#hitman!au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

deliciousangelfestival · 2 months ago

Text

He's A Killer

Summary: She’s known among her family and friends for being single, and everyone worries about her. Determined to prove them wrong, she finally makes her first move, only to discover that the person she likes is dangerous.

The second part : He's The Sweetest

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The emergency room of St. Grace Medical Center buzzes with activity. Doctors and nurses move swiftly, handling patients with precision. Voices blur together in the chaos, and the sharp scent of antiseptic fills the air.

You're inside the medical storage room, scanning shelves for the supplies the doctor requested: syringes, tubes, and medication vials. Besides, you is Clara, your co-worker and friend, busy sorting through trays.

"I told you I had that family dinner, right?" you say, picking up a pack of syringes.

"Yeah, how was it?" Clara asks, not looking up from the tray she's organizing.

“Dreadful. Dreadful. Dreadful,” you reply, shaking your head in exasperation.

Clara glances at you, a smirk forming. "Wow, three times? That bad, huh?"

The memory flashes through your mind: Sunday, family dinner. You sit across from your aunts, who seem more interested in your love life than the meal.

"Your mom’s worried about you, you know," one of your aunts says between bites. "She didn't tell you because she's afraid of hurting your feelings," another aunt adds. "You’re already over 30; the clock is ticking." "My friend’s son works at the oil company. I could get his contact if you want. He’s a good catch."

Back in the storage room, Clara's voice breaks through your thoughts. "Well, you probably won’t like this, but your aunt’s kinda right. I mean, bestie, I’m only saying this because I care about you."

You hum, trying to keep your focus on entering patient data into the system. Clara means well, but the topic is starting to get old.

“Honey, you’re a great friend and an amazing co-worker. Everyone here relies on you because you’re so reliable. You know why?” Clara’s voice softens as she leans in. “Because you’re single. You don’t have someone waiting for you, or someone to hang out with on Saturdays and Sundays.”

You freeze for a moment, glancing up at her with raised eyebrows.

“Please, go out and talk to someone," she continues. "You've been single for way too long. You deserve some love, girl. It’s not like you need to get married right away.”

Clara shudders, as if the thought gives her chills. “No, not at all! Just, you know, make friends first?” She winks playfully before gathering a tray of supplies and heading out to assist the doctor.

Alone in the storage room, you sigh, leaning against the counter for a moment. Clara means well, but every time someone offers to introduce you to someone, it irks you. You know you’ve been single for a long time—your whole life, really—but it’s not that you don’t want a relationship.

It’s complicated.

You've seen too many relationships fall apart. Your parents, your aunts, your cousins—all their stories weigh on you. The cheating, the abuse, the constant reminders from your cousins: “Don’t get married.” It’s no wonder you’re hesitant.

But what stings the most is finding out your father, who you always thought was a devoted husband, had cheated on your mom. That betrayal shaped your fears. You don’t want to end up like her—trapped in a painful, one-sided marriage.

Part of you is scared of commitment, scared of getting hurt. But another part of you craves it—a real connection. The irony of it all is that the same aunts pushing you to settle down are stuck in abusive marriages themselves. It’s almost comedic, in a sad, twisted way.

You shake your head, pushing the thoughts aside as you gather the last of the supplies.

🐼🐼🐼🐼🐼

Working at ER felt like living in a whirlwind. You rarely went home, often staying for almost 24 hours at a time. The chaos of patients coming in with life-threatening injuries, doctors shouting orders, and the constant rush to save lives left you drained but fulfilled. When you finally had a day off, there was only one thing you looked forward to—visiting the zoo to see your favorite animal: the panda. 🐼

You’ve always had a soft spot for pandas. Something about their calm, slow movements and gentle nature soothed you. The baby panda, in particular, had become your little escape. Watching it tumble around, clumsily explore, or nibble on bamboo always brought you a sense of peace. You had its appearances memorized on your schedule since it wasn’t allowed out every day.

Today was one of those rare days off, and you made your way to the zoo, excited to see the baby panda. But when you arrived, the mood shifted. A zoo employee stood in front of the panda enclosure, addressing the crowd of disappointed families.

“Sorry folks, the panda viewing has been rescheduled. We have made an announcement on our social media last week—we worked on it all night, without sleep.”

You rolled your eyes at the comment. Without sleep? Try handling an ER at peak hours. Annoyed but resigned, you sighed and checked the next available viewing time. As the crowd started dispersing, one person caught your attention.

A tall man stood at the panda window, his broad shoulders slumped in disappointment. He sighed deeply before turning around. That’s when your eyes met. It wasn’t intentional, but the sudden connection caught you off guard. Quickly, you bowed your head and hurried away, feeling your cheeks warm from the brief moment.

The next day, you returned to the zoo, and this time, the baby panda was out. You joined the crowd, eager to see your favorite animal. The baby panda was as adorable as ever, tumbling clumsily around its habitat. You found yourself smiling, the sight of it immediately calming your busy mind. But as you glanced around, you saw him again—the tall man from yesterday. He was also watching the panda, just as captivated as the rest of the crowd.

The panda display ended too soon, and just as you were about to leave, the sky opened up and rain started pouring. The panda enclosure was far from the main entrance, and there was no shelter nearby. Luckily, you always carried an umbrella. As you received a message from the hospital calling you in for an emergency, you saw other visitors quickly opening their umbrellas and leaving one by one.

Soon, it was just you and the tall man left in the rain.

You noticed him glancing at his watch, pacing back and forth like he was debating whether to make a run for it. His indecision made you smile. He clearly wasn’t prepared for the weather. Without thinking much of it, you walked up to him, holding out your umbrella.

“Ehm,” you said, voice slightly raised over the sound of the rain. “Want to walk to the gate together?”

His eyes flicked to the umbrella in your hand before he gave you a small smile. “Thank you,” he said, stepping under it with you.

The walk was quiet, the sound of the rain drumming on the umbrella louder than any conversation you might have had. It should have felt awkward—after all, you were strangers—but the rain filled the silence. He stayed close to your side, even leaning a little toward you to make sure you weren’t getting wet. You noticed his left side was already damp, but he didn’t seem to care. Is he a gentleman? you wondered as you both continued walking.

When you finally reached the entrance, you closed your umbrella. The man pointed toward the parking lot. “My car’s pretty far,” he said, glancing toward the rain-soaked lot.

“I’ve got to go too,” you replied, showing him your phone. “I booked a car from the app. It should be here soon.”

He nodded, still standing close. You hesitated for a moment, then held out the umbrella to him. “Here. Take this. It’s better than running through the rain.”

He blinked in surprise, looking down at the umbrella. “How do I return this to you?”

You smiled, shrugging lightly. “It’s alright. I have more. But… if you really want to return it, you can find me at the hospital E.R. St. Grace Medical Center.”

His lips curled into a small smile, a flash of warmth in his eyes. “Alright then, the hospital. I’ll remember that.”

Before he could say anything more, your car pulled up. You gave him one last smile, ducking into the back seat, and as you drove off, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d see him again.

🐼🐼🐼🐼

The night shift at St. Grace Medical Center had just begun, but unlike most nights, the ER was unusually quiet. A handful of patients sat in the waiting area, the usual chaos replaced by a lull. The soft beeping of monitors filled the air, interrupted occasionally by the rustle of paperwork or a distant cough.

Clara, your ever-observant co-worker, stood beside you, arms crossed, her brow raised in curiosity. "You look different tonight. What’s going on?" She tilted her head, smirking slightly.

You paused, your lips twitching into a small smile. "Well… I met this guy when I went to see my favorite panda."

Clara’s smirk grew wide. “Ah, the fluffy black and white mammals. So, what makes this guy more special than your favorite animal?”

You were about to answer when a loud commotion broke out near the entrance. A drunk patient stumbled through the doors, yelling incoherently, bumping into chairs, and causing a scene.

“Perfect timing,” you muttered under your breath.

Clara groaned. "Here we go."

You both rushed over to try and calm him down. He was clearly in no state to be reasoned with, slurring his words and swaying dangerously as he tried to grab hold of another patient’s wheelchair.

“Sir, you need to sit down,” you said, holding up your hands in a calming gesture.

The man blinked at you, confused, then suddenly lunged forward, trying to grab your arm. Panic surged through you, but before he could make contact, a firm hand caught the drunk man's wrist.

"That's enough," a deep voice said from behind you.

You turned around, startled to see him—the man from the zoo. The one who borrowed your umbrella. He stood tall, his grip firm but not aggressive as he guided the drunk man back into a chair. The drunk patient, surprised by the sudden interference, mumbled something incoherent but didn’t resist.

Relief washed over you, and you let out a shaky breath. “Thanks. That could’ve gotten ugly.”

He gave you a soft smile. “It’s quiet here,” he said casually.

You quickly shook your head, eyes widening. “Don’t say that! You’ll jinx it.”

He chuckled at your reaction, then glanced down at your name tag. “Y/N, huh? Nice to meet you. I’m James Barnes, but most people call me Bucky.”

You blinked, feeling the warmth of his smile seep into you. "Nice to meet you too… Bucky."

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a familiar item—your umbrella. “Sorry I’m late returning this. Thanks again for letting me borrow it.”

You grinned, feeling a bit of your usual humor return. “Hey, as panda lovers, we have to help each other out, right?”

As soon as the words left your mouth, you wanted to dig a hole and hide in it. Did I really just say that?

To your surprise, Bucky laughed—a genuine, warm sound. “You’re right. We do.” Then, as if to return the favor for your kindness, he pulled a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. “Actually, I have something for you.”

You furrowed your brows, confused, until you unfolded the paper. Your eyes widened in disbelief—it was a VIP ticket for a face-to-face panda experience, something you had only dreamed about.

“What? How did you get this?” you asked, astonished.

Bucky smiled, a little mischievously. “I’ve got some connections.”

Before you could fully process what had just happened, Bucky waved and left the hospital. As soon as he was out of sight, Clara whistled softly behind you.

“Well, well, well,” she teased, her tone dripping with amusement. “Is someone making panda dates now?”

You rolled your eyes, though a blush crept up your cheeks. "It’s not like that, Clara."

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, her eyes twinkling. “I’m sure it’s all innocent.”

The next day, you found yourself back at the zoo, clutching your VIP ticket nervously. And there he was again—Bucky, standing near the entrance, waiting for you.

“Hey,” he greeted you with that same easy smile.

“Hey,” you replied, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest. The two of you walked together into the building, and soon, the moment you'd been waiting for arrived: you were face to face with the baby panda.

Both of you were silent as the tiny creature waddled toward you. The panda was as adorable as you had imagined, its soft fur and curious little eyes making your heart melt. Bucky stood next to you, just as captivated. When the panda let out a small squeak, you both exchanged a glance, wide-eyed, before grinning like kids.

As you held the baby panda for a brief moment, you felt all the exhaustion from your long shifts melt away. It was like a small pocket of happiness you hadn’t realized you needed. You could hear Bucky chuckling softly beside you, clearly sharing the same sentiment.

“Why pandas?” he asked softly after a while, turning to look at you.

You shrugged, smiling. “They’re just… calming. Whenever I’m tired from the hospital or life, looking at them helps. It’s like all the stress just melts away.”

Bucky nodded thoughtfully, his gaze still on the baby panda. “I get it. My job is… well, it’s tiring. Dangerous too. But seeing animals like this, being cuddled, living peacefully—it helps. Makes me feel like there’s still good out there.”

You glanced at him curiously, sensing there was more he wasn’t saying. “Sounds like a tough job,” you said carefully.

Bucky smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah… it can be.”

It's his turn to hold and cuddle the baby panda, and the sight is nothing short of heartwarming. The little creature, with its round face and soft, fuzzy coat, snuggles into his arms as he cradles it gently. Bucky’s eyes light up with a mix of joy and awe, his broad smile breaking through his usually composed demeanor. He chuckles softly, a sound that resonates with warmth, as the panda nuzzles against his chest, completely at ease.

There’s a brief pause, the kind that feels heavy with something unsaid, as he shifts his gaze from the panda to you. The moment stretches out, filled with unspoken tension.

Then, suddenly, he turns toward you, a hint of awkwardness creeping into his expression. “You know… if you’re not busy sometime, maybe we could grab a coffee? Or dinner, maybe?” His cheeks flush slightly, as if he’s unsure how his invitation will be received, but the sincerity in his eyes reveals his hopefulness.

Your heart skipped a beat. His voice was casual, but there was a hint of nervousness behind it, which made it all the more endearing.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “I’d like that.”

His face lit up, the awkward tension lifting. “Great,” he said, looking almost relieved. “I’ll, uh, message you then?”

“Yeah,” you replied, feeling the beginnings of a connection you hadn’t expected. “I’d like that a lot.”

🐼🐼🐼🐼

Your relationship with Bucky started innocently enough, bonding over your shared love for pandas and animals. What began as casual conversations about your common interests slowly grew deeper. The two of you spent more time together, texting throughout the day, meeting for coffee, or watching movies late into the night. It wasn’t long before you started spending nights at each other’s places. The closeness felt natural, and his easygoing demeanor made you feel safe.

Clara, of course, couldn’t resist teasing you about it. One evening during a shift, she shot you a knowing look. “You know,” she began with a smirk, “you should introduce him to your family. I bet his shadow alone could shut them up.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. "One step at a time, Clara. I don't want him to run away after meeting my family."

Over time, your relationship with Bucky deepened, and intimacy followed. You spent nights at his apartment, and he did the same at yours. The affection between you two was comfortable and warm. Bucky worked as a contractor, which sometimes took him out of town for a while. That’s why, one day, he handed you the key to his apartment with a smile.

“Keep it,” he said. “Just in case you need to check on Alpine.”

Alpine was his cat, a fluffy white ball of fur who quickly won your heart. You adored her, and it was easy to see why Bucky did too.

One day, on your day off, you decided to spend the afternoon at Bucky’s place. It was quiet and cozy, perfect for unwinding after a long week. His salary as a contractor must be high enough that he can afford this house.

Alpine was curled up on your lap as you sat on the couch, absentmindedly stroking her soft fur. The gentle purrs coming from her were soothing.

Suddenly, Alpine’s ears perked up, and before you knew it, she jumped from your lap and padded over to the bookshelf. You watched curiously as she stretched her paws toward one of the shelves.

“What are you up to, little one?” you murmured, getting up to see what had caught her attention. As you reached out to move a book, you heard a soft click. Before you could react, the bookshelf started to shift, revealing a hidden door.

Your heart raced as you hesitated for a moment, but when Alpine darted through the opening, you knew you couldn’t just leave her. Steeling your nerves, you stepped inside.

The room you entered was nothing like the cozy, homey apartment you knew. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in the scene before you. Guns lined the walls, various types of explosives were neatly arranged on shelves, and papers filled with detailed information were pinned to a whiteboard. It looked like something straight out of a spy movie—except it wasn’t a movie. It was real.

“When I finally make a move, turns out the man I like is a killer,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you picked up Alpine and quickly backed out of the room. You closed the secret door, your mind racing.

What do I do now?

You paced back and forth in the living room, your heart pounding in your chest. Your thoughts spiraled as you tried to process what you had just seen. Finally, in a panic, you grabbed your phone and dialed Clara.

After a couple of rings, her voice came through, light and cheery. “Yo, girls, what’s up?”

You swallowed hard, still clutching Alpine close to you. “Clara…”

“Yeah?” Her tone shifted slightly, sensing something was off.

You whispered into the phone, your voice shaky as you held Alpine close to your chest, “I think my boyfriend is a hitman."

Taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@scott-loki-barnes

@mostlymarvelgirl

@missvelvetsstuff

Extras:

617 notes · View notes

starsofang · 8 months ago

Text

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 1

tw: mentions of suicide, alcohol use

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you’re too stubborn to bail out.

You tapped your fingers anxiously against your knee underneath the table, the tea you ordered growing cold as you waited. Your eyes darted around the coffee shop, thankfully rather empty apart from an older couple in the corner and a few schoolgirls ordering at the front counter.

You were early, so it was no surprise he wasn’t here yet, but the waiting game proved to be brutal on your mental as you checked the clock that sat perched on the wall. You could practically hear every antagonizing tick that passed with every second.

The ugly monster that reared its head rattled the thoughts consuming your mind. You were making a huge choice, one you wouldn’t turn back on, and the monster named reality was beginning to bare its teeth at you the more it set in.

The sound of your name being spoken in a gravelly voice had you snapping out of your daze, and when you looked away from the clock, you came face to face with the man in question. Tall, very tall, practically looming like the shadow of doom that seemed to wash over you the longer you stared. His face was covered with a mask, successfully hiding his face away and destroying any bouts of curiosity you may have had before this meeting. Thick arms covered by a black hoodie, the hood pulled over his head where you saw tufts of hair poking out.

“Yes. Yes, that’s me. You must be Ghost?” you confirmed woefully, voice small in comparison to his baritone one.

He gave you a curt nod before settling into the seat in front of you. He hunched into it, eyes low as he stared at you for a long moment from across the table. Eyes that kill, you thought to yourself.

“I’ll cut to the chase. Make it easy for you,” he began, and you held your breath in anticipation. “Just need a name, location, date an’ time, an’ a form of payment. Don’t need the logistics or reasonin’, just need what’s necessary.”

You swallowed nervously, shifting in your seat as you scrambled through your mind for the information.

Risking a glance at the older couple across the shop, they were in their own world, not minding the two of you. The thought lingered in the back of your mind that you were sitting here with a hitman you had hired on the dark web after months of scrounging around for one, and they were blissfully unaware of the exchange.

“Right.” You cleared your throat, sitting up and returning your gaze to his. The way he looked at you was all business, and it nearly sent a shiver down your spine.

“‘M waitin’,” he gruffed impatiently. It didn’t settle the nerves.

“Well…” You cleared your throat again, and his eyes slightly narrowed as he watched your throat bob. “It’s me, actually.”

He said nothing as he stared at you, and you briefly wondered if he’d ever gotten this request before — somebody hiring him to take them out because they were too afraid to do it themselves.

“I’d like it to be on Friday. It’s my favorite day,” you began quietly. Your hands continued to fiddle with each other under the table, picking at the skin around your nails and creating a slight sting. “Eleven PM. I’ll be going to bed by then. I’d… like it to be as painless as possible, so I’ll make sure I’m sleeping to make it easier.”

It was Monday now, so that gave you time to prepare.

Still, he said nothing, and his expression didn’t change. It was hidden beneath the mask, but his eyes were enough to convey what he was thinking — or at least, you thought it’d be enough. But they told you nothing. Blank and emotionless, like you were staring into an abyss of nothingness. A void.

Reaching into the pocket of your jacket, you pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, setting it down in front of him. It contained the address of your apartment you spent most of your time in, and would eventually spend dying in.

“I have the money. Won’t be needing it anyway, so whatever your price is, I’ll have it.”

Finishing your spiel, you expected to feel relief, but instead, you felt a mix of things you weren’t sure of. Dread? You thought you’d be comforted by finalizing the deal to end your life from the hands of another, but it certainly didn’t feel that way.

“Alright,” he agreed after the stretch of silence. He sniffed, adjusting himself in the small chair, placing his arms on the table. “You can leave the money for me in your place. ‘M sure I’ll find it anyhow.”

Releasing a breath, you nodded, watching as he took the wadded paper and shoved it in his own pocket.

“That all?”

You nodded again, mouth too dry to speak. After all, it wasn’t everyday you hired a hitman on yourself, let alone did it in the comfort of a coffee shop downtown.

“I’ll see you Friday then. Eleven PM.”

“Okay,” you breathed, watching as he stood up from the table. He gave you a nod in farewell, and your eyes followed his back as he ducked out of the coffee shop, disappearing like a shadow in the night.

Monday went. Then came Tuesday. Then Wednesday, Thursday, and eventually, Friday.

The week came and went like a breeze, and you had spent it making preparations. You told yourself it was for the best. A letter, written and rewritten over a hundred times, explaining what you did and why you did it — even if it wasn’t really you doing the job.

Life had a silly way of treating people. Everybody came from all sorts of backgrounds, some worse than others, and many came out of it alive.

You weren’t one of those people. You didn’t think you’d have the strength to succumb to the standards of basic living if it meant spending the rest of it miserable and alone.

Sitting in your apartment was a constant reminder of how void it was of any sign of life. Of course it had you, but considering you a sign of life was pushing it. You were barely hanging on by a thread, and all you were waiting for was for somebody to come around and cut the last bit with a pair of scissors so you could fully be free.

Time seemed to pass even slower when you knew death was on its way. You spent the majority of the dreadful Friday cleaning your apartment. You didn’t want Ghost to think you were a lousy slob, after all, even if part of you was — but you had your reasons. What point was there to tidy up on a regular day, when the only thing that ever filled your brain was numbness that extended to all parts of your body?

It was truly a never ending cycle, this life. You hoped that when it ended, whatever lay beyond death was much kinder than how life had treated you. The red-headed stepchild. Long forgotten, but forced to remain. It was punishment to even be alive.

When the sun fell beyond the horizon outside your window and the night sky welcomed the moon, you knew it was only a few hours until the course of your destiny would forever be altered.

You laid in bed, eyes locked on to the old ceiling of your apartment. The clock read 8:54 PM, which left approximately two hours before Ghost would arrive to finish the job. Two long, stretching hours by yourself, consumed in your own cage of a mind.

You couldn’t help that they lingered. Shifting focus between your unhappiness, your selfishness, your resentment towards the world and the people in it that had failed you. The pain brought upon you was almost too much to bear, even in these two hours of waiting.

Why had life been so unkind to you? Why you?

Nevermind that. It wouldn’t be long until you could finally get some rest, for good.

You don’t recall getting up from your bed to enter the kitchen, but you found yourself yanking open the cupboard that held an array of liquor you swore to yourself you wouldn’t touch again. It was as if your mind was in a fog, and you were acting purely out of blinded instinct.

Twisting the cap off of one of the bottles, you took a deep chug of the liquor, allowing the burn to slip down your throat and encase you with a temporary warmth.

Soon enough, that bottle became your companion in bed when you returned, sitting up against the headboard with it resting in your lap, cap lost somewhere along the journey back.

Your eyes stared blankly at the wall as you took the occasional sip, time continuing to tick by as you waited. Time stopped for no one, not even in the wake of death.

Eleven o’clock.

You were far from drunk, but you had definitely nursed the bottle enough to give you a buzz that allowed your mind to cloud over with a sense of fuzziness. It didn’t halt the thoughts from revealing themselves, but it certainly made the self deprecation easier to handle.

You hadn’t moved from your spot on the bed, nor had your eyes shifted away from the dinginess of the walls.

The faint sound of the door rattling almost went unnoticed, but even in the broken state of you, you weren’t sure you would’ve noticed it anyway. It wasn’t until that looming shadow from before had appeared next to you at your bedside that you knew what time it was.

“You’re not asleep,” Ghost gruffed out, voice quiet but nonetheless deep and void of much emotion. It was a nice voice to listen to, you thought, and it would be comforting to hear it in your final moments.

“Sorry,” you murmured quietly, finally lifting your head up to look at him. You looked a mess.

When he took in the sight of you, he could see the slight redness of your eyes, how they sunk into your skin, making you appear ghostly. Your lips were thin and chapped, pressed into a line on your face and making you look older than you were. Ghost saw a client nonetheless, but he also saw a tired girl who had reached the point of breaking. He wondered what had caused you to become this way, but it wasn’t his job to care.

“S’fine,” he huffed out, shifting his weight on his feet. “In no rush to kill you, anyway. Mind if I ‘ave a smoke?”

Ghost nodded his head towards the sliding door to your balcony, and you gave him a nod in return, watching as he walked away with a sniff. The door slid open and he went to step outside, before his eyes turned back to you.

“…Wanna join?” he asked, and you stared at him in surprise. “Figured you might enjoy one last smoke before you go about dyin’.”

You blinked dumbly before setting the bottle of liquor on your nightstand and standing up on bare feet to join him.

Outside was cold, the bitter chill causing goosebumps to rise along your skin. You joined him on the balcony, standing by his side like a lost child while he leaned against the railings.

He lifted the bottom of his mask to rest over his nose, placing a cigarette between scarred lips. The lighter illuminated the bottom portion of his face, and you stared as he took a deep inhale, letting the smoke exude out moments later.

His gloved fingers held the cigarette out towards you, and his sunken eyes watched as you took it from him. You inhaled it, feeling the burn of smoke fill your lungs and temporarily numb you for a brief second, before coughs erupted from your mouth.

“Fuck,” you breathed, eyes brimming with tears as you wiped at your mouth.

“Never smoked before?” he asked, and if he was amused, he didn’t show it.

“No,” you confessed grimly, handing him the cigarette, which he took gently. “Alcohol’s more my thing.”

“Mm.”

You stood in silence as he puffed on the stick, eyes casted out to the city around you. It was quiet despite the lit up buildings cascading a faint glow around the two of you, and for once, you felt peaceful.

“Must be going through quite the trouble if you’re askin’ somebody else to kill you,” he spoke after a pregnant pause in conversation. It snapped you out of your daze, and you turned your head to look at him. He didn’t look back. “Coulda just took a bunch of pills an’ called it a day.”

His words had you feeling a bit dumb, and you looked away from him, feeling a frown form on your face. You knew he was right. You could’ve just done it yourself instead of getting another person wrapped up in it, even if it was his job.

But you were weak. You couldn’t bring yourself to do it, couldn’t pull the trigger, couldn’t open the pill bottle, couldn’t throw yourself over the balcony.

“Must not really wanna die all that much if you can’t do it yourself.”

“I do.”

He chuckled, but it was so quiet, it got taken away with the breeze.

“Who are you tryin’ to convince?”

You stared at him in stunned silence, unsure of how to defend yourself. You knew how much pain you were in, and you knew you wanted it to end. But you also knew how much of a weak link you were to your own mind, and how much stronger you could be if you had just put in the effort to get better.

After all, alcohol only solved problems temporarily until they ended up creating more of them.

“I don’t really feel like killin’ you. Pretty girl like yourself doesn’t deserve a fate like that, much less from somebody like me,” he started, taking a pause to inhale another breath of smoke. “So how ‘bout I cut you a deal?”

“A deal?” you asked, frowning at him. “Isn’t it your job to kill, no questions asked?”

“Mm. That it is,” he confessed with a careless shrug. “But I’m not completely heartless.”

That was comical, coming from him. People hired him to kill whoever they requested, no strings attached, and no evidence left behind. He was a hitman, it was his entire livelihood to do just that, yet here he was, cutting you a damn deal.

“…What kind of deal?” You couldn’t help but be a bit curious.

For the first time since meeting, his lips quirked into a smile. It was small, barely noticeable, but in the dim lighting of the butt of the cigarette as it burned, combined with the glow of the city around you, you could see it.

“Two weeks,” he said, shifting his eyes to you. “I’ll give you two weeks to figure out what’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours. If you’re still wantin’ to die, then I’ll do it for you. If not, then congratulations. You live to see another day.”

Two weeks to convince yourself to not want to die? The idea seemed silly to you. You had already went through the trouble of finding a hitman, hiring him, and coming up with a payment for when he completed the job of killing you. Wasn’t that convincing enough?

Still, though. You might’ve been a broken woman with little dreams and little remedies, but you were also stubborn. If he wanted to wait two weeks to try and prove you wrong, you’d gladly accept the challenge.

“Okay.” You nodded, tapping your fingers along the railings mindlessly. “It’s a deal, Ghost. Two weeks, and then you’ll be sure to kill me.”

He huffed out a laugh through his nose and extended a gloved hand for you to shake, cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Deal.”

starting another au when i already have one ongoing but this came to me in the middle of the night and i literally woke up mid sleep and was like, good lord i wanna write that!!! so i did 🤌🏻

#cod #call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost #ghost x reader #hitman au #cod fanfic

930 notes · View notes