded.

Reuben rubbed his shoulder, looking at you. “You’re not your father’s daughter. You’re the war itself.”

Your face was cloaked in shadow. The dirt and blood on you had become a warrior’s blessing. But your eyes... they still mourned your father. Even in the heart of revenge, they searched for ways to remain human.

There were almost no obstacles left between you and Marcus Flint.

The office building was one of the strongest structures in the Vultures' camp. Built years ago, its concrete foundation still held, but the walls were moss-covered and the windows shattered. The front door was ajar. One hinge had fallen to the ground, the other creaked with the wind. This was the place where Marcus Flint made decisions, where lives were determined. But now it felt more like a tomb, devoid of his footsteps.

Your gun was in your hand. The cold metal clung to your palm, heavy with sweat, rage, and the weight of a long journey. Reuben and Caleb had stayed outside. This confrontation was yours alone. It was your father’s blood that had been spilled. You needed answers.

Your footsteps echoed on the wooden floor. Then a voice came from inside the office. “Close the door,” it said calmly. “The wind’s messing with my thoughts.”

You stepped in. Gun raised with both hands, you locked onto your target. “Marcus Flint!” you said. Your voice cracked, but your resolve did not falter.

The man behind the desk looked up. His hair, a reddish shade of brown, was streaked with gray. His face was stern, the corners of his eyes lined with fatigue. He sat proudly, but his spirit had aged more than his body.

“Marcus is gone,” he said. “I’m Cutter. The last remaining owner of this structure.”

Your finger trembled on the trigger. “Don’t lie to me. Marcus is here. I came all this way for him. Where is he?!”

Cutter smiled faintly. He leaned back, nudged some empty casings on the table with his fingers. “Marcus is dead,” he said. “Last month. Drowned in his own filth. Took his pride with him.”

Your throat tightened. It wasn't supposed to end like this. You wanted to look into his eyes, steal his breath, then pull the trigger. But now someone else sat before you. And in his eyes, there was not death—but truth.

“How?” you asked. Your voice dropped slightly, but the determination remained. “Who killed him?”

Cutter shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. In the end, he became a victim of what he created. False alliances, shattered decisions... This place wasn’t a camp anymore—it was a swamp. Your attack was just the final blow.”

You took that object from your backpack. The watch. Rusted, the glass scratched. You didn’t strap it on your wrist, you placed it in your palm. Showed it to Cutter. “This,” you said, “was found beside my father’s body. There’s something carved on the back.”

Cutter recognized it without looking. His eyes widened slightly, but were quickly replaced by quiet acceptance.

“Joel,” he said. “Joel Miller. I recognized the watch. Never met a man so obsessed with time. If he dropped it... he must’ve thought he made a mistake.”

The blood drained from your face. You hadn’t heard that name before. “Who is he? Why was the watch with my father? Did he...”

Cutter lowered his head, silent for a moment. Then he stood from his chair and looked out the window. At what remained of the camp.

“Joel Miller was a mercenary. But not your average killer. Quiet, precise, did everything his way. Marcus hired him to kill your father. Joel did the job. But... he disappeared right after payment. As if... the weight of what he did broke him.”

You swallowed. “So... he’s the one who killed my father?”

“Yes,” said Cutter.

The words hung in the air for a while. The watch in your hand was no longer just an item. It was the key to a door leading into the past.

"Joel Miller..." you murmured to yourself. The name left a sharp taste on your tongue; metallic, rusty, like blood.

Cutter was still by the window. His shoulders were slumped. His voice held no triumph, only exhaustion. “Look. Flint is dead. He was your father’s enemy. He had him killed. Now he’s buried too. The score is settled.”

He slightly turned his head, eyes locked on yours. “I don’t want to hurt you. I know there’s no redemption for what we did here. But… you’re different. You think like a leader. For Redhill’s future…”

“Stop,” you said, low but sharp. “Did you see that day?”

Cutter didn’t answer.

“Did you hide? Did you run? Or did you watch my father get shot?”

Cutter’s lips twitched. “I want to protect you,” he said. “Like everyone who died here, I fell apart too. I just wanted you to know that.”

You stepped forward. The grip of your gun fit so well in your hand, it felt fused with your bones. The watch was still in your pocket. It weighed you down—but not as much as the burden you carried inside. Like a curse flapping its wings in your chest.

“I will find Joel Miller,” you said. Your eyes no longer trembled. “And I’ll find out what happened that day. Turns out it wasn’t just Flint. The man who executed my father had a name. A voice. A breath. And now, that breath belongs to me.”

Cutter nodded slowly. “If you’re going to find Joel…” he said quietly, “pray he doesn’t recognize you… or that he does.”

You paused. There was a threat in those words, in Cutter’s voice—a lingering fear that made your skin crawl. This wasn’t just a warning. Joel Miller was the kind of man whose name burned itself into memory, who made lips dry when whispered in the dark.

“Who was he?” you asked. “Who was the man who killed my father?”

Cutter clenched his jaw. “He spoke with darkness. Sometimes he didn’t even know who or why he killed. You make a deal with him, he gets it done. But he always leaves a trail of blood behind. Flint made a deal. But Joel was never anyone’s dog. Maybe he killed Flint too. Maybe his conscience caught up. But… that conscience buried a lot of people.”

Cutter stepped back. At the end of his words, it was like a weight had fallen from his shoulders. He was waiting. For mercy. Forgiveness. Maybe just to be spared.

But you only looked at him for a moment.

“That man executed my father,” you said. “Neither Flint’s rotten orders nor your aged guilt can change that. My father built Redhill with hardship. But I was the one who buried him.”

And you pulled the trigger.

Cutter’s head slumped to the side. His eyes stayed open in surprise, as if even in the end, he couldn’t believe it was your hand that sent him off. When his body hit the floor, silence swallowed the room. No triumph, no grief… only that sharp clarity creaking in your bones: Nothing could stop you now.

You closed your eyes for a moment. Took a deep breath. The watch… was still in your pocket.

Your footsteps echoed as you left the office. Your eyes weren’t on the darkness—they were fixed on the horizon of vengeance.

Now you had a target. Joel Miller.

And you… would not speak to him. You would not forgive him.

Outside, Reuben and Nico were waiting. Their eyes immediately fell on your gun, on your blank expression.

Nico stepped closer. His brows were furrowed, but there was a trace of relief in his eyes. “Is it over?” he asked. “Marcus… is he dead?”

You didn’t answer.

Reuben exhaled deeply. “Y/N… What happened in there?”

Instead of replying, you reached into your pocket and pulled out the watch. Slowly, carefully. Your fingers brushed the metal for a moment. Then you handed it to Reuben.

“Joel Miller,” you said. “That’s the name of the man who actually killed my father. Marcus died during the riot here.”

Reuben’s face turned pale. His hand trembled as it hovered around the watch. “That name…” he said. “It sounds familiar. But…”

Nico stared at you in disbelief. “What are you saying? Flint gave the order, didn’t he? That bastard paid the price. Fate punished him for you. And you…”

You cut him off. “There’s no such thing as fate,” you said. Your gaze was fixed, like a dusty desert horizon. “Only choices. And I’ve made mine. This isn’t over.”

Nico couldn’t make sense of the silence that surrounded you. There was a mixed sense of victory on his face, but your expression was far beyond triumph. Reuben, however, understood everything. He slowly took the watch in his hand, felt its weight, then handed it back to you.

“This isn’t just his watch anymore, is it?” he said. “For you… it’s the key to a new war.”

You nodded. “I found it next to my father’s body. Cutter said Joel was the one who executed him. Even if it was under Flint’s orders, he pulled the trigger. And that doesn’t mean it’s over. It means this is just the beginning.”

Reuben slightly bowed his head. “Y/N... Revenge can be poison. You carry a fire in your heart for years. I trust your leadership, but… you’re not going to turn this into a blood feud, are you?”

...

On the road, the horses’ hooves kicked up dust as you rode toward Redhill. The sky was still gray, but there was something else on the horizon this time. What had happened in Marcus Flint’s town was still fresh in everyone’s mind, but the images in your head were older: your father’s face, dried blood, the watch placed in your hand, and Cutter’s final words.

You were riding in front, eyes locked on the horizon, your lips pressed together. But those behind you read the silence differently.

Caleb was the first to speak. His strong voice cut through the dry air. “Y/N. You didn’t just avenge your father today. You carried the weight of all Redhill. You fought for all of us.”

You slowed your horse, glanced back slightly, but didn’t reply.

Rory rode his horse beside Caleb’s. The young man’s eyes were shining. “When the town burned. When Flint’s men tied the children to trees and dragged the mothers away—we couldn’t do anything. But today... today, something finally changed. People will hear about this. Redhill is no longer alone.”

Voices started to rise behind you. You weren’t the only ones who stormed that town. A few more fighters from Redhill had come, all watching you.

An older woman, Mellie, spoke in a whisper, but her voice was clear: “Your father stood up for us. Now you carry on where he left off. But your road is long. If you’ve taken this bitter decision on your shoulders, don’t leave it unfinished.”

Reuben looked at you from over his shoulder as you pulled gently on the reins. Your horse stopped. From the mountainside, the distant lights of Redhill came into view. You slowly turned around, your face glowing in the red of the setting sun. Your eyes turned to your people, your companions.

“When my father died,” you said, your voice rough as gravel but steady, “all I had left was a watch. A clue. I followed it. I chased it. I killed Cutter. But behind that watch was another name. Joel Miller. And that name opened the door to another story, soaked into the soil of these lands.”

Your lips parted again, your gaze returned to the horizon. “This isn’t my path anymore. It’s the path Redhill walks now. And you... you’re putting it on my shoulders. Like a stone, heavy and sharp. But if this is truly your war too... then I’ll walk it to the end.”

Those looking at you bowed their heads. Rory placed a hand over his heart. Mellie nodded, wiping her tears away.

Reuben slowly approached, took your reins. “You won’t walk alone, girl. You won’t kill alone. This will be Redhill’s final farewell. And we’ll be the witnesses to that farewell.”

As the sun disappeared behind the mountain, Redhill’s lights drew near.

But in your eyes, a darker, more distant light was burning now:

The memory of Joel Miller. And the final day when you would face him.

257 notes · View notes

dustyrkives · 5 months ago

Text

Between Fangs and Firearms

PAIRING: Ada Wong x fem reader

PAIRING: RE4r Ada, age-gap (r is 19 while Ada is 30), predator/prey dynamic, r is a village girlie, innocent r, corruption, E2???, power imbalance, stalking, psychological manipulation, size difference, mercenary Ada, RE4 setting, dark! Ada, thriller, power play, i have a thing for dark villains, tension, non-con dynamic, fingering, clit biting, brief cunninglingus, unprotected s3x (wrap it before you tap it guys), rough sex, breeding, breeding kink, riding, overstimulation, multiple orgasms and that's about it, i think?

SYNOPSIS: Running is futile—but you do it anyway. Against a woman like her, survival is a fleeting hope, and mercy is a gamble. With every step, every breath, she’s right behind you—watching, waiting. And when she finally catches up… you realize the hunt was never yours to win. But you don't mind, do you? Not when she takes you–oh, so deliciously.

And sorry I didn't make her a wolf here, I originally wrote it like that, but it didn't work like I thought it would. But here's the complete product. I hope you all enjoy it!

Also because:

MEN DNI

You knew it was futile–running from a woman as experienced as her.

Still, you had to try for the sake of your village.

"She mustn't reach reach the scientist!" A villager snarls at you before charging with the rest of the ganados, thinking their numbers will overwhelm her.

Oh–how wrong they are.

Gunshots and explosions pierce the air like a tossed javelin as you keep running to warn the others. From above, you see something–someone zooms past you before a crimson blur lands before you, graceful, and holding an air of danger as her sharp, dark brown eyes drag over your figure.

This is the woman your village deemed as a threat?

She wore a red turtleneck long-sleeved dress, black tights, and thigh-high heel boots. Her gun was secured in her shoulder holsters. You don't know if red is just a bold statement of preference or to hide the bloodstains.

"Where do you think you're going?" Her rich, low voice reaches your ears.

You instinctively step back, oxygen stuck in your neck as your eyes flit over her shoulder as the woman observes you.

An inquisitive smirk graces her elegant features. "You seem different from the others I fought."

"K-killed, more like." You wince at the distant tone of your voice. Her smirk morphs into a dark smile, "You're going to warn the others, aren't you?"

Your insides compress as she strides towards you, "Where are you hiding him?"

"W-who?" You lie, and she knows it as she grabs her knife and quickly lunges at you. Instinctively, you stumble back–only to slip and fall to the ground while she has you pinned down, both your wrist bound by a single, gloved hand while the other presses the cold blade against your neck, a menacing gaze reflected by her knife.

"Choose your words carefully," The woman warns. "Where is Luis?" Tightening her grip upon feeling you tremble beneath her–and for a moment, you saw what you thought was excitement in her eyes before it vanished.

Gulping, you internally prayed for forgiveness as soon as your lips moved without thought, informing the foreigner of the scientist's whereabouts.

Her eyelids narrow, gaze sharpening, and you feel small beneath her scrutinizing gaze. "If you're lying," She purrs, "Your people will perish for it."

"It's true," You whimper, "I swear it!"

The former relents and returns to her feet, leaving you on the dirt as her eyes glower at you from above before pulling her device–some kind of grapple and pointing it to one of the old structures of the village before flying off.

You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding–gasping for air, you turn to your side. You have to warn the others–she already knows.

Curses befall your lips El Gigante falls unceremoniously against the mud.

The victor: the woman in red.

Almost immediately, she spots you. You watch, your faltering eyes holding her dark gaze as she approaches the fallen giant, pulling out her gun and shooting the wriggling parasite three times before turning her attention to you. Soaked and panting.

You flinch and hide behind the wall of one of the torn houses.

And like clockwork, she finds you. A gasp rips from your lips as she appears from the corner, mud, and blood staining her clothes as she examines her gun before slowly, painstakingly moving to your trembling figure. "Are you here to assist them again?" She mused as she used the gun to move your damp hair to the side of your face before holstering her gun.

"Pretty," The dark, brown-eyed woman mused. "You're the prettiest ganado I've ever seen, by far." She chuckles as her eyes rake you from head to toe, "Quite young, too."

"A-are you going to kill me?"

"Kill you?" Mirth etches in her expression–dark. "I'm not wasting bullets for a village girl."

Relief, confusion, and outrage fill your being. "I'm one of them. I'm just as a threat as they are."

The dark-haired woman snorts, and your face burns as you tear your gaze away from her. The air becomes heavy as she leans close–despite her being damp from the rain, you can smell her scent: cherry, smoke, and a bit of sweat.

Her voice drops an octave lower, and your body turns rigid. "A threat?" She guffaws, and your stomach churns uncomfortably as her gloved hand grasps your waist. "How can you be considered a threat when you can't even push me away?"

"So run." The stranger coos, "Run like the little bunny you are–before I change my mind, pretty girl."

Your legs obey her words as you run past her, bumping against her shoulders while the older woman merely smirks as her eyes follow after your retreating figure–knowing full well that you won't stray far from her.

And she isn't wrong.

Because minutes later, you're eavesdropping on their conversation while hiding behind a large decaying tree, just a few meters behind the woman in red. She bends down, conversing with the scientist that your village held captive.

“Always a stickler for details, huh, Ada?” You can see him reaching out for her to help him up.

Ada… so that’s her name.

There's a dark pull to her, Ada–that woman.

Between her aloof demeanor and confident poise, something is brewing inside those dark, calculating eyes of hers.

Is that why you're drawn to her?

You shake your head sideways as one of the elderly ganados tug your sleeve, "Come, she's in the hands of Ramon and his zealots."

You nod wordlessly before looking back, expression faltering before retreating with the rest of the villagers–but something tugs at you from behind. A frown graces your lips as the rest of the villagers walk past you.

I should move... She no longer concerns our village, and neither should I.

Regardless, you stay rooted to your spot.

Foolish, this is foolish! Your people would disown you if they knew you developed an interest in the enemy. You bite your lower lip before forcing your legs to follow after the townspeople. Halfway to the village, a nagging, hollow feeling gnaws within you.

It claws at your insides, craving to be sated–to be filled.

You lock your jaw, chest tightening as you swallow that feeling down.

Unacceptable. You should be ashamed of yourself.

But each step you take, the voice dwindles.

You're just a girl. She will have no use for you.

Yet still, another voice persists–one that you allow to be heard.

This village offers you nothing but rot and decay. Come to her.

You shudder, craning your neck to look around your surroundings. It's true. Crops are wilting, cattle are ill with disease and death, the rivers are poisoned, and so are the fish.

There's nothing for you here but death and a promise of macabre metamorphosis.

Against your better judgment, you sneak past the villagers, heading straight to Ramon's castle.

Foolish. You are foolish indeed.

Your thoughts berate you as you run past the zealots.

Of course, they're unwelcoming–even to their neighbors.

You yelp as an arrow whistles past you, narrowly missing the side of your face as you run into the castle halls.

Stupid, stupid, stupid–

Your thoughts come to an abrupt stop as one of them grabs your dress by the neck, yanking you back. Their sheer strength outmatched yours as one of them binds you from behind while the other lunges at you with a scythe.

You close your eyes as the weight of your poor decision comes aiming for your neck–

The discharge of bullets pierces through the castle walls, you close your eyes as one of the zealot's blood splatters against your face like a demented blush. The sound of bodies falling to the floor with a resounding 'thud!', then heels slowly tapping against the cemented ground. You didn't open your eyes until you caught the scent of leather, cherries, and smoke–a gloved hand grasping your jaw, making you look up at her.

Your heart lurches to your throat as your eyes meet hers.

"Now, what's a silly bunny doing here in a dangerous castle, hm?" Ada's dark chocolate eyes rake you from head to toe like a predator examining the quality of the meat before wiping the blood off your cheek with her thumb before leaning down, you close your eyes.

A velvety chuckle reverberates in her chest as her lips ghost against your ear, "You followed me, didn't you?"

You gasp as she yanks you close to her; authority oozing from her stance. "I don't know if you're brave or stupid." The latter murmurs as she presses her nose against your neck, inhaling your delicate scent. A pathetic whimper falls from your lips as her other hand snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against her–you instinctively push her away, but she tightens her grip.

"Not so fast, bunny." She rasps, her cold breath fanning against the available skin on your neck. "You came to find me, didn't you?" The older woman guffaws darkly.

"Isn't that why you're here?"

Slowly, her hand tugs the back of your hair, presenting your neck for her as her eyes look down at you. You wince at the action, eyes faltering but not once did you struggle.

And that makes the older woman smirk.

"Your people will have you hanged if they see you in my arms." She presses feather-like kisses against your neck, jaw, and collar. "But you don't mind, do you?"

Quickly, she effortlessly tosses you to a secluded room. Her steps are slow and steady as she pins you with her cold, piercing gaze.

"What to do with you," She ponders mockingly while you back away from her until the edge of the table comes in contact with your rear. The taller woman cages you with her lithe arms, trapping you.

"Should I reward you for finding me even if I'm the one who found you?" Another chuckle as her gloved hand hikes your dress, reaching for your right thigh as she leans down, your hands palm the tabletop as you instinctively lean back; your breath hitches as the pads of her fingers gently brush against the dampening spot in your underwear, red spreads all over your cheeks as she teases your clothed core.

"You reek of innocence, bunny," Ada coos, "You haven't been touched before, have you?"

Shameless, you nod, whimpering softly as she continues to rub you.

A predatory grin breaks through her lips, "Really?" Ada mockingly queries. "No one has touched you yet but me?"

You nod again, throwing your head back as she cups your clothed pussy. "Such a bad girl you are, letting a stranger touch you like this." She gently smacks your cunt, you yelp in bliss as it throbs in response.

"No matter," The mercenary pauses, "I tend to keep precious things." She hooks her index finger around the hem of your panties before teasingly dragging it down.

"And you're one of them now, bunny." Your pulse rings against your ears as you raise your leg, then the other for Ada to discard your underwear haphazardly against the floor as her lips find yours for a searingly slow kiss, swallowing your cries as her warm tongue explores your mouth, purposely ignoring your tongue before wrapping it against your own and sucked it, eliciting a moan from you.

She pulls away with a pant as her eyes zero down on your lips.

She raises her hooded eyes, her hands prying your legs open, and you moan as the cold wind nips at your dripping folds before her index finger swipes up at the seams of your pussy, collecting your slick and inserting it in her mouth, her tongue wrapping against her digit, sucking it clean while your shaky breath reaches her ears.

And the sight makes your knees weak as you reach up a shaky hand to touch her, Ada senses your hesitation and a subtle smile graces her features.

"It's okay, bunny, you can touch me." She murmurs as she removes the right glove by her teeth and discards the other, you gasp as her middle finger breaches your core. You instinctively held onto her, nails digging against her clothed back as she pumps her fingers.

"So warm," The older woman comments as she stops her fingers, you let out a pitiful whine, rutting your hips.

She scoffs and pulls her finger away before smacking your clit. "Behave, pretty girl." She warms, earning her a shameless whimper as she drops to her knees, her eyes on your sopping cunt, "Legs on my shoulders. Now, bunny."

Confused, you obey and rest your leg over her shoulder as Ada's hands grab your hips, anticipation coats your face.

Your brain short-circuits once her plump, red lips press against your pussy, giving it a sloppy kiss before her tongue reaches your entrance. Your hands reach for her roots as she makes messy circles around your aching clit in a tantalizing motion.

"A-Ah!" You cry out, toes curling as you nudge her face closer, hips jutting.

Ada growls, sending vibrations to your cunt. Your eyes roll back at the sensation as every yank and tug fuels Ada to bring you closer to your undoing.

Her face presses against your pussy with no intention of backing away; beads of sweat roll down your forehead, your body set ablaze with desire as she bites your clit, eliciting an embarrassingly loud moan while she begins sucking.

Each roll of her tongue tinkers with your bundle of nerves, gummy walls clenching around her tongue, her saliva mixing with your arousal. It drips form your thigh to the floor.

Her fingers dig against your thighs, locking you in place as she ravishes you like a woman-starved.

Your head tilts back as soon as Ada flicks her tongue and grazes her teeth on your clit. She pulls away and delivers a slap on your pussy, creating an obscene wet sound, ripping another moan from you while Ada's arousal-smeared lips twitch to a grin.

"Naughty bunny," She purrs and delivers another slap, "Do you want us to get caught?"

You pant, shaking your head sideways before she steals a kiss from you. "Good, control your moans, or I will gag you." She does it again, and again, and again until your pussy weeps, gushing with arousal. Tears eventually escape your eyes with frustration and pleasure.

And Ada loves it.

"What's the matter, bunny?" She coos and rubs your leaking cunt. "Need to cum?"

You meekly nod with a choked groan as two fingers enter your core, your walls welcoming them selfishly. "Tell me what you want, bunny. And I might give it to you."

You swallow the bile forming in your mouth and lock eyes at the domineering woman in front of you. "T-touch me, pl-please, Ada."

Ada blinks, surprised that you know her name, before grinning. "Oh, you cheeky little minx, you know my name?" She withdraws her fingers, maintaining eye contact as she laps your arousal on her digits, "Very well, since my bunny asked politely."

She presses her saliva-coated finger on your folds and rims it as if lubricating you. "Put your leg down for me, baby."

You obey, wincing as you put down your leg while she stands up. You watch as she removes the harness around her waist, falling to the ground with a crisp 'thud.' Her hungry eyes take you in as she hikes her dress, and you're met with the outline of her cock, her hand wraps around it, pumping the appendage as your eyes shamelessly trace the ridges and veins surrounding the muscle. The tip is engorged and red as it leaks out pre-cum.

She pried your legs open, spreading it for her as she settled in between them, "Is my bunny ready?"

"Y-yes," The older woman hums and grabs both your thighs and wraps them around her waist, "Such a good girl you are." She looms on top of you, the tip poking at your entrance before lubricating it with her pre-cum and sliding inside.

You held her, moaning against her neck as you felt her veins throb inside you with want. The woman groans, her palms landing on the table as she pushes her cock in, filling you to the brim.

Moan after moan befalls from your lips as she rolls her hips, the obscene sounds of wet smacking resonate in the study while she drags her cock inside your convulsing walls. Your hands scramble to her back, nails digging against her skin with every thrust of her hips.

"So wet and warm, bunny." Ada huffs, "All for me?"

Your toes curl with every hit, and your head is thrown back–Ada chases your neck with bites and kisses, her swollen lips grazing the skin before biting down. Harshly. Marking you as hers–but that's only the beginning.

You let out a yelp, walls clamping around her rock-hard dick as pain and pleasure shoots through your spine.

Your owner growls, sending vibrations down your neck as her hips angled higher, and thrusting deep. Your legs wrap around her waist, heels digging against her ass as she fucks you into the desk, your back pressed against the cold wood, sweat blanketing both of your bodies while the table creaks underneath your ministrations.

Ada's thrusts are relentless and blinding. She pulls out slowly before slamming back in. Your eyes roll back, a wanton moan ripping from your throat while she flushes your lips together.

She leans down to connect her lips with yours, tongue breaching as she greedily swallows your cries for pleasure.

"F-fuck!" You whimper as she pulls away and bites your shoulder with a soft growl, your walls clamp around her dick, and rolling your eyes to the back of your skull when the bulbous head pokes your cervix, she rocks her hips back and forth while you try to desperately meet her thrusts.

"Look at you," She coos while your nails drag down her back, "Such a poor bunny."

Her pre-cum mixes with your arousal, most of it dripping on your folds, and her cock throbs, reveling around the tight, snug fit. Small whimpers escape your lips as you get used to her dick, splitting you open.

Ada's eyes darken as she moves her hips with a sharp thrust, and absolute filth falls from her mouth.

"Want me to give you little bunnies, hm?" She moans softly and pushes her hips deep, "Can you handle it, baby?"

She groans when your walls consistently clamp around her, an impending sign of release. A knot in your stomach forms. "Close, hm?" Ada gruffs as she jogs her hips.

You nod weakly as you throw your head hard against the table. White hot pleasure sporadically takes over. You let out a scream, and Ada muffles it with her hand. Powerful gushes of liquid spilling out of you as your pussy spasms around her cock. The woman above you moans as she fucks you through your high, not caring about the amount of fluids you've wasted.

Her cock throbs, veins rubbing deliciously against your quivering walls–twitching before spurting out her hot seed. She didn't stop moving her hips, fucking you through her orgasm.

Your legs shake, toes curling.

Her hips slam against your own, quivering as she fucks you raw with need and desire. Your swollen lips chant her name like a prayer while Ada's body bristles with lust. Her lips meet yours for a kiss before pulling away.

"I want more, bunny." She grinds her hips, "And I want you to ride me."

Without waiting for a reply, she lifts you by the waist without pulling out.

Each step pushes her cock against your gummy, used walls until she settles on a settee, your legs flanking her thighs.

"Move your hips, bunny." She commands and delivers a sharp slap on your ass. A pathetic sob leaves your lips as you grab her shoulders. "D-don't know how..."

The older woman clicks her tongue before grabbing your hips, cooing at you mockingly, "You don't know how to? We can't have that, can we? I promised you little bunnies, after all."

She guides your hips, eyes never leaving yours as she sets the pace again. Your hips shamelessly move with hers while overstimulation rings all over your body, Ada doesn't heed it as she wraps her arms around your waist, mumbling praises.

"You're doing so well, bunny." The dark-haired girl presses a kiss on your jaw, "Taking me and my cum so well."

You bite your lower lip as the angle makes Ada feel bigger and push deeper. "T-too much, A-Ada, too much–"

"You can take it," Her voice drips with a threat before softening her tone. "Aren't you a good girl?" You whine and nod as she fastens her pace. "Good, harder now, bunny."

You obey the older woman, jogging your hips firmly as you ride her. You can feel your mixed essences trickle down on her hips as you fuck yourself on her cock while Ada watches with twisted delight; thrusting her hips up while you move yours down.

She shifts her hips and guides your hips to slam on hers, you hide your face in the column of her neck as the sound of wet, skin-slapping echoes in the room, you pull away from her neck to look at the woman and you are met with a beautifully sinful sight.

Some of her bangs stick to her forehead, and her lipstick is smudged–no doubt most of it was pasted on your lips, s thin sheen of sweat covers her body as if trickles down to her neck and collarbone. You lean down to press a gently kiss on it.

Ada groans and tugs your hair back, "Faster, bunny."

You obey and ride her harder, Ada purrs in satisfaction as you destroy yourself on her dick, your walls convulsing before your eyes roll back, and you finish without warning. Ada watches with amusement as she watches you tremble, she holds you close.

"Done already?" She chuckles before adjusting your position, making you lay on the settee with her on top of you, "I suppose my bunny is tired." The latter jogs her hips, "But I'm not, now hold onto me, pretty girl. I'll take it from here."

A weak moan leaves your lips as she drags her hips, your belly bulges with her cock as she bullies it, spraying with cum and arousal–the smell wafts in the air as she takes you again.

Her hands palm your lower belly, eliciting a groan from you as your juices leak out.

"Mine," Ada smirks before pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. Her arms snake around your waist, lifting you closer to her. The filthy squelch echoes in the room, Ada groans as she feels her bulging cock against your pussy, trying to make room for her; her sheer length prodding at your insides.

Your hips buck against hers as she slams back and forth, her cock nudging all your soft spots–the overwhelming feeling sends you overdrive while your new lover fucks you with urgency, completely fueled by the previous orgasm and the way you squirm as her pelvis rubs against your sensitive clit.

"You're mine," She swears with every thrust. "This pussy is mine, got it, bunny?"

"Y-yours!" You weep as Ada fucks you vigorously, too lost in your own pleasure as your orgasm sneaks in with no warning. A particular thrust right against your sweet patch, pushing you once more. A silent scream, but Ada felt it as your hands crumpled her red turtleneck dress, almost tearing the cloth while your pussy convulses, milking aggressively against her cock.

Ada moans, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she stills her hips, cock twitching uncontrollably as she spurts cum once again, you sob, feeling full, so full to the point that it basically leaks out of your used pussy.

"There's my bunny," The older woman grins and caresses your cheek as soon as you fall limp onto the settee. She settles in your legs, making sure her seed stays in as she looks at your fuck-out state.

"After my transaction with Luis, I'm taking you with me." Ada purrs as she caresses your lower belly. She lays on top of you, arms possessively trapping you against her.

"And after you give birth to my little one, I'll give you another."

#ada wong x reader #ada wong #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #i'm just a girl #oneshot #ada wong smut

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