#one flash of light but no smoking pistol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pin-k-ink · 7 months ago

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bereft // nakahara chuuya

tw ⇢ enemies to lovers, alcohol consumption, sexual tension, accidental love confession, mutual pining, making out, cunnilingus, marking, squirting, pet names, dirty talk, unprotected sex, implied masturbation, creampie, so much feelings, angst, character death, implied suicide, canon divergent

wc ⇢ 11.9k

a/n: uuuuuuh

The dingy Port Mafia bar thrums with raucous energy, neon lights casting lurid shadows across the smoky haze. Drunken laughter and slurred jeers ricochet off the stained walls, punctuated by the clink of glass and rattling ice.

And you've never been so goddamn tense in your life.

It's not like this vile atmosphere is anything new to you. As an agent of the Armed Detective Agency, seedy dens like this are just another Tuesday night's stakeout locale. You've posed as provocative arm candy more times than you can count, all in the name of gathering intel or inching closer to a high-priority target.

But there's something about the charged undercurrent crackling through this specific Port Mafia haunt that sets every nerve on high alert. Perhaps it's the debauched gazes burning into you from the leering criminals crowding the bar. Or the unmistakable sense of danger that lurks behind even the most minor-seeming mafioso's sneering smiles as they appraise your figure lounging in the corner.

You're supposed to be just another jaded call girl looking to cultivate some wealthy "clients" tonight. But you're hyper-aware of the slight bulge beneath your tight minidress - a meticulously concealed holdout pistol that's already becoming sticky against the inside of your thigh from clammy perspiration.

Exhaling a breath, you try to assume an air of boredom as your hooded eyes lazily roam the rowdy crowd. In through the nostrils, out through the pursed lips, nice and slow. You are the picture of vacant disinterest.

Until your roving gaze inadvertently lands on a shockingly familiar figure near the bar, and you instantly choke on the lungful of smoke-hazed air.

There, hunched over a glass of whiskey with furrowed brow and glowering into the amber liquid...is Nakahara fucking Chuuya. That gorgeous mess of orange hair is just as unruly as always, his slim form clothed simply in one of his signature crisp white shirts and dark slacks. You'd recognize the dangerous aura surrounding that unassuming body anywhere, no matter how casual he appears.

A phantom ache blossoms in your abdomen at the sight of him, flashing back to your first run-in with those bullets that marked the start of your endless, bloody game of cat-and-mouse. Unbidden, your fingers twitch toward the reassuring hardness tucked against your outer thigh, mentally counting the number of shots to subdue him.

Just as quickly, you berate yourself for the impulse. Need you forget already? This depraved confrontation was the entire purpose of your undercover operation tonight. Getting close to Chuuya and exploiting any potential vulnerability that could be used to dismantle his new plans...that was the mission you willingly walked into.

Dragging your eyes away from his brooding figure feels like monumental effort. But you manage to resettle your features into that of aloof disdain just as one of the rowdier patrons lets out a wolf whistle in your direction.

"Hey there, pretty thing! You lookin' for some company tonight?"

Here we go - time to work the role you've inhabited so many times before. Tilting your head, you shoot the drunken man your most sultry look, allowing your gaze to brazenly roam over his stocky frame before giving a coy flutter of your lashes.

"Depends...you got the cash to keep me interested, bigboy?"

The loutish grin stretching over his pock-marked face is all the response you need. With a slight sway of your hips, you slink across the bar toward his beckoning hand, mind already whirring on how to maintain this high-risk gambit of seduction and deception.

Just another job in the field, right? You can do this. Stay focused, do not give in to distraction or doubt.

Even if the persistent nagging at the back of your mind unceasingly whispers that those rules unequivocally do not apply whenever Chuuya is involved.

You paste on your most coquettish smile as the greasy patron waves you over with a meaty paw, making sure to add an extra sway to your hip movements. This guy clearly can't resist playing the big man around a pretty face.

"Well now, ain't you just the whole package?" he leers, giving you an exaggerated once-over as you slide into the empty seat beside him. The stench of stale beer and cheap cigars washes over you, making you fight back a wince.

"I do try my best," you murmur demurely, pitching your voice into that husky, sultry register that drives most men wild. Slowly, you lean in closer until your curves are almost brushing against his burly arm, holding his unfocused gaze through the veil of your lashes. "Though I'm sure a strapping guy like you already knew that."

The drunk's chest puffs out slightly at the transparent ego stroke, just like you knew it would. "Heh, damn straight, baby. Feel like letting ol' Daisuke here show you a good time?" One ham-sized hand starts inching up your exposed thigh with inevitable confidence.

Showtime. You allow your lips to quirk into the barest hint of a smirk, keeping your tone low and seductive. "Is that so? Well...I do have pretty discriminating tastes." Gently but firmly, you catch his wandering paw and guide it back to rest innocuously on the bartop. "Why don't you start by getting me a top-shelf drink, stud? Let me know if you've really got the means to keep me..."

You pause to lean in until your mouth is brushing his ear, voice dropping to a whisper. "...satisfied."

The shudder that ripples through Daisuke's broad frame is unmistakable, his pupils dilating to saucer-like dimensions. Without needing to be told twice, he frantically barks for the disgruntled bartender.

As the sleazy patron busies himself ordering the most expensive whiskey in an obvious bid to impress, you allow your gaze to drift away with studied nonchalance. But like a magnet, your eyes are subconsciously seeking out that head of mussed orange hair seemingly out of compulsion. And there he is, still brooding silently over his drink just a few spaces down the bar from where you sit...

Chuuya doesn't appear to have noticed your arrival yet, thank whatever deities exist. His shoulders are hunched and tense beneath that fitted white dress shirt, every once in a while raising his glass to take a measured sip.

You can't quite make out his expression from here, but there's something almost melancholy in the set of his jaw and the slight furrow of his brow that draws your eyes like a magnet. You find your curiosity piqued against your better judgment - just what circumstances could leave even the infamous Chuuya looking so uncharacteristically pensive and...dare you think it...vulnerable?

The ember of an idea begins sputtering in the back of your mind, firing up the nerve endings across your scalp with a sort of electric tingle. If you play your cards right, exploit the right angles just enough to pique his interest without arousing too much suspicion...this could be your ins-

"Hey sweet cheeks! Whiskey on the rocks, just how you like it." Daisuke's raucous voice practically bellowing in your ear shatters your concentration.

You can't quite suppress the slight wince, but quickly school your features back into a mask of allure as you turn your attention to the waiting glass being shoved under your nose. "Why thank you, handsome. That's exactly the kind of drink a powerful man orders for a thirsty girl."

Daisuke's chest puffs out even more, clearly gratified at the praise. "Heh, only the best for a sexy thing like you, darlin'. Love to make a woman purr like a kitten, if you catch my drift."

The wink and lascivious grin he shoots your way makes you mentally retch, but you force your own lips to curl into a coy simper. "Well then, why don't we see if you've really got the means to back that up," you husk out, gesturing discreetly at his bulging wallet with your chin.

The drunken lech practically starts salivating like one of Pavlov's dogs, fumbling the billfold open and stuffing a wad of crumpled tens into your waiting palm. You carefully keep your features impassive as you glance down appraisingly at the measly stack - barely enough for even fifteen minutes of your lowest rate. But you can hardly contain your smirk of satisfaction as you smooth the bills out to make them appear even flimsier.

"Mmm...I suppose this'll do for now, big spender. Long as you don't mind me keeping my options open." You shoot him a pointed look over the rim of your whiskey glass before downing the whole thing in one burning swallow.

The message is clear - your time and company won't come without him investing much, much more if he wants to keep you around for anything more...personal. Sure enough, Daisuke's brows knit together in obvious dismay at your dismissive assessment of his offering.

"Hey now, don't be like that, baby! I'm just getting started over here..."

As his babbling reassurances fade into the background cacophony of the bar, you allow your gaze to drift one final time toward that solitary beacon of orange in your periphery vision. Your ploy seems to have worked - Chuuya's laser focus is piercing directly toward you, brow furrowed even deeper as he openly stares. You don't break eye contact, keeping your expression carefully neutral.

One thin russet brow arches ever so slightly, almost in a silent challenge. Like he suspects the ruse you're running but can't pinpoint exactly why it seems...off. You tilt your chin in response, letting your lips quirk in the barest hints of a smirk before turning your attention fully back to Daisuke's increasingly pathetic groveling.

Hook, line, and sinker. You've got Chuuya's undivided attention now, whether he'll admit it or not.

It's time to really reel him in.

You lean back with deliberate slowness, allowing your low neckline to gape open even more as you eye Daisuke with lidded appraisal. "Well now, aren't you just a sweet talker," you murmur, making sure to drag your pink tongue across your lower lip in an exaggerated swipe.

Daisuke audibly gulps, his gaze dropping in a way that makes you want to deck him even as you fight to keep your features smoothly impassive. "I'll take that as a compliment from a gorgeous gal like yourself," he manages, recovering with a lecherous grin and letting his beefy arm drape across the back of your chair.

You allow the faintest shiver to roll through you, more out of revulsion than any attempt at playing coy. "Why don't we move somewhere a little...quieter, so I can show you just how much I appreciate a real man's flattery?"

The growl that rumbles from the portly man's chest makes the hair on the back of your neck prickle with unease. Subtly, you resettle yourself on the barstool, allowing your knees to fall slightly open and give him a tempting glimpse of creamy inner thigh.

Sure enough, Daisuke's eyes immediately snap downward like a dog ogling a juicy bone, his tongue slipping out to wet his cracked lips. "Whatever you say, babydoll," he husks, greedily dragging his gaze back up your figure. "Why don't you lead the way?"

The barely concealed lust dripping from his tone has you suppressing a grimace, but you channel it into yet another lithe stretch that pulls your tight dress taut across your curves. Sliding off the stool with exaggerated grace, you toss one last smoldering look over your shoulder as you saunter toward the dimly lit hall concealing a warren of private rooms.

"Keep up if you can, tiger. Can't guarantee I'll wait for dawdlers."

The throaty chuckle your words elicit might as well be a wolf's growl for all the stomach-churning effect it has on you. You don't have to look back to know Daisuke is practically tripping over his own feet to follow in your wake, arousal swiftly obliterating any lingering traces of rational thought.

Keeping your swaying steps measured, you silently appraise each secluded nook you pass, searching for one tucked away yet not overly obscured. The arousal thrumming through you is strictly the intoxicating thrill of a successful con rapidly coming to fruition. Just need to seal the deal for Chuuya to find you, but not so easily that it ruins the illusion...

Bingo. You spot a half-hidden alcove at the end of the hallway, shielded just enough by a gauzy curtain to avoid immediate detection. Tossing your head to allow your wild curls to bounce, you make a big show of "stumbling" inside, mussing the drape slightly before glancing back to where Daisuke leers from the hall entrance.

"Almost left you behind, handsome. Care to join me...if you think you can handle it?"

The prospect of convincing prey practically salivating after him is far too tempting for such a simpleton to resist. As expected, Daisuke lurches forward with surprising quickness to slip behind the curtain, meaty hands already outstretched to undoubtedly grope and paw-

Only for his impatient lunge to run smack into an unexpected steel vise grip on his wrist, yanking his motion up short with enough force to make his eyes bulge in shock. A harsh chuckle rumbles from the shadows by his ear.

"Should've known you louts would be sniffing around, as always. Do yourself a favor and stick to pissing up the bar, yeah? Wouldn't want any...unpleasant accidents to happen to your plaything."

With that final snarled comment, Daisuke's wrist gets brutally wrenched in a way that makes him cry out sharply, stumbling back and cradling his now-reddened appendage against his chest. Stunned, he gapes at the vaguely humanoid silhouette now resolving from the back gloom like an apparition.

"Ch-Chuuya-san! I didn't realize...I mean, I was just-"

"Save the pathetic blubbering, worm," the distinctive, gruff baritone growls back, the shadows shifting to reveal a steely glare and familiar mussed hair gleaming like burnished copper in the low light. "Get lost before I decide to make things messier."

That brusque warning appears to be more than enough for the simpering fool. With a strangled whimper, Daisuke gives a clumsy bow and scurries away, abandoning his intended conquest with all the hurry of a dog tucking tail. An almost pitying scoff echoes after him down the hall.

It takes every ounce of your restraint to remain seated and perfectly still, giving no outward sign of the thunderous riot your pulse has become. This is it - the opening you'd been angling for has finally presented itself. Any other sane person would be frozen with terror in the face of this unparalleled threat.

But terror has always been a distant acquaintance to you when it comes to Chuuya. It's been supplanted by a far more intoxicating feeling - the lure of getting hopelessly, perilously close to the untamed flame without letting your wings get burned in the process.

So you simply regard him with studied nonchalance as his tall form stalks from the shadows into the gauzy half-light, sharp features settling into a glowering leer.

"Fancy meeting you here...Chuuya."*

A tense silence stretches as Chuuya slants you an inscrutable look, one russet brow arching ever so slightly.

"You know who I am," he states flatly after a moment, clearly not bothering with any pretense. His gaze sharpens further, flicking over your form in an assessing once-over. "Yet you don't seem the type to go running for the hills like that sniveling worm."

You allow your lips to curve into the faintest of smirks, shrugging one shoulder in a studied show of nonchalance even as your heart hammers against your ribcage. "Well now, you'd be correct about that observation," you murmur, carelessly crossing one leg over the other to allow your skirt to ride even higher up your thighs. "I don't scare quite so...easily, let's say."

The way Chuuya's narrowed eyes instantly zero in on the expanse of bare leg you've revealed makes your gut clench with something that definitely isn't fear. More like the thrill of a predator getting a glimpse of a new, elusive kind of prey to evaluate. You keep your gaze locked boldly with his, not about to be cowed.

"That so?" Chuuya rumbles after a weighted pause, straightening from his slouch as he takes an prowling step closer. There's a distinctly dangerous edge to the banked smolder now flickering behind those scarlet irises. "Seems like an awfully stupid broad has wandered a little too far from whatever dank hole she crawled out of."

The sheer arrogance bleeding from his words, delivered in that low, grating growl, should rightfully have your hackles raising. A massive voice in the back of your mind screams at you to defuse this situation, disengage before it spirals into territory you may not be able to endure.

Instead, you find yourself leaning forward with avid interest, allowing the whisper of your neckline to gape open even further as you flash Chuuya a coy look from beneath your lashes. "What can I say? Maybe I've just acquired a...taste, for tempting a little risk every now and then."

The way his pupils flare infinitesimally at your blatant implication is almost worth the sizzling lick of tension now heating the cramped space between you. Feeling unnervingly brazen, you let your tongue swipe across your lower lip before continuing in your most sultry drawl.

"Doesn't hurt that danger often comes with certain...thrills attached, wouldn't you agree?"

There's something almost predatory about the rake of Chuuya's hooded eyes up the length of you now, his full lips quirking faintly at the corners. "Well now, that's certainly an...interesting revelation comin' from a scrap like you."

One booted foot edges incrementally closer into your space until the tips of his polished toes breach the whisper-close perimeter you're holding. Something about the nonchalant invasion of your boundaries makes the fine hairs on your arms prickle with an odd, static sort of electricity.

"So tell me, sweetheart..." Chuuya leans in even further now, his features almost blurring with proximity until that smoldering stare bores into yours with blistering intensity. You can smell the smoke and whiskey's potent musk radiating from his pores, taste the faint metallic tang of violence that seems to linger like an aura around him.

You don't - can't - look away, finding yourself utterly suspended in his molten regard.

"Just what kind of...thrills were you hoping a monster like me could provide?"

The low, guttural purr of his final words sinks directly into the pit of your stomach like a dousing of chill water. Except rather than dousing anything, they seem to ignite every tingling nerve ending across your skin into roaring life. Every well-honed instinct is silently screaming at you to take your gun out and shoot.

But your heart thunders in your ears for an entirely different reason, one you can no longer deafen yourself to even as sirens blare in the back of your mind. Because right here, right now, the monster in question has coaxed an infinitely more primal beast from its usually well-restrained cage inside you.

And now, face to face with the only man who's ever brought those feral urges to the surface, you can no longer remember how to resist its howling call.

So instead of heeding your flashing warnings, you allow every last gossamer thread of control to unravel from your grasp. you let the curtain drop completely - metaphorically and literally, as you purposefully lean back to reveal the shadowed haven of your chest undulating with quickening breaths.

Exposed and hungry, you hold Chuuya's smoldering crimson stare as the first provocative rumble parts your lips:

"I was rather hoping you'd show me..."

Chuuya holds your brazen gaze for a beat, russet eyes glittering with an unreadable intensity. You can practically see the gears turning behind that furrowed brow as he processes your bold proposition, evaluating how serious you are about tempting such dangerous territories.

At last, his lips peel back in a slow, wolfish smirk - the kind that makes your pulse spike despite yourself. "You've got a set of nerves on you, I'll give you that much," he rumbles, leaning back just enough to allow his eyes to roam overtly over your displayed figure with relish. "Most dolls wrap themselves up tighter than a hair-trigger gunslinger around me. But you..."

His gaze flicks back up to lock with yours, blazing with undisguised intrigue. "You're just beggin' to get burned, aren't you, gorgeous?"

There's an undeniable thrill licking up your spine at the blatant challenge arcing between you, the kind of illicit adrenaline rush you've been chasing perhaps a bit too recklessly lately. Mustering your courage, you hold Chuuya's smoldering stare and part your lips in a slow, deliberate sweep of your tongue.

"Well now, they do say there's a certain...excitement, in playing with fire, don't they?" You make sure to pitch your tone into a sultry purr, allowing your lashes to dip in a slow blink. "And who are we to question that particular wisdom?"

The low, gravelly chuckle that rumbles from Chuuya's broad chest causes a frisson of sensation to trickle down your body. Slowly, he pushes off from the wall, allowing his fitted white shirt to strain against his defined torso as he prowls the sparse distance separating you. Your breath hitches despite yourself when he looms into your personal space, near enough that you can detect the smoky, smoky whiskey scent of him.

"Is that what you're angling for, then?" he murmurs, head dipping until you can feel the whisper of his warm exhalation skating across your cheekbone. "A chance to dance among the flames and see if you get yourself burned?"

You resist the urge to shiver, forcing yourself to meet his heated stare steadily even as your pulse throbs with mounting anticipation. "Well now, I do love indulging in life's...rarer sensations whenever I can."

One daring hand lifts until your fingers are just grazing the open vee of his dress shirt, allowing your splayed digits to tantalize the hard planes of his chest through the crisp fabric. Boldly, your hooded gaze flicks up through your lashes, a shiver of adrenaline sparking beneath your skin as Chuuya's own eyes darken infinitesimally.

"Tell me..." you breathe out, letting your words skate like a caress against his stubbled jaw. "Just how much thrill...does a rare indulgence like you have to offer?"

For a long, heated moment, Chuuya simply holds your daring stare, the muscles in his forearms tensing as his fingers flex almost unconsciously. You can sense the thunderous caution warring with that undeniable spark of interest in his hooded gaze as he sizes you up fully, evaluating whether you're truly the kind of hazard worth risking his...attention.

At last, a slow, wicked smirk curls over his lips, and a shudder of electric premonition dances down your spine.

"Well now...what do you say we go somewhere a little more...private, and find out?"

Your pulse thrums with a heady mix of trepidation and illicit excitement as Chuuya holds your daring stare, clearly weighing his options. Despite every rational instinct screaming at you to defuse this situation, you find yourself utterly transfixed - a moth helplessly drawn to the hypnotic flames.

At last, Chuuya leans back with a slow smirk, giving you an assessing look-over that makes your skin prickle. "Tell you what, gorgeous - how about we take this little game somewhere a bit cozier?" His gaze briefly flicks toward the hallway beyond your alcove's tattered curtain. "Got a private office upstairs that'll give us all the...privacy, we might require."

The unmistakable emphasis he puts on that last part sends a shiver of smoky anticipation licking down your spine. You know you're treading into incredibly dangerous territory here - this is the Port Mafia's most volatile element you're brazenly tempting, after all. One misstep, one misread signal, and there's no telling how quickly this situation could careen into utter chaos.

And yet...you can't resist the thrill of poking at that particular rattlesnake, drunk on the dizzying high of skirting peril. Holding Chuuya's piercing stare steadily, you allow one side of your mouth to curve into a slow, provocative smile.

"Lead the way, then...I'm partial to a little...risk, with my indulgences."

Chuuya's eyes flare infinitesimally at your words, that smoldering gaze roving over you with rekindled interest. For a beat, the two of you are suspended in a sort of heated detente, the air between you thrumming with roiling tension and unspoken challenges. Despite yourself, you feel a whisper of excitement curl low in your belly as those molten azure irises slowly blaze a path down your form.

Then, abruptly, Chuuya spins on his heel and strides toward the exit without another word. You blink, momentarily wrong-footed by his abrupt dismissal, until he tosses a final look over his shoulder - the expression on his face makes your breath hitch.

"Well? You comin' to collect your indulgences or not, gorgeous?"

There's an unmistakable glint in Chuuya's stare then - a sort of heated promise that has your adrenaline spiking despite yourself. Like he's testing you, issuing a blatant dare to see if you'll recklessly rise to meet the perilous temptation head-on.

A greater part of you knows you should immediately abort this reckless gambit, disengage before you cross a line there's no coming back from. But that primal part that's already been stirred into electric wakefulness refuses to back down from such a flagrant challenge.

So with one last inward steadying breath, you smooth your features into an insouciant smirk and saunter after Chuuya's retreating form. Every step behind him down the dimly lit hallways feels like you're striding deeper into a dragon's den, utterly insignificant compared to the scorching, chaotic power you're brazenly trailing.

But rather than cowing you, the prospect of getting inexorably closer to such a dangerous presence sets your blood simmering with heady, illicit adrenaline. You can't tear your eyes away from the confident set of Chuuya's shoulders, the controlled, subtly powerful roll of his hips with each long stride. It's like watching a panther stalk through the underbrush - power and grace roiling in sync, utterly spellbinding.

By the time the two of you reach the non-descript doorway tucked away on one of the upper floors, your pulse is thundering with a strange sort of breathless anticipation. As Chuuya swings the door open and gestures you forward with one beckoning hand, something sparks hot and illicit in your veins.

You don't hesitate before crossing the threshold into the dimly lit office space, chin raised in smoldering challenge. The distinct sound of the door clicking shut behind you seems to ring with finality, sealing you in this intimate battleground with your most dangerous opponent yet.

One deep, steadying breath later, and you slowly turn to face the sole occupant now in the room with you. Chuuya prowls closer, looking utterly at ease amidst the overlapping shadows cast by the single flickering lamp. He cocks one russet brow slightly, the ghost of his ever-present smirk still playing about the corners of his lips.

"Well then...care to indulge me on just what kind of rare...thrills, you think you can handle?" The low, gravelly purr of his drawl seems to reverberate against the very walls with its heady promise.

In this moment, all bravado flees as you find yourself pinned by the weight of Chuuya's piercing stare. There's something incandescently feral roiling just beneath that cool surface, power and intensity thrumming from every taut line of his lithe form. You feel suddenly, viscerally aware of the yawning chasm of danger you've actually stumbled into by provoking such an untamed juggernaut.

Yet despite the rapidly shrinking space between you, despite the alarms clanging in the back of your mind...you can't seem to make yourself turn and flee while you're still able. No, some deeper, more primal instinct is beading bright pinpricks of perspiration across your nape, thrumming with a low, electric sort of excitement as Chuuya stalks ever nearer.

So rather than retreat, you feel the first reckless threads of control beginning to fray as your body's most basic urges override any sense of self-preservation. Your lips part in a tiny shuddering inhale as those feral crimson eyes finally bore into yours at point-blank range, the heat of Chuuya's compact frame now radiating palpably against yours.

In that delirious instant, everything narrows until there's only the two of you, coiled taut as a wire split-second before detonation. You can't tear your gaze from Chuuya's even if you wanted to - find yourself suspended, mesmerised as he subtly scents the air around you both with a slow inhale of his own.

Then, at last, he leans in until his lips are a scant breath from yours. You freeze, dizzy at the sudden proximity, skin tingling...and wait with inexplicable tension for the final ax to fall.

The words that finally part his lips are little more than a smoky rasp, thrumming with a vibration that sinks sparks into your very marrow:

"Then let's find out, shall we?"

You feel like every nerve ending in your body has been set alight as Chuuya's words seem to reverberate against your very bones. The low, smoky rasp of his voice carries a thrumming vibration that sinks sparking tendrils of electricity into your very marrow.

In that suspended instant, everything narrows into hyper-focused clarity - the smoldering weight of his piercing crimson stare boring into yours, the slight hitch of his chest with each measured inhale, the faint whiskey-and-smoke scent of him swirling in the charged space between your bodies. You're acutely, dizzyingly aware of Chuuya's compact frame radiating an intense, banked heat so palpably against you that your own breathing grows shallow.

Despite the alarms still blaring at the back of your mind, something infinitely more primal has awoken and taken the reins - that reckless, thrill-seeking part of you that cannot seem to resist chasing the untamed wildfire no matter how badly it threatens to burn. You can't tear your widened eyes away from Chuuya's own hooded gaze, utterly transfixed by the promise of power and intensity thrumming in every taut line of his form.

And when he finally moves, prowling that last infinitesimal distance to bring your bodies into searing alignment, you can't even find it in you to flinch.

There's the faintest tangling of your mingled breaths as Chuuya noses infinitesimally closer, and your chest stutters on a shuddering inhale in response. Yet you remain frozen in place, utterly suspended in the gravitational pull of his aura as his lips ghost across the heated whisper of skin just beneath your jaw.

"So tell me then..." The gravelly rumble of his low purr ghosts across your pulse point, igniting a shivering trail of sensation down your neck and across your collarbones. "Just how much hazard were you angling to chase tonight, gorgeous?"

The blatant challenge dripping from Chuuya's words finally spurs you back into motion after your momentary paralysis. Steeling your nerves against the molten intent searing from his heavy-lidded stare, you force your lips to curve into a slow, smoldering smirk of your own.

"Why don't you go ahead and show me...unless you're not confident you can rise to the occasion?" you breathe out, allowing your voice to dip into a low, throaty purr of provocation.

The infinite pause that stretches between you next is charged like a livewire, tension and unspoken baits crackling in the superheated air. For an endless moment, the two of you remain suspended in a crystalized tableaux - Chuuya pinning you in place with smoldering promise, you staring him down with charged challenge.

Then, like the abrupt snap of a rubber band, the fragile tension finally breaks.

A harsh exhale gusts from Chuuya's parted lips as a muscle ticks in his tensed jaw, the banked intensity in his stare flaring into a bonfire of blatant hunger. You can't quite muffle the tremor that wracks through you in response, heat licking beneath your skin like the first sparks of a brushfire about to ignite.

"Well then..." he rumbles in that distinctive rasp that seems to lick across your nerve endings in a searing caress. "I do so hate to disappoint a lady with...particular tastes, now don't I?"

The final taunting lilt of his words hangs for a torturous beat in the electrified space between your bodies. Then, before you can so much as draw another shuddering inhale, his hands are on you - rough, calloused fingers skating up the bare expanse of your waist to sear possessive brands into your overheated skin.

The molten contact finally shatters the spell of restraint you've been struggling to maintain against the steadily encroaching tide of Chuuya's presence. A sharp, wordless exhalation punches from your lungs as you instinctively arch into his scorching palms like a tree being bent to gale-force winds. Every nerve is alight, thrumming feverishly with heady, illicit anticipation that seems to vibrate in your very bones.

Chuuya's low, guttural rumble of approval vibrates against your heated pulse point in a distinctly possessive sort of resonance. "That's what I thought..."

Those large, blisteringly warm hands flex against your sides, fingers tightening in an inescapable grip that has you trembling minutely. There's a distinct sense of him looming, encompassing your entire field of awareness. The terribly intimate cocoon of his powerful aura and crisp, smoky scent has raptured senses occluding everything else in a dizzying spiral of sensation.

You're only dimly cognizant of the slide of hot breath skating up the column of your vulnerable throat before Chuuya's graveled rasp ghosts across your lips with finality:

"Now let's see how much of my...particular skills, you can take."

A tremulous shiver wracks through you at the blatant intent scorching from Chuuya's words. For all your attempts at bravado, at provoking this untamed hurricane, there's no denying the molten thrill now simmering low in your belly.

You're well and truly in the eye of the storm's chaos now. There's no retreating, no shred of distance to put between you and this barely-leashed juggernaut towering over you. The heat radiating from Chuuya's compact frame, the banked intensity blazing behind those smoldering russet irises, the thrumming aura of controlled violence roiling just beneath his deceptively calm surface...it all combines into a heady, electrifying force that's utterly overwhelming your senses.

You can't tear your widened gaze away from the searing intensity of his stare, can't halt the trembling that wracks through your very bones as Chuuya regards you with that slow, lupine smirk curling the corners of his lips. It's as if he can sense the first tendrils of apprehension starting to unfurl in your gut, can scent the first hints of your rapidly dwindling bravado like a predator sensing weakness in its prey.

That molten gaze narrows infinitesimally, holding you utterly transfixed as those wicked lips part to exhale a low rumble that seems to reverberate against the very walls around you:

"Well, well...aren't you just a messy tangle of nerves now, gorgeous? Should've known better than to go poking a sleepin' beast."

Your throat works in a convulsive swallow, suddenly achingly aware of the rapid flutter of your pulse thrumming visibly beneath the hollow of your exposed throat. Whether from exhilaration or mounting trepidation you can no longer tell - everything's starting to spiral and blur together into an indistinguishable haze in the wake of that banked wildfire radiating from Chuuya in rolling waves.

You manage the barest shake of your head, gaze skittering away in a rare moment of cowed discomposure as the instinct to physically retreat briefly rears its head. But Chuuya's callused grasp on your waist tightens infinitesimally, effectively pinning you in place like a cobra subduing its prey.

"Now where d'you think you're going, babydoll?" The low, honeyed rasp of his drawl slithers down your neck like velvet laced with venom. "Don't go getting cold feet after working so hard to earn yourself a dance with the big bad wolf..."

Swallowing hard against his iron grip, you force yourself to match his smoldering stare with a defiant tilt of your chin. "I’m not," you rasp, hating how breathless you sound pinned beneath this man's thrall. "Unless you're the one getting cold feet...?"

Chuuya's eyes suddenly turn flinty, his smirk twisting into something sharper and colder. "Funny you should mention that," he says, his tone deceptively light despite the new tension thrumming through his frame. "Tell me...what's a pretty little Agency thing like you doing here trying so hard to play the vamp? Shouldn't you be out there fightin' the good fight, making the city a safer place and all that righteous bullshit?"

You freeze, eyes widening as the blood drains from your face. He knows. Somehow, Chuuya has seen through your undercover operation. Your hand twitches instinctively towards the concealed pistol against your thigh.

Chuuya's grip on your waist tightens infinitesimally as he leans in closer, his eyes blazing with a combination of hunger and...sadness? "Yeah, that's right. I know who you are and why you're really here. To take me out, just another job for the Agency's dog."

His words slice through you like a knife as your heart pounds in your ears. This was never supposed to happen. He was never meant to discover your true motives.

Chuuya's gaze bores into you, stripping away every layer until you feel utterly exposed before him. "Did you really think I wouldn't recognize you? Even playing the seductress...I'd know you anywhere."

There's a rawness to his voice now, a vulnerability that takes you aback. His fingers loosen slightly against your throat, almost a caress. "I've watched you for years, you know. From a distance, always keeping my distance because I knew we could never be anything more than enemies."

Your breath catches in your throat as realization dawns. The longing you'd glimpsed in his eyes...it wasn't just your imagination. "Chuuya..." you whisper, torn between the instinct to attack and something far more dangerous blooming in your chest.

He laughs bitterly, the sound grating. "I'm just a fool, aren't I? Falling for the one person I can never have." He reaches up to slowly pull the wig you wore for your disguise, revealing your natural tresses. His thumb strokes your wildly fluttering pulse almost tenderly. "So go ahead, do what you came here to do. At least I got to be this close to you one last time."

The pistol feels like a lead weight against your thigh as you gaze up at this deadly man, your sworn enemy, and see the depths of his longing and resignation laid bare.

Your breath catches in your throat as you gaze up at Chuuya, the man you've sworn to take down as an enemy of the Agency, and see the naked longing and resignation in his eyes. In that moment, you realize with dawning clarity that you can no more kill him than cut out your own heart.

The pistol concealed against your thigh suddenly feels like an utterly foreign, leaden weight. How could you ever bring yourself to pull that trigger against this deadly yet achingly vulnerable man before you? The one who has haunted your footsteps and thoughts for years, it seems, with the same tortured yearning you've struggled to ignore?

Chuuya's thumb strokes your thundering pulse once more, his touch tentative yet scorchingly intimate. "Well?" he prompts roughly, jaw tensing. "Aren't you going to finish what you came here for, gorgeous?"

You open your mouth, but find no words will come. What could you possibly say in this suspended moment where everything you thought you knew has been shattered? Your entire world has abruptly tilted on its axis, sending your convictions and allegiances spinning into freefall.

Seeming to take your silence as answer enough, Chuuya's expression shutters closed once more. He lets out a harsh exhalation, fingers tightening almost bruisingly against your hip. "Fine then. Have it your way."

With that gruff declaration, he suddenly seizes you by the shoulders and spins you both around, slamming your back against the wall with enough force to expel your breath in a pained rush. You instinctively try to pull free, to summon your training and detach from this volatile situation before it spirals further.

But Chuuya is relentless, pinning your wrists above your head in one unyielding grip while crowding you with the searing heat of his compact frame. The hard planes of his body cage you in utterly, his thigh jamming between your legs in a blatant parody of intimacy before he snaps your holster off along with your gun.

"If you're not going to finish the job, then at least grant me this one indulgence before you walk away," he snarls against the hammering pulse at your throat. His free hand slides possessively up your ribs until it's fisted in the hair at your nape, wrenching your head back to fully expose your vulnerability to his piercing stare. "One taste of you before I burn it all to the ground."

The world seems to splinter and fracture around you as Chuuya's heated words penetrate the haze of shock and confusion swirling through your mind. This is madness, utter insanity descending between your tangled forms. He's the enemy - untamed, volatile, a force of destruction that could annihilate you without a second thought.

Yet despite every rational warning blaring at full volume, you can't seem to make yourself struggle against the scorching brand of his body anymore. Can't deny the reckless part of you that has been awakened and roused into insatiable hunger by Chuuya's smoldering stare and this searing, unexpected revelation.

So instead of heeding your ingrained instincts, you simply hold his burning gaze steadily and allow the first lethal admission to tumble recklessly from your lips:

"Then take what you need from me..."

Chuuya freezes at your breathless entreaty, the blazing intensity in his gaze seeming to flicker and gutter for just an instant. As if some part of him hadn't truly expected you to capitulate to this reckless descent into madness between you both.

For a suspended heartbeat, the office seems to hold its collective breath, awaiting the final plunge over the edge of this precipice you now teeter upon. You can feel Chuuya's ragged exhalations ghosting across your parted lips, can all but taste the roiling torment and need crashing together in the infinitesimal space separating your bodies.

Then, like a rubber band reaching terminal tension before snapping, every last strand of restraint finally frays into oblivion.

A harsh growl rumbles from the depths of Chuuya's chest as he surges forward, claiming your lips in a searing, bruising clash. The tight grip in your hair wrenches your head back at a nearly painful angle as he plunders the intimate depths of your mouth with almost feral intensity. You can only cling to the hard planes of his shoulders and surrender to the riptide of sensations crashing over you.

There's no gentleness, no teasing exploration in Chuuya's onslaught - only the desperate, blazing need to consume, to leave his brand seared into every inch of your being. Each nip of his teeth against your lips, each rasp of his calloused palms mapping the curves of your body, it all conveys the same frenzied message:

Take what you can from me before this all gets torn asunder.

You're only dimly aware of the harsh grind of the wall at your back, of Chuuya pinning you there with the inexorable force of his lean musculature as you both drink desperately from this catastrophic spiral. All that exists is the scalding trail of his lips, the shuddering gasps being torn from your lungs, and the roaring heartbeat thrumming between your tangled bodies.

At some point, Chuuya wrenches his mouth free to blaze a path of smoldering, opened-mouth kisses down the vulnerable column of your throat. The rasp of his stubble scraping your over-sensitized skin drags a trembling moan from you that seems to reverberate in the very air. He lets out his own guttural groan against the wild flutter of your pulse in response, clutching you impossibly closer and grinding his hips against yours in a blatant rhythm.

"Been drivin' me crazy for years, you know that?" he rasps into the sweat-dampened hollow of your neck, each word seeming to sear itself into your very bones. "Watchin' you from the sidelines, playing the good guy while I kept my distance like a good little monster..."

His teeth graze the juncture of your shoulder hard enough to sting, but the burn only streaks molten licks of sensation straight to your pussy. "Never thought I'd get the chance to finally have you...even if it's just this once."

The desolate undercurrent woven through Chuuya's heated words penetrates the lust-hazed spiral of your mind, sending a jagged fissure straight through the reckless abandon coursing through you. This frantic, devastatingly intimate blaze between you isn't just about giving in to primal desires and sating forbidden cravings.

For Chuuya, it's a last-ditch grasping at ephemeral smoke before the world as he's known it inevitably turns to ash and ruin. A final indulgence to sate his starving beast before resigning himself to the solitary, untamable path he was seemingly born to walk.

Something hot and agonizing clenches in your chest at the bitter realization, an unfamiliar and terribly disarming ache blooming beneath your ribcage. You want - need - to soothe that weary resignation bleeding from Chuuya in scorching waves, even if it's only for one delirious, catastrophic moment outside the roles and enmity, before the entire world crashes down around you.

So you force your hands to release their white-knuckled grip on the rigid plates of his shoulders, sliding them up to frame his harsh, stubbled jawline instead. Chuuya makes a muffled sound of surprise against your pulse point, but doesn't pull away as you gently guide him to meet your softening gaze.

For a long, suspended heartbeat, you simply drink in the sight of him. Take in the smoky azure blazing with naked hunger and that terribly tender longing. The sharp angles of his brow and razor-edged cheekbones, the sinfully decadent curve of his kiss-swollen lips. The disheveled crimson spill of his hair across his forehead, the sheen of perspiration on his pale skin.

Then, with an aching, shuddering exhalation, you lean in and claim his mouth in the first gentle, devastating kiss of the night.

It's a slow, lingering thing - a delicate, searching brush of lips, a delicate exploration of the warm, wet heat of his mouth. A sensual dance that quickly builds into a scorching, searing thing. This time, you're the one to nip at his lush lower lip, to trace the sensitive seam with the tip of your tongue and draw a shivering moan from the depths of his throat. The hand fisted in your hair slackens, his grip becoming a caress instead. His other hand skates reverently over the curve of your waist, the slope of your hip, as if he's trying to commit every inch of your body to memory.

As you sink deeper into the addictive heat of Chuuya's mouth, as he swallows the needy sound that spills from you and tangles his tongue with yours in a slow, sensuous slide, the entire universe seems to contract down to the point where your bodies are pressed together.

Where the air is thick and heavy, the scent of leather and his cologne a potent mix that sends your head spinning and leaves you gasping.

When you finally part for air, when your trembling fingertips find the buttons of his vest and start working them free, his gaze sears into you like a brand. "Let me have you," he rasps raggedly, the sheer desperation in his voice making you shudder. "Please, let me..."

"Yes," you manage to whisper, the single word nearly lost in the maelstrom of sensation and need spiraling between you.

He curses roughly against the curve of your shoulder, his fingers flexing against the small of your back. "I don't want to hurt you. I never... not you."

"You won't." You're surprised at the steadiness of your own voice as you lean into the heated cradle of his body. "I trust you, Chuuya."

Chuuya goes utterly still against you, his word nearly lost in the maelstrom of sensation and need spiraling between you. There's a raw vulnerability in his gaze when he lifts his head to search your face, as if he's afraid he imagined the words falling from your lips. As if he can't quite believe this is happening.

"I trust you," you whisper again, pressing a kiss to his jaw, his throat, his temple. You don't care if the gesture is too soft, too intimate. Not when the ache in your chest only seems to deepen with each ragged inhalation you take.

"Please, Chuuya...I want this. I want you."

It's the truth, and you realize in that moment that you'd do anything, give him anything, if it meant chasing that bittersweet resignation from his expression. If it meant holding him close and keeping him safe, even for a single instant.

Chuuya shudders against you at your fervent confession, a low growl rising from his chest.

His fingers tangle in your hair, his eyes blazing with something that sends a jolt of heat straight to your core. "Then I'm yours."

He claims your lips once more, the kiss searing and all-consuming, even as he reaches down to hook his hands beneath your thighs and hoist you effortlessly into his arms. With the ease of a man who spends every waking hour honing his physical prowess, he carries you across the room and settles you atop the wide expanse of his desk.

You gasp at the feeling of the polished wood beneath your bare skin, at the cool caress of the air as he steps back to swiftly shrug off his vest and unbutton his dress shirt. Even in the dim lighting, you can't help but drink in the sight of his pale skin, the sculpted ridges of his torso and abs, the tantalizing hint of the V-lines disappearing beneath the waistband of his slacks.

When you finally tear your gaze away from his exposed body to meet his eyes, Chuuya's lips curve into a smirk. "Enjoying the view, babydoll?"

Heat creeps up your neck, but you don't look away as you reach up to begin working the zipper on the back of your dress. "Maybe. It'd be easier to enjoy it more if you took the rest off too, though."

Chuuya's smirk widens into a grin, the wicked curl of his lips sending a new spike of heat lancing through you. "Whatever the lady wants," he purrs, popping the button on his slacks and letting the fabric slide down his hips.

Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of him clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs, the outline of his erection evident through the stretchy fabric. His heated stare is pinned on you like a physical weight, tracing the curves of your bared flesh as you tug the dress down and over your head.

A low, ragged sound spills from Chuuya's chest as he drinks in the sight of you perched before him in nothing but your lace bra and panties. You don't have a chance to feel the slightest bit of self-consciousness, however, because he's crowding against you almost instantly, his hands spanning the dip of your waist and his lips trailing a line of burning kisses along the curve of your neck, moving downward.

You feel Chuuya's soft lips press gently against your stomach, his kisses fluttering over the scars that mark your skin. The scars he put there himself, when he shot you what feels like a lifetime ago. His touch is tender now as his mouth grazes the raised lines, his breath warm on your bare flesh.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, voice thick with emotion. "I never wanted to hurt you." He looks up at you with repentant eyes, fingers tracing the edges of the scars with the lightest touch, as if afraid to cause you more pain. You know he regrets what he did, that guilt weighs heavily on him. Cupping his face, you guide his mouth back to yours, wanting to absolve him, needing him to know that you forgive him.

The kiss is slow and deep, and vou can feel every ounce of his regret, his pain. His hands move to your bra, unclasping it and pulling the straps down, baring your breasts.

You watch as his gaze darkens, the hunger returning, and you know his thoughts have drifted back to the present. To the need burning in both of you.

His lips travel downward, capturing one hardened nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. Your fingers tangle in his hair, a moan falling from your lips. The scrape of his stubble against the sensitive skin only intensifies the sensation.

Chuuya's hand kneads and teases the other breast, his thumb flicking and teasing the taut peak. The wet heat of his mouth on your sensitive flesh, the friction of his stubble on your skin, it all sends waves of pleasure rolling through you, coiling in the pit of your stomach.

When his mouth moves to the other breast, his hand continues the sensual torment.

"Chuuya," you whimper, needing more, but knowing there's no rushing him. He's going to take his time, drive you to the brink. "Mmm," he hums, his lips moving over the curve of your breast and down the planes of your stomach. "Patience, babydoll. I've been fantasizing about what l'd do to you if I ever got you in my bed. And since that's not happening, this will have to do."

His mouth is warm on your inner thigh, his tongue and teeth nibbling the tender flesh there.

"So soft, so sweet," he murmurs, and then his mouth is on your core, the damp heat of his tongue dragging along your slit. "Oh god," you groan, hips lifting involuntarily off the desk. Chuuya's hands grasp your thighs, his strength keeping you from wriggling away from his wicked, talented mouth.

He chuckles darkly, and the vibration sends another pulse of pleasure through you. "No escaping, gorgeous. Not until l'm finished."

Finished? How will you survive that?

Your breath comes out in short pants as he continues his sensual assault, the strokes of his tongue and his fingers relentless. Just when you think you can't take anymore, the pressure and pleasure building to the point of overwhelming, his mouth finds the swollen bud of your clit.

You cry out, his name a breathless, reverent prayer falling from your lips.

"That's it," he croons, his words vibrating through you, making you arch into him. "Give it to me."

His tongue laves over you, his fingers stroking and teasing, until the wave crests, pleasure flooding through you, sending you careening over the edge. You could hear the loud, pornographic moan Chuuya let out as your juices spray against his mouth, the vibrations from his growls sending shivers down your spine.

"God, yes, baby. That's it," he praises, licking his lips and staring at you like a starved man presented with a feast. His lips curl into a wicked grin, and you feel your blood heat at the sight.

"But I'm not finished with you yet. I want to feel you come on my cock, feel that tight, hot pussy squeeze me."

The filthy words coming from Chuuya's beautiful mouth should disgust you, but they don't. They turn you on, make your body heat and clench, ready for more. Your breath hitches in anticipation, but Chuuya's not done teasing.

"Tell me," he purrs, "have you thought about me? Have you touched yourself, imagining my hands on you, my mouth on you?"

You don't answer, but your blush gives you away, and he lets out a low, husky chuckle.

"Oh, yes, I can see it in your eyes. I've thought about you, too. Touched myself, imagining your sweet, soft lips wrapped around my cock. I'd love to feel those pouty lips stretched around me. Would you like that, gorgeous? To swallow me whole, drink down every last drop?"

Your mouth waters, and the image fills your mind, making your sex clench and your mouth go dry. He chuckles again, a dark, seductive sound.

"Well, since we have no time for that now, l'll settle for being buried inside your sweet pussy. How's that?" Your eyes go wide as you look at him. He's massive, and the idea of him filling you, stretching you, makes you tremble with need.

"'m gonna take that as a yes," he drawls, the rough, gravelly tone of his voice making you shudder. He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxer briefs, and pushes them down his lean hips, freeing his thick, heavy cock. You can't help but stare. He's long and thick, his cock pulsing and twitching, pre-cum beading on the tip. He grips his shaft, stroking lazily, his eyes locked on yours. "Like what you see, babydoll?"

You lick your lips, and he groans, a tortured sound. "God, I want to feel that sinful mouth wrapped around my cock, but right now, I want to feel that sweet cunt."

He prowls towards you, and your legs spread instinctively, making room for him. You can feel your sex pulsing, the need for him to fill you, claim you, almost overwhelming.

He steps between your spread thighs, and leans in, claiming your mouth in a bruising kiss, the taste of yourself on his lips driving you wild.

He breaks the kiss, and his mouth trails down your neck, over your shoulder, the rough scrape of his stubble and his soft, full lips making you writhe. His hand slides between your legs, and you feel his finger tease your entrance, testing how ready you are.

"Shit," he curses. "You're soaked. Dripping for me."

You're about to protest his teasing, but the words die on your lips as you feel his blunt head probing at your opening. Your eyes go wide, and he grins, a wolfish, predatory look.

"Ready for me, gorgeous?"

He doesn't wait for a response, thrusting his hips, sheathing himself in your slick heat in one long, smooth motion. He's so big, and the stretch burns, but the sensation of him filling you is delicious, the pleasure just on the edge of pain.

"Fuck," he groans, and he leans forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck. He stays there, buried deep, breathing harshly, for a moment, and then he pulls back, and thrusts into you again, setting a steady pace.

His hands grip your hips, his fingers digging into your soft flesh, and you know he'll leave marks, but you don't care. You want them.

"Look at me," he growls, and you comply, gazing up at him.

The fierce intensity of his gaze as he thrusts into you sends a shiver of pleasure up your spine.

"Touch yourself," he commands. "I want to feel you coming around my cock."

You slide a hand between your bodies, finding the slick nub of your clit, and begin stroking in time with his thrusts.

The sensation is overwhelming, and you can feel yourself spiraling towards climax.

"Chuuya," you moan, and he groans, the sound rumbling through you.

"Yeah, that's it, baby. Let go. Come for me." His words push you over the edge, and you scream his name, pleasure washing over vou in a crashing wave.

He continues to thrust, drawing out your orgasm, and then he stiffens, his hips slamming against yours, burying himself to the hilt, and you can feel his cock throb and pulse, his hot release filling you.

"God, I love you."

His words shock you, and your eyes go wide.

He blinks, and you can see the regret flash in his gaze, and he starts to pull back, to withdraw. You wrap your legs around him, pulling him close, refusing to let him go.

He's frozen, his expression unreadable, and then, he slumps, pressing his forehead to yours.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

"Don't be," you murmur.

"You've held a place in my heart for longer than I probably realized.I wish I could say exactly when my feelings for you started, but the truth is they've been slowly blooming for ages without me fully recognizing it until now."

You don't say anything, because you can't.

There's a lump in your throat, and you can't speak past it. Instead, you hold him close, and you let him know, without words, that you care for him, too.

You don't know how long you stay like that, holding each other, but eventually, he pulls back, and you let him go. He pulls out of you, and the sensation of his seed dripping down your thighs is oddly erotic.

You watch as he pulls his boxer briefs up, and the sight of his lean, muscled form makes your pussy clench.

"Come here," he says, reaching for you, and you let him lift you into his arms. He carries you to the sofa and sits you down, the cushions soft beneath you. He takes a seat beside you, and pulls you against his chest, and you lay your head on his shoulder, his lips lingering against the crown of your head.

Burying your face in the crook of his neck, you breathe him in - smoke and spice and something uniquely Chuuya. Let it ground you in this moment, in the undeniable connection sparking between your bodies like a livewire.

There’s so much you want to say to him, but it's everything you can never say out loud. But here in the hushed stillness of Chuuya's secret haven, wrapped up in his solid warmth...you can almost pretend that it's enough. That this is enough.

Just for now. Just for tonight.

Chuuya's arms come up to enfold you, drawing you impossibly closer. One big hand splays across the small of your back while the other cradles the nape of your neck, gentle and protective, pulling you onto his lap. Like you are something unspeakably precious he wants to keep safe.

"Stay with me," he murmurs into your hair, low and entreating. "Just...stay."

You squeeze your eyes shut against the hot sting of tears, pain and guilt and wistful longing swelling up to choke you. But you ruthlessly tamp it down, lodging the messy tangle of emotions behind your ribs to examine later. When you're alone and it's safe to fall apart.

For now, you simply burrow deeper into Chuuya's embrace and nod once, decisive.

"Okay," you breath. A benediction and a promise. "Okay."

And as the two of you lay there, together in the cocoon of shadows and fairylights to a melody only you can hear...you let yourself surrender to the illusion. Let yourself imagine, just for a stolen heartbeat...

That this is real. That he is yours and you are his and nothing else matters.

That maybe, despite all the odds stacked against you...love can still bloom in even the most barren soil.

The spell endures long into the night, your quiet murmurs and shared laughter filling the air as you explore every intimate nook and cranny of Chuuya's office. Curled together on the battered leather sofa with fingers interlaced and pulses syncing, you talk until your throats are raw and your eyes gritty.

He regales you with stories of his misspent youth - of scuffles with local gangs and leaps across rooftops...all while you listen with rapt attention, drinking in every new glimpse behind the unflappable persona. In turn, you share carefully edited tales of your own childhood - the better, brighter parts that don't give too much away.

With every grin and eyeroll and gentle ribbing, the last of your walls come down brick by brick. Until all that remains is the undeniable truth of this soul-deep resonance binding you together across enemy lines. This inexplicable sense of coming home in the last place you ever expected to find it.

But of course...all illusions must eventually shatter. And this one meets a brutal end with the first gray fingers of dawn creeping across the horizon.

A shaft of watery light spears through the high windows, falling across your huddled forms in mocking admonition. Illuminating just how entangled you've become, limbs hopelessly enmeshed and faces mere inches apart on the shared pillow.

Chuuya is the first to stir, a furrow appearing between ginger brows as he blinks muzzily. Those piercing blue eyes slowly sharpen and widen as he registers your presence - and proximity. But rather than pull away, he simply drinks in the sight of you like a man stumbling across an oasis in the desert.

"Mornin'," he rasps, voice low and sleep-rough. A tiny smile tugs at one corner of his mouth, private and unbearably soft. "This is...not how I expected to wake up today."

A corresponding bloom of warmth unfurls behind your sternum, light and giddy. "That makes two of us," you whisper back conspiratorially. Worrying your lower lip between your teeth, you reach out to trace the curve of his cheekbone with a tentative fingertip, marveling at the freedom to do so. "But I'm glad we did. Wake up together, that is."

Chuuya's eyes flutter shut at the innocent caress, a shaky exhale gusting past his lips. Catching your hand in his much larger one, he presses your palm flat over his thundering heart, holding it there like he never wants to let go.

"Me too," he confesses quietly, gaze dark and depthless as it roves over your face. There's something almost pained in his expression, a wistful sort of yearning that echoes through your own hollow bones. "I wish..."

But he cuts himself off with a brisk headshake, jaw firming. That's when your gaze catches on something glinting on the floor amidst your discarded clothing - the sleek, deadly outline of your gun. Reality slams back into focus as you remember your true mission, sent to assassinate this man, this infamous mafioso you've somehow ended up sleeping with.

Chuuya follows your line of sight, shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly as he makes the connection. You see realization filter across his expression - he knows you were sent to kill him. For a drawn-out moment, an electric tension crackles between you, brimming with unvoiced truths.

Rather than react with anger or fear, Chuuya simply holds your gaze steadily. There's an unfamiliar softness graven into the lines around his mouth and eyes as he gives a minute, solemn nod.

"I don’t care, gorgeous. I..." He breaks off, clearing his throat roughly. "Well, it doesn't matter now, does it?"

Your chest constricts painfully at the resignation in his tone, the blatant acceptance that he's sealed his own fate by allowing himself to become entangled with you. You open your mouth, an useless apology on your lips, but Chuuya cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head.

"Don't. Please, just...don't ruin this for me." His smile is wry but doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Let me pretend a little longer that you wanted me as much as I wanted you. That this didn't start as a lie."

The rawness in his voice is like a physical blow, leaving you floundering for breath. You can't tell him that he's right, that you did want him - want him still with a ferocity that terrifies you. Instead, you simply sit up and wordlessly hold your hand out in entreaty, throat too clogged with emotion to speak.

Chuuya's brows knit minutely, but then understanding blooms across his features. With the same care one would use to handle something infinitely precious yet fragile, he takes your proffered hand and guides you to straddle his lap. His large, calloused palms immediately find purchase on your waist, thumbs stroking over your hipbones with infinite tenderness.

For a long stretch, you simply hold one another's weighted gazes, peeling away every remaining barrier with each shuddering inhale. Chuuya's eyes are a kaleidoscope of emotion - yearning, resignation, and something softer that steals the breath from your lungs.

Then, almost as one, you're both leaning in until your foreheads rest flush together. His breath puffs warm and intimate against your parted lips as you simply breathe each other in, savoring this fleeting infinitesimal of connection before the outside world comes crashing back in.

When you finally do move, it's in perfect synchronicity - mouths slanting together in a kiss loaded with every unspent syllable, every aborted caress and aborted heartbeat. It's a messy, ardent thing, all tangled limbs and broken keening noises muffled between your joined mouths.

There's an undercurrent of finality and futility to it all, like two planets locked in their final orbits before terminal destruction. You pour every ounce of feeling you can't name into that scorching mess of tongue and teeth and desperation, trying to convey it all before the chance is torn from your grasp forever.

You aren't sure how long you stay like that, consuming each other in deep, convulsive swallows. By the time you finally break apart, you're both panting harshly, cheeks ruddy and lips swollen. Chuuya's hair is thoroughly mussed, eyes dark and hooded in a way that sends fresh ribbons of heat pooling low in your belly.

His pupils are blown wide, but his gaze is clear and searingly focused as he drags his thumb reverently along the plane of your cheekbone.

"Do it," he rasps, the words barely audible over the thundering of your pulse. "If you have to end this, then make it mean something. Put us both out of our misery, once and for all."

You suck in a sharp breath at the stark simplicity of his declaration. Can feel the truth of those words in your very marrow, stark and inescapable as a terminal diagnosis. There's no future for you beyond this moment, the two of you spinning endlessly around one another in a void while the inexorable machinations of the outside world slowly rend you asunder.

So you do the only thing you can - the only merciful thing left. Reaching behind you in one sinuous movement, your fingers close around the cold, unyielding steel of your gun where it lies discarded on the threadbare sheets.

Chuuya makes no move to stop you or defend himself, entire body lax and at peace as you bring the muzzle up to press firmly against his sternum. He merely watches you through those piercing blue eyes, lips quirking in a tiny, rueful smile.

"That's my girl," he murmurs, voice a ruined rasp of bittersweet devotion. He mutters to no one, voice cracking on the single syllable. "See you around...detective."

And with his end blessing still ringing in your ears, you pull the trigger.

The gunshot is deafening in the small room, the kickback bucking against your shoulder with vicious force. You watch with a sort of detached horror as Chuuya's head rocks back, eyes blowing wide for one final endless moment before his head crumples back onto the couch.

A thin line of crimson immediately begins trickling from the corner of his slack mouth, hot arterial blood already seeping out to stain the leather beneath him in an ever-widening blossom of scarlet. But his expression is one of perfect tranquility, the furrow between his brows smoothed away and those blue, blue eyes frozen in an expression of stunned acceptance.

It's over for him. You remain frozen for what feels like an eternity, simply staring at the body of the man you killed - the man you loved, no matter how briefly or disastrously. Then, with a strange sense of calm settling over you, you turn the gun on yourself.

"See you around...Chuuya,"

those who made it all the way down here, how’re you feeling?

( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖)

#bsd smut #bsd x reader #bsd x reader smut #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya smut #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader smut

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saphronethaleph · 4 months ago

Text

Skydancer

“Well… darn,” Leia said, with feeling.

Apparently she’d picked entirely the wrong time to look in on the rebels in the Dennogra system. The Imperials had somehow got wind of the presence of the base, a sting operation had gone into play – while she was there, no less – and a Star Destroyer and an Interdictor were hanging overhead, TIE fighters flying cover over the base while stormtroopers closed in.

Her transport was already disabled, burned out by the first wave of fighters, and the local Rebel net had gone silent thirty seconds ago with the last report being that Base Orenth and Base Trill had both been neutralized.

Leia reached for her hold-out pistol.

She had a choice coming up, soon. She’d either be surrendering herself into Imperial custody, hoping for the means to make an escape attempt, or she’d be selling her life dearly.

And…

...she couldn’t see herself surrendering to Imperial custody. They knew she was a Rebel, now. Tarkin might be dead, but she had no reason to expect that any Imperial captors would be even as merciful as him.

Her fingers slid over the grip of the blaster as she moved from cover to cover, ears alert for any sign of the Stormtroopers closing the net, then paused as she spotted something.

There was an A-Wing fighter left in the hanger.

Leia frowned, trying to remember what she knew about the A-Wing.

It was… shielded, she knew that much, and it was fast and agile. And it didn’t rely on an Astromech droid to make hyperspace jumps.

That was it, then. That was how she could get out of this.

She just needed to handle enough fighters to get clear, and then the Interdictor – either escaping it by flying out of its range, or disabling it.

The A-Wing had concussion missile launchers, didn’t it? And the shields on an Imperial cruiser or destroyer were…

Leia thought about that a moment longer, checking in all directions, then made up her mind and ran for the fighter.

“Hey – stop!” a voice shouted, and Leia whirled. Without stopping, she snapped off two blasts, and one stormtrooper fell with a smoking hole in his breastplate.

The other ducked into cover, then returned fire, and Leia paused by the front leg of the A-Wing before firing twice more. That left her only two shots left in the small energy cell, but the shot did down the other stormtrooper, and she hurried up the ladder into the cockpit before sealing the canopy and hitting the self-start button.

The fighter’s computer flashed an unhappy pattern of lights at her, and Leia bared her teeth.

“Come on, you bucket of bolts,” she muttered, stabbing at a few controls, then the status screen came up. She flicked the repulsors online, then the shields, and a moment later a blaster bolt peened off the shield and into the corner of the hangar.

Blasters came up next, and Leia twisted the yoke. It was intuitive and responsive, a sign of good design, and she walked her fire across a whole squad of stormtroopers.

Then she keyed the main engines, and the whole hangar behind her was fried as the powerful engines boosted her upwards.

Two patrolling TIEs immediately began closing in on her, the sensor screen pinging a warning, and Leia muttered a curse.

She wasn’t a pilot… but this was a very fast and very agile fighter.

And it wasn’t like anyone else was showing up to save her skin.

A twitch of the yoke, and she snap-rolled ninety degrees to starboard before spinning halfway around. The twin cannon spat fire, blowing one TIE to pieces and clipping the wing of the other, and the second one wobbled in an uncontrollable roll before managing to get some control of itself and come back around.

Another element of two TIEs was vectoring in, and Leia finished her spin before diving towards the ground. There were Imperial ground elements down there, still visible, and if the fighters were going to shoot at her she could at least decoy them to try and hit the ground forces – then a large Imperial walker was looming up before her, and Leia adjusted her angle a little to aim between the front and back legs.

Pulling back out again as soon as she shot between them, Leia glanced around to get a good handle on the situation, then yanked the yoke back and switched from engines to repulsors. That meant the big engines weren’t pushing her forwards any more, letting her make a tight turn, and she pulled the trigger twice about when she’d be lined up with the pursuing fighters.

Three more explosions lit the sky, followed by drifting clouds of smoke as bits of TIE fighter rained down, then Leia switched back to main engines and turned towards her next targets.

Even a novice like her could tell that she didn’t want to be surrounded by enemy fighters. So the only way out of this was going to be to make sure they didn’t – or couldn’t.

“We feared we’d lost you, Princess,” General Rieekan said, as Leia clambered down the side of the A-Wing she’d appropriated. “When we heard about the attack on the Dennogra base, we feared the worst.”

“I was all right,” Leia replied. “Fortunately I had an A-Wing.”

“You’re not wrong,” Wedge agreed, inspecting it. “That’s definitely an A-Wing.”

He frowned. “What actually happened, Princess? The report was that there was an Interdictor overhead… was that incorrect?”

“No, there was,” Leia agreed. “Along with a Star Destroyer. Like I said, I had an A-Wing. Whoever designed that fighter is a real expert, it can be flown as well as you please by even a novice.”

Wedge, Carlist Rieekan, and everyone else present not named Leia Organa exchanged confused looks.

“...no, it can’t,” Wedge said, slowly. “It’s a good bird, a bit lighter than I prefer, but it’s extremely temperamental… who else was flying with you? Did anyone else get out?”

“All the other fighters were taken out on the ground by the initial bombardment and fighter strike,” Leia replied. “The one I used happened to be deeper into the hanger and it survived.”

“You escaped by yourself?” Rieekan asked. “Princess, I’m… sorry for my tone of voice, but that’s impossible. Or it shouldn’t be possible. Those two capital ships carry nearly a hundred TIEs between them, and while some of those squadrons are bombers or boarding elements that’s still-”

He broke off, because Leia was counting under her breath.

“...that sounds about right,” she said. “Well, I counted about sixty, anyway, and maybe a dozen bombers.”

“I think we need to check the gun camera footage,” Wedge decided. “I want to see this.”

About an hour later, Leia was in the middle of catching up on important messages when Rieekan came into the meeting room she was using.

So did Wedge, and most of the other pilots on the cruiser.

“We’re not worthy,” Derek Klivian declared. “We’re not worthy! We’re not worthy!”

“Hobbie,” Wedge said, shaking his head. “Are you ever going to stop that?”

“Nope, sir!” Klivian replied.

“He’s got a point,” Rieekan said. “Princess, we’ve reviewed the gun camera footage. And then taken some anti-nausea medication.”

“Is there something wrong?” Leia asked.

“Well, you’re one of the best pilots in history,” Wedge replied. “None of my best pilots could do that. I’d have said even Luke couldn’t do that, but then Hobbie told a joke and we decided to actually do it.”

“Princess,” Rieekan went on. “I regret to inform you that a genetic test has revealed that you’re Luke Skywalker’s sister. We think you’re both the children of Anakin Skywalker, who went down in galactic history as the single most capable natural pilot ever recorded.”

“...though you might just earn the top spot, now,” Tycho added. “Seriously, that was at least fourteen consecutive chakra manoeuvres and you shot down at least two fighters per chakra manoeuvre. And I never knew the A-Wing could do half of the other things you made it do.”

Leia was still wrapping her head around Luke Skywalker’s sister.

“Ever considered being a pilot?” Wedge added. “I’d say we can give you lessons but that might not even be necessary…”

#star wars #leia organa #wedge antilles #tycho celchu #hobbie klivian #if you don't know it's not possible...

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rush-the-stars · 4 months ago

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Dogfight

pairing: nicholas d. wolfwood x reader, vash the stampede x reader, vashwood x reader

wc: 4k what the actual hell lol

cw: jealousy, mild smut/suggestive content, fighting, blood, biting, marking, possessiveness. the boys are jealous of each other sorta but then get on the same page. minors dni, 18+ only

a/n: this is for an anon that asked me about jealous vashwood and then i spent days working on this and it got too big so i made an Official Fic Post rather than just answering the ask bc im insane and unwell lol this is also probs more 98 vash and wolfwood than stampede! i hope you enjoy!! banner from @/cafekitsune

∘₊✧───────────────────✧₊∘

The first time they meet you, its through a shower of gunfire. Your wild smile is all that’s left when the smoke clears.

Wolfwood thinks he hasn’t seen anyone so damn beautiful in his entire life—streaked with blood and eyes lit up like a flame, twirling a twin pair of pistols like fucking ribbons.

And Vash thinks maybe he’s in love? And then he shakes his head and tries to clear it, tries to clear you from his vision, and at least the smoke disappears some. And the chaos stills. But you smile all crooked at them, tilting your head a little in greeting and he feels wobbly all over again.

“Happy to save your asses,” you say, “buy me a drink?”

Vash hears wedding bells.

(It’s just church bells tolling in the distance.)

“Happy to—happ—“ Vash trips over all his words.

“Shit, I’ll buy you dinner, too.” Wolfwood says.

Vash looks at him, Wolfwood looks back. And then they’re stumbling over themselves to get up, clambering and clawing and falling over each other and they must look like foolish, scrapping dogs in the dirt at your feet.

You laugh, though, warm and amused.

“Settle down, boys. bar’s still standing—you can both buy me a drink.”

And they’re left to watch you walk away and talk to Meryl, whose shaking her head and rolling her eyes at them. You introduce yourself to her.

And they both scramble after your heels, right on the tails of your skirts.

***

You sleep with Wolfwood first—

He’s surprisingly gentlemanly with you, even if you can feel the desperation and hunger that he tries to keep so far from the surface. He’s all bravado, all honeyed words and little growled praises as he squeezes the fat of your hips.

He gets you so wet it’s almost embarrassing, except that he also makes you come so hard that you forget about it almost immediately. He adores being between your legs, adores tasting and taking—being on his knees for you.

Wolfwood is a worshipful man. Devoted. Adoring. With a little grit and bite when you need it.

He leaves a mark or two. Around your collar bones or neck. One on your hip. He can’t help himself.

He takes good care of you in that brutishly charming way of his—fucks deep and hard, carves his way through you and makes you toss your head back into the pillow and pull at his hair. He loves to please, loves to be told what to do or what you want. Take what you need, pretty girl. He hums to you, groaning when you tell him how good he feels.

Rarely impatient except when you rile him up, Wolfwood makes a good lover. Fun and obedient and affectionate.

You adore him.

***

Wolfwood and Vash get testy with each other.

Tensions are high—Vash is surprisingly sharp with him, in a way that makes you a little wary, treating him like a bit of a ticking time bomb.

Wolfwood doesn’t help. He’s an instigator and if there’s one thing he loves, it’s to get under someone’s skin. Especially someone like Vash, whose usually easy and cheerful and kind.

“Would you leave it?” Vash snaps at Wolfwood, shoving the man’s hand off his shoulder. He bares his teeth a little and in the dim light you see the knife-sharp flash of his pointed canines.

“I was just trying to be friendly,” Wolfwood drawls in a way that indicates he most certainly wasn’t just trying to be friendly.

“Something the matter?” You ask and when Vash’s eyes land on you, he immediately softens. He looks guilty. Hangs his head a little and looks at the ground.

“No,” he says, “sorry—“

But Wolfwood says, “Blondie’s got his panties in a bunch about something and I was just trying to see what was wrong—“

Vash’s eyes flash.

“Nick,” you snap. Short and sharp, like reprimanding a dog.

He looks at you. You look back. Then you jerk your head to tell him to get lost, “take a hike.”

��And who made you the boss?” He snarks.

You level him with a more serious look, hand on your hip, “I’ll find you later.”

“You can’t just order me—“

“I wanna talk to Vash.” You respond firmly, “and you’re being a jackass.”

He stares at you for another long moment. You don’t back down, in fact you tip your chin up a little, meeting his eyes with a flash of authority.

He looks at Vash, who quickly glances away.

He scoffs, “whatever. You’re both a pain in my ass.” But he listens to you and skulks off.

You turn to Vash when he’s out of ear shot, “you okay?” You ask.

Vash can’t look at you. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that—“

“Not your fault. He can be a pest. Walk with me?” You ask and now you hold up the crook of your elbow.

Vash eyes you uncertainly for a moment, before he lets go of a small breath, and siddles up to your side. He loops his arm through yours and you begin to guide him through this little, nowhere town. The sun is setting. The dusk sky is smoky and golden, like a quartz glittering, shadowed and shining.

“You seem—“ You choose your words carefully, “troubled lately.” And then you amend, “more troubled than usual.”

“I’m sorry to worry you but everything’s fine.” Vash shakes his head.

“Vash,” you implore gently, shaking his arm a little. “I can tell something’s bothering you. Won’t you tell me?”

“Ah,” Vash says weakly, “it’s alright.” And he looks ahead, out at the horizon. You follow his gaze. There's nothing out there but the line of land in the distance.

“Thanks for standing up for me tonight but you should—you should go find him. He’ll be waiting for you.”

And then Vash drops your arm and walks away, his head down, a little furrow to his brows. And you watch him go, dumbfounded.

When you return to Wolfwood, he’s waiting for you on the porch of the little inn you're staying at, smoking a cigarette.

“What the hell was that all about?” He gruffs, blowing the smoke from the corner of his mouth.

You don’t answer him at first. You slip into his lap easily. He raises his eyebrows in slight surprise, but immediately adjusts, one hand around your waist, the other holding his cigarette away from you.

“You need to leave him be.” You say, sighing as you sink into his embrace.

He pauses for a moment, looks at you—really looks at you.

Then he says, “he wants you, you know.”

“Is that what this is about? Are you jealous? Is that why you’re pestering him?” You rub your knuckle against his stubbly jaw, pet him a little. He leans into the touch, nudging himself against your hand.

"You like him?" He asks instead.

"Course I like Vash." You hush, fingers moving to card through his hair.

He takes a slow drag from his cigarette before he leans away to blow the smoke away from you. It lingers in the air around him and for a moment, you look at him through the haze. The smell of it reminds you so thoroughly of him nowadays that you almost crave it when its not around.

"No," Wolfwood corrects, "do you like him the way you like me?"

"You think I like you?" You tease, but he doesn't take kindly to that and jostles you in his lap a little and even goes so far as to jerk his head away from your touch.

"Woah, take it easy," you say, realizing he really didn't like that joke, "I was only playin' with you. I'm in your lap, aren't I?"

He softens a little. Lets go of a breath. He squeezes your waist, maybe in apology. To soothe the ache, you lean forward and press a kiss to his jaw, pepper them lightly down his neck.

"You didn't answer the question." He mumbles and you feel more than you see him flick his cigarette down and crush it with the heel of his shoe. He pulls you closer now that his other hand is free, slots you tight against him, and leans back to give you more room at his neck.

"Would you be mad if I said yes?" You murmur, carefully kissing at the pulse in his neck. You hide there.

"If i was?"

"You aren't good at sharing?" You coo, nudging your nose against his jaw, up to catch him in a quick kiss. He nips a little in answer.

"Not usually," he finally says.

"Not even with Vash?" You ask, because you know him better than he'd like to admit. And now you pull away to look at him.

To really look at him.

His eyes flick away, maybe bashfully, "yeah, well—I don't think I'm the one you have to worry about."

"What do you mean?" You ask.

He shrugs a little, "you think cause he puts up the goody-two-shoes act that it makes him good with sharing?" He asks, "why do you think he's gotten so pissed with me lately?"

You hum in acknowledgement. "Have you been rubbing it in?" You ask.

"Not intentionally." He says. And then when you look at him more pointedly, he admits, "not intentionally most of the time."

"Well, we'll see if Vash can share." You finally say and lean again to kiss him.

But in a sudden move, he grabs your chin, forces you still. Forces you to look at him.

"Only Vash, you hear me?" He says. His eyes are dark suns, all encompassing and imploring and fiery, "anyone else and I'll lose it."

You can't tell if it's a warning with the slight waver in his voice or a threat, with the growl behind the end of it. And then you remember scared dogs bite.

"Only Vash." You swear, "only you."

He settles a little, leans back again, and this time, when you kiss him, it's harder. More a claiming than a kiss — more a damning than a passion. He gives it back tenfold.

He litters you in little marks, in his scent, and drops his blazer around your shoulders in the morning. At breakfast, right in front of Vash, he catches you in a sharp, burn of a kiss.

More of a claiming. More of a damning.

***

When you sleep with Vash for the first time, it’s after a near-death experience. You were being reckless. The room is charged.

And Vash kisses you not like it’s the first time, but like it could be the last. He's the heat of a falling star, searing you, devouring you. He's all desperation. All starvation.

You'd thought with how sweet he usually was, that he'd be even more well behaved than Wolfwood, but that is far from the truth. He's a little untamed, untrained and clumsy and ferocious.

He whines as he takes you apart and you think he'd probably take praise well if you could teach him but right now he's just so— raw. So yearning and famished with it all.

You've no choice but to try and give everything you can in hopes of soothing him in some way. Filling the emptiness in him. And even still, you're aching and sore and torn-up after all is said in done.

Vash is bashful and a little remorseful about it come morning.

But you twine your arms around him and kiss him hard in reassurance. In encouragement.

He's passionate and all-encompassing. He's all your world in this moment.

You adore him.

Later, when Wolfwood sees the marks he left on you, he curses.

"Is he a fucking vampire?" He asks, tilting your head to the side to see the dark bruise in the side of your neck. But then he realizes how tender you are still, how aching, and he coos all soft.

Tells you he'll lick the wounds Vash gave you.

Says. I told you it wasn't me you had to worry about.

Vash avoids you and Wolfwood for nearly two days.

On the third, he finally breaks.

And when he does, he bundles you in his red coat after a long day, fists his hands in the collar of it to pull you towards him, and kisses you hard in front of Wolfwood, underneath the dark heavens above. He says he'll be back later.

Your lip throbs from the nip of his teeth.

(When Wolfwood kisses you shortly after, pushing Vash's coat from your shoulders, he soothes the sting with his tongue.)

***

For awhile, all the boys do is fight when they're around each other. It's getting to a point where Meryl is avoiding them at all costs—and you're just short of joining her.

The worst of it is on one of the hottest days in a long time.

Wolfwood says something he shouldn't—asks Vash if he could smell his cologne on you. Asks if he likes it.

It's too far. Usually, they bicker and fight over unrelated, stupid shit.

But that strikes a nerve.

And it's so fast that you don't even catch it, and suddenly Vash has Wolfwood pinned against the wall, hands fisted in the front of his shirt.

You always thought, maybe just on height and weight alone, that Wolfwood was stronger. But looking at Vash now, easily pinning him, you aren't quite sure.

"Oh, you wanna finally fight?" Wolfwood asks, baring his teeth, too.

And really, it's like when dogs fight.

It's fast and vicious. It sounds worse than it is—snarling and growling and wrestling with each other. It's artless. You've seen them both in a fight and this isn't—this isn't that. It's better, maybe, on Wolfwood's end. He's not trying to kill Vash. But maybe it's also worse, more personal, more brutal.

You hear Vash yelp—Wolfwood curses. More fighting.

You yell at them, the way you shout at fighting dogs, grab hold of Wolfwood around the collar and pull hard enough that he stops from his place over Vash, panting.

His mouth is bloody and it drips down onto Vash, his teeth still bared and crimson.

For a moment, they look at each other.

(And Vash thinks wildly, looking up at Wolfwood, sorry about the blood in your mouth. I think I wish it was mine. He tastes blood himself and wonders if it is Wolfwood's. If he really did bite him.

Wolfwood thinks, hit me again. If that's all you'll give me now, I'll take it. Wolfwood looks down at Vash, feels his heaving chest beneath him, and thinks, if I can only have you this close in a fight, I'll take that, too.)

You're cursing them both out, hauling Wolfwood off of him. You're furious and shaking and you're scolding them both.

You're fussing over them both, too, angrily wiping at their mouths and inspecting their wounds.

And they both think, maybe I should pick more fights, to see you like this, too, flustered and livid and worried. Doting. Adoring.

You shake your head at the both of them but—

You adore them.

***

It takes another man sniffing around you for them both to finally get on the same page.

And if it's one thing about Vash and Wolfwood, for all their bickering and differences, they know when to shut up and work together.

The moment another man starts chatting you up at the bar, they both go still and silent.

"You see what I'm seeing?" Wolfwood asks.

"Yeah," Vash says, eyes narrowing behind his glasses as the man manages to make you laugh. He leans all close to you. Vash has a near visceral reaction to jerk up from his seat beside Wolfwood.

Wolfwood grabs his arm.

"You thinkin' what I'm thinkin' then?" He asks.

Vash spares him only a glance—his eyes are trained on you and the man at your side. He grimaces. "Probably not. I don't wanna kill him."

Wolfwood barks out a laugh as Vash adds, "but I don't want him here, either."

"You wanna chase him off?" He asks. "Or you want me to be the bad guy?"

Vash swallows.

"She'll get mad at me for being an asshole. She'll be all pleased with you for being so good." He says and there's a dryness to his tone, a certain resignation or—

"Why would you do that?" Vash asks and he finally peels his eyes away long enough to look at Wolfwood.

To really look at him.

He shrugs, "I don't mind being in the dog house."

Vash eyes him.

Wolfwood smiles a little, "and I think she's hot when she's mad."

Vash frowns at that, a little twitch of his lips, almost in a pout. "Besides that—I meant—why would you do that for me?"

Wolfwood looks back over at the man at the bar, whose gotten even closer to you, his shoulder almost brushing yours. You're smiling and playing nice. Wolfwood's hackles rise. He bristles. He finally stands, too.

He never feels this way when he sees you with Vash. He never feels this way on the nights when Vash has you. In fact, the idea of it is—it's—

Kissing you after Vash. Knowing he'd just kissed you. Sinking his teeth into the ridges of marks Vash leaves on you, like he's trying to get his own taste. Or compare his teeth to Vash's. Maybe he growls and snaps at him and bares his teeth the next day, too, but he never feels like this.

Scared and mean and angry and—

"What, are you gonna make me fuckin' say it?" Wolfwood snaps.

"Say what?!"

Wolfwood slugs his arm hard. The flesh one, so he doesn't damn near break his knuckles doing it. And Vash yelps all high and Wolfwood wants to shake him and he also sorta wants to hit him again. And maybe he wants to kiss him stupid, too—

"I don't—" Wolfwood swallows hard, "I don't mind sharing. With you. With only you."

Wolfwood looks at him.

Really looks at him.

And then Vash turns the deepest shade of red.

Wolfwood's face gets hot all over, too. "Oh, Christ, blondie—did you really not know?"

"I don't know what I thought!" Vash says and his voice gets sorta high.

"Well—" Wolfwood shifts, uncharacteristically nervous, "what about—I mean, do you—are you okay sharing...with me?"

"At first, I thought I wasn't." Vash admits, "and I was jealous of—" he swallows, "I was jealous of both of you, if I think about it. You're just—you push my buttons more than she does—so. I took it out on you, mostly."

"Ah," Wolfwood says, "you took it out on her, too. Just in a different way."

Vash cheeks somehow get darker with color and Wolfwood laughs, realizing that he's—it's relief. He feels relieved, finally, as he laughs.

"You're a dumbass." He says to Vash.

And Vash smiles at him, crooked and boyish and stupidly handsome. That smile that Wolfwood has always liked.

Wolfwood then turns his gaze back to you, back to the man at the bar whose leaning in all close. He sees you tip away, adjusting your space. And he says;

"Now let's go get our girl."

The moment Wolfwood comes up behind you, you know there will be trouble unless this man doesn't leave quick — what you aren't expecting, is Vash to come up on the other side of the man. You tilt your head.

You feel a broad hand on your lower back, "he botherin' you?" Wolfwood asks, leaning all into your space.

The man sizes up Wolfwood, weighing his chances still and you can nearly feel Wolfwood stiffen and bristle behind you. He doesn't like being challenged.

"He was just seeing if I wanted a drink."

Vash, on the other side of the man says, "maybe he'd like it if I bought him a drink instead!" And though it's said brightly, it's almost a little too bright.

Vash's eyes gleam like the cold edge of bright moons.

You look between them for a moment as the man says, "alright, what the hell is this? You her boyfriend or something?"

"Or something." Wolfwood agrees casually.

"And whose this guy?" He snarks to Vash, "her other boyfriend?"

"Or something." Vash says, still smiling, and that really pisses the guy off.

"Would you back up?" He snaps and he shoves at Vash enough that he stumbles away a few steps. And before he can do something stupid, you put yourself between Wolfwood and the man.

"Leave him," you say lowly to Wolfwood, whose hackles are raised.

Wolfwood isn't looking at you, he's looking at the man behind you and his eyes are hard and cold and mean looking.

"Nick," you say, "I don't want a bar fight."

"Worried he can't handle me?" The man asks, "no wonder you were letting me chat you up."

Wolfwood jerks a little in your hold and Vash speaks up, laughing a little, "no reason to fight! Wouldn't want to clean you up off the floor."

Well, that does it.

The man swings on Vash, who yelps a little, but easily evades him. When he ducks, the man connects with another person behind Vash.

Damn it all.

The bar breaks out in pandemonium. Wolfwood shoves you beneath him and Vash works on ducking and diving out of the way of the first few swings sent his way. Shouting and glass shattering, raining down from above, makes you curse.

Wolfwood dodges the first punch thrown his way and he shoves you out of the way, before he takes a swing himself. When he connects, it's a nasty punch. Blood erupts.

Food is getting thrown. Alcohol sailing overhead, soaking the fighting crowd and angering them further. The poor bartender is hiding, ducking behind the counter and shivering.

You clamber atop the bar to get a look and—it's a wild crush of people, fighting and wrestling and breaking glass over each other's heads.

You put your fingers to your mouth and whistle—the loud, piercing kind that usually gets everyone's attention. This time, there's so much noise and shouting, that not a soul stops their fighting.

You pull out one of your pistols.

The shot thunders in the bar, makes your ears ring.

Everyone gasps and yells in surprise, instinctively ducking, covering their heads. But they all finally turn to look at you.

"Everyone out!" You shout, "take your fighting elsewhere!"

Grumbles erupt. But you hold up your pistol and shout again, with more force and fire, "out!"

The bar begins to stir, all the patrons dislodging and shifting about, detangling themselves from their fights. They meander in knots of people, twisting out the door slowly.

When Vash and Wolfwood appear again, they look disheveled and Vash's lip is busted. Wolfwood's sunglasses are shattered. You put your hands on your hips as you look down at them.

"What the hell am I supposed to do with you two?" You snap.

Wolfwood reaches up to lift you right off the bar and back onto the ground in front of him. He shrouds you, "nurse our wounds?" He asks.

"You're a pain in the ass. I told you I didn't want a bar fight."

"He didn't throw the first punch, in his defense." Vash speaks up, but he's talking sorta funny because of his lip, which is swelling even now.

You sigh, "let me see."

Vash siddles up to you, a little sheepish, with that puppy-dog look on his face. He bends down a little, so you can get a better look at his face, dipping his head down in a show of submission.

Woflwood, behind you, whistles. "That's a good one, blondie."

"Hurts." Vash says as you carefully inspect it, debating if he'll need stitches or not.

"You gonna kiss it better?" Wolfwood asks.

"Why don't you?" You snark back, "since you two are finally working together it seems."

Vash smiles a little, which makes him wince, which makes you scold him. Wolfwood laughs, cooing a little, before he says, "alright, alright—lets get him patched up."

And you walk out with them at your skirts, hovering around you, dogging your steps. They follow you all the way back into your little room at an inn on the edge of the world.

And they settle in like they both own the damn place.

Wolfwood is tormenting Vash a little, whose whining and coming to your side for aid. But they're both—getting along, at least. And they're both demanding all your attention and taking up space in your room and—

And you adore them. You adore both of them, even with all their damn dogfights.

#nicholas d. wolfwood x reader #wolfwood x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash x reader #vashwood x reader #nicholas d. wolfwood x you #wolfwood x you #vash the stampede x you #vash x you #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months ago

Text

Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice.

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint.

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am.

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later.

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive.

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change?

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that.

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him.

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck.

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back.

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block.

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.”

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head.

“I heard...” you croak.

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head.

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.”

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget.

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory.

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.”

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start.

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away.

“You okay? Police were here earlier.”

“They were?” You gulp.

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?”

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.”

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.”

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing.

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past.

“It’s work.”

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.”

“Sure.”

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it.

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters.

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.

“Just the paper?” You ask.

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page.

“Kid was eighteen.”

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge.

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits.

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too.

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically.

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?”

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.”

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before.

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!”

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves.

“I’m sorry.”

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?”

You stare and your mouth falls open.

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?”

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line.

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow.

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers.

“I deserve it.”

He arches a brow, “deserve what?”

“To die. So do it, please.”

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.”

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind.

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat.

‘You owe me...’

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory.

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it.

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you.

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him.

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why.

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination.

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending.

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes.

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing.

“Strip.”

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious.

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee.

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin.

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs.

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same.

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks.

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach.

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line.

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer.

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head.

“Quiet,” he warns.

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror.

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter.

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy.

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him.

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose.

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears.

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs.

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat. He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip.

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand.

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body.

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up.

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can.

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out.

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly.

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.”

#andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #andy barber x reader #fic #dark fic #one shot #dark!fic #defending jacob #happy birthday siri 2024

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impala-dreamer · 1 month ago

Text

When The Rivers Rise

A Supernatural Story

~Alone and unprepared, Y/N goes to collect Dean from the bar and convince him to come home. Sam says he has a cure, and she'll be damned if she doesn't at least try to get Dean on board...~

Demon!Dean x Reader, Sam, Castiel

6,331 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Angst, Smut, Demonic Charm, Fingering and Fucking, Mild Violence, Canon Everything, Choking During Sex, Choking not during sex, Lose of consciousness, Yada Yada

A/N: So basically, I took S10 E2 & 3 and smushed this in there. Please enjoy. I did. Published to Patron June 5, 2023

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

The Flamingo Lounge was filthy. The parking lot was fenced in, littered with trash; its brick walls covered in graffiti as if the city’s youth used it as a canvas. Luckily, though, it seemed empty.

Y/N parked her car in the lot, not caring to lock the doors behind her. She double checked the syringes stashed in her jacket, made sure her gun clip was full. Really, there was no way to know what she was walking into, but she had to try, had to do something.

And she had to do it quick. If she knew where he was, so did Sam, and God only knew what Sam would be planning.

She walked in through the side door, letting her heavy boots thud and announce her presence. There was no reason to hide, anyway. Sneak attacks were never her speciality.

Soft piano notes filled the air, a half plucked melody that never quite turned into a song.

The room smelled of lingering cigarette smoke and stale beer, whiskey and maraschino cherries. The bar stools were vacant, the room empty save for the bartender and her target. She stopped by the counter; blue neon light shining down on her face. She grit her teeth and cleared her throat.

The music stopped and he looked up with a smile.

“Hey, Y/N.”

Dean. Her pulse quickened.

“Didn’t expect to see you.” His jaw twitched as he looked her over. “Thought it’d be Sammy who came callin’.” He cocked his head to the side, cracking his neck unnaturally.

Not Dean.

“Yeah, well, I thought I’d come see you first. Save him a trip.” Her voice felt so small. It crackled in her ears as fear welled up inside. She’d been tracking Dean for months and now, standing half a room away, she felt unprepared and severely out matched.

Dean chuckled under his breath and spun on the piano bench. His legs spread as he straddled the cushioned wood and he rubbed a hand down his thigh. Green eyes were piercing through her and Y/N shivered. She hadn’t felt his stare in forever, hadn’t known she’d feel it ever again.

He stood and she instinctively reached for her pistol.

“You know you can’t just shoot me, Y/N.”

He blinked. Blackness overtook the green and her heart sank. He could see it in her face, smell it pulsing off of her like thick perfume. She was terrified, disappointed, intrigued.

He laughed and made his way to the bar. “Oh. You weren’t sure, were you?”

She swallowed hard. “Sure about what?”

“About me.” He nodded at the bartender and Harv took a walk, dropping his drying rag on the bartop. “You knew what happened, that I’m… different now. Better. But you didn’t really believe it, did you?”

Shit.

Y/N dropped her hand to her side, dug her nails into her palm to steady herself. “Not really, no.”

Another little laugh left his lips as he leaned over the bar and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He cast a glance back at her, his eyes green again, his gaze hungry.

“Well, believe it. I’m new and improved, babydoll.”

His tone washed over her. There was a new grit in his voice, a different confidence that was so unlike him but so very much Dean that it made her head hurt.

“You’re a demon.”

He shrugged and plucked two glasses from the drying rack, turning them over. “Yeah. Cool, ain’t it?”

Y/N bit her tongue hard, hoping the quick flash of pain would clear her head a bit. “Not cool, Dean,” she spat. “Evil.”

One elbow on the bar, he turned to face her and grinned. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t know evil if you were stuck in Hell with it. Which…” He looked around at the empty room and laughed. “I guess you kinda are.”

The emptiness of the room suddenly weighed down on her and Y/N took in a deep breath to steady her shaking hands.

Dean filled both glasses and then slid one across the bar for her. “Drink up. You’ll need it.”

Nervously, she stepped up to the bar and took the glass between her fingers. “Why? You gonna kill me?”

He sucked his teeth and let his gaze fall down her body, remembering, enjoying. “Maybe.”

Her heart thudded in her ears. “You haven’t decided yet?”

Dean knocked back his drink. “Nope.”

“That’s bullshit.” She took a sip and it burned down her throat.

“What?”

“You decided the second I walked in here.”

Dean refilled his glass while keeping one eye on her. “Actually, I didn’t. I was too curious to worry about what I’m gonna do to you.”

Y/N held the tumbler to her lips, breathed in the oaky fumes. “Curious?”

“Well, you walked in here, alone…” He licked his lips. “Lookin’- mighty tasty if you don’t mind me sayin’.”

Fuck.

Her blood sizzled. “I do mind. Asshole.”

Dean smirked and took a long drink. “And I thought to myself, Y/N’s a smart girl. She’s gotta have some kinda plan. Wouldn’t just walk in here by herself with no backup, no weapons, no nothing. She’s not an idiot.”

He paused to watch her reaction and found her stronger than he thought. She held his gaze without faltering and he moved closer.

“So, tell me, Y/N, was I right? Are you smarter than you look?” He licked a drop of whiskey from the corner of his mouth. “What’s the big plan?”

She refused to look at him lest she lose her nerve. She finished the last sip of whiskey and then pulled her weapons from her jacket. On the bar, she laid down her gun and three syringes filled with a harsh sedative. The smooth, eternally cool handle of the angel blade pressed into her side, but she kept it hidden beneath her shirt.

“There. There’s my plan.” She turned to face him and swept her hand over the weapons.

“You were gonna- what? Force me to OD?” He grinned, flashing perfectly white teeth and the pink tip of his tongue.

Y/N shook her head. “It wouldn’t kill you. Just knock you out.”

“And then?”

Her shoulders rose and fell in a confessional shrug. “Honestly, Dean, I didn’t think I’d even get this far, so… there’s no and then. Bring you home, I guess.”

“What if I don’t wanna go home?” he asked, taking a step closer. “What if I don’t have a home anymore?”

She held her breath. “You do. You’ll always have a home, Dean. Whether you want it or not.”

He laughed. “Lemme guess. Home is wherever you and Sam are. Where we chose to hang our hats.” He shook his head and sighed. “Home is dead, Y/N.”

Her heart ached. “It doesn’t have to be. If you come back with me, maybe we can-”

“What?” He cut her off. “Maybe we can pretend everything’s good? Play house? Oh, you wanna try being boyfriend and girlfriend again, act like we have a future?”

His words were a knife, but she bit her tongue again, refusing to give him a reaction. “Don’t be cruel, Dean. I’m trying to help you.”

He sucked in a breath and turned away. “See, I don’t really care about being helped. I’m fine. You’re the one who’s gonna need help in a minute.”

She pressed her arm down against the blade, reassuring herself that it was there and ready.

“You’re not gonna kill me, Dean.”

He looked back over his shoulder. “We’ll see.”

“Whatever happened to you,” she said, hope burning on her lips. “Whatever this is… It can be undone. You’re still you. You’re still Dean Winchester. You’re still-”

“Still what?” He spun on his heel and towered over her. “The man you love?”

Pain twitched around her eyes. “Yes.”

“You know what you are? You’re a sad little girl playing with shit she don’t understand.”

She stood up tall, finding strength in the marrow of her bones. “Sam has the cure. He can-”

Dean laughed and backed up, cocky and amused. “Sam’s probably dead right about now. I don’t know how much good his cure will do.”

Y/N froze. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, you don’t know?” Dean clicked his tongue and smiled. “Some assclown called me from his phone. Got baby Sammy all tied up in a shed somewhere doing… something. I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. But, that was a while ago. I assume he’s…” He slit his throat with a single finger and stuck his tongue out, mocking Sam’s apparent death.

Y/N shuddered, unable to hide the truth from him.

“So you didn’t know.” He spun back to the bad. “Sorry. Don’t shoot the messenger.”

She cleared her throat, pushed the worry aside. “That’s exactly what I came to do.”

She took a chance, lunging for the gun on the bar, but Dean got to it first, expertly disarming it and tossing it aside.

“You’re too slow, Y/N. Always have been.”

He poured them another drink while she regrouped.

“Tell me, how is it you don’t know where Sam is? You two’ve been attached at the hip forever.”

A bit of whiskey sloshed out of her glass and flooded the bar. She went to it, lifting her cup from the mess. “Yeah, not so much anymore.”

Dean leaned in, condescendingly. “Wanna talk about it?”

Y/N took a drink. “No.”

A month ago, Sam was losing his mind to grief and obsession, pushing Y/N aside at every turn as he tried to find his brother. The last straw was a torture session in a barn in Kentucky. Sam was slicing up a demon, carving into its stolen flesh, and when Y/N protested, he hit her, knocking her back against the rotting walls. They tumbled, fighting, screaming at each other while the demon watched, cackling from the center of the Devil’s Trap. When the dust cleared and Y/N came up bloody and bruised, she spat in Sam’s direction and told him to go to Hell. That was the last she’d seen or heard from him. He was on the same mission, but going about it in all the wrong ways.

She stared at the neon sign behind the bar. “We’re not exactly speaking anymore.”

Dean hummed and refilled his glass. “Funny. You and me in the same boat.”

Y/N huffed. “I chose this boat, Dean. You didn’t.”

He grinned. “You don’t think so? You don’t know all the fun I’ve had this summer, all the trouble I’ve gotten into. All the tail I’ve chased… and gotten.” She flinched, but he kept going. “All the drugs, the fights, the booze. It’s been a great time. You should join me.”

She laughed bitterly and downed her drink. “Pass.”

He frowned, mockingly. “I’m sorry. Does hearing all that hurt your feelings? All those chicks I’ve banged, dudes I’ve nailed… makes ya jealous don’t it?”

Y/N sighed and turned to look at him. “No. Just sad for you. And them.”

He took a step and she balked, moving away from the bar, her defenses on edge.

“Come on, now. I’m the best you’ve ever had. And I’ve only gotten better.”

“You’re an asshole.”

Dean grinned. “Baby, you have no idea.”

He moved closer, stalking towards her, forcing her to back up. His eyes were fixed on her face, intent obvious. His mouth parted gently as his tongue came forth to tease her, wet his plump lips. A strange mix of panic and arousal swelled in her gut and she reached into her jacket, pulling the angel blade free.

“Stop!” She twirled the blade in her hand and held it out in warning.

Dean laughed. “Really?”

“This kills anything, right? Human, angel… demon. If you’re two outta three, I got a fighting chance.”

Her voice was shaking as hard as her hand and Dean kept coming, boots thumping the stained carpet.

“Stay back!” she yelled, spreading her feet and bending her knees, taking a fighting stance.

Dean swept forward in a flash and grabbed her wrist. He twisted hard and she held back a scream as the bones threatened to snap.

The blade fell to the floor.

“Get off me,” she snarled.

Dean’s right hand curled against her lower back and he leaned in close, breathing in her scent. “You don’t mean that.”

Frozen, caught and confused, she gasped as he bent to kiss her. Squirmed as his tongue poked between her lips, thrashed as his fingers tensed on her ass. Swooned as the kiss lingered.

Fuck.

It was warm and wet and so Dean. She hummed despite herself and freaked out when he pulled away. She slapped his chest, shoved him hard.

Again, he pulled her close and his lips found hers. He licked at her mouth and exhaled into her, flooding her brain with desire, washing her body in lust filled memory.

“Stop it!”

Once more, she shoved him back with all her might, but it only made him angry. He stumbled back a pace and dipped his chin, daring her, enticing her, tugging on every string.

Oh god…

“Just- stay back!”

Dean’s upper lip twitched and he bared his teeth, advancing on her like a wolf in the wilderness. He wrapped himself around her, pushing her back until she hit the piano. Nowhere to go, she melted in his arms, let him probe her hot mouth, let him slip his knee hard between her thighs.

She gasped, hating herself for loving him. Hating her love for getting in the way.

“Stop.”

He pulled back an inch, burning into her with familiar green eyes. “If you really want me to stop, I will. Just say it.”

His breath struck her face, that dreamlike mix of whiskey and smoke and long faded mint. Her eyes fluttered and her pussy clenched. “No.”

He grinned, let his fingers trail down her cheek to wrap loosely around her throat. “No you want me to stop or no, you don’t won’t say it?”

Unable to think, to speak, to reason herself out of the moment, Y/N grabbed at his flannel with both hands and tugged him down. She licked at his lips, sucked on his tongue until he growled against her, thrust his hips into her.

“Knew you were good to go,” he moaned, fumbling with the zipper of her jeans.

Y/N clawed a hand through his hair and tugged, yanking his head to the side and licking at the sacred vein. She pressed her lips there and felt his heart beating steady. He still had a heart.

“Miss you so much,” she whispered, half gasping as he tore at her bottoms, tearing the denim from her hips.

“Oh, I know you did.”

He grabbed at her sides, slid his hands up beneath her arms and lifted. Her bare ass squeaked on the piano lid and Dean closed in on her, pushing her onto her back with a heavy kiss. She spread her knees around him, tugged him closed with her heels on his ass. He snuck a hand between them and grinned against her lips.

“You did miss me, huh?”

She nodded, breathless as he shoved a finger into her.

“So tight.” He added another and she gasped. “Thought you’d be runnin’ around like a cat in heat without me, but looks like you’ve been a good girl. Kept yourself all tight and virginal for me.”

Her nails scraped at his scalp. “I don’t know about virginal…”

A third finger jammed into her and Y/N bit her lip as the stretch burned.

“You been fucking other guys behind my back?”

His ring finger barely made it inside and her pussy clenched down hard on him.

“Nah.” He grinned and nipped at her lips. “You ain’t been doing nothing but dreaming about me, have you?”

She wanted to scream, to push him off, to run, but there was no escape. Not when he had his lips on her throat and his body pressed so hard against her.

“Yes…”

He pulled his hand away and pressed two fingers to her clit, watching in delight as he eyes lit up and a silent scream filled her mouth.

“You could come with me, you know.”

She snapped her jaw shut tight. “No.”

Drawing his left hand firmly down her body, he stopped at her hip and tugged her shirt up, exposing the blank protective ink over the bone. His thumb ran over the tattoo. “Sure you could,” he explained. “I’ll just cut this off… drag some bitch outta Hell… stuff her into you.”

Her body jerked as he forced his hand back into her cunt and Y/N grit her teeth. “Wouldn’t be me then, would it?”

He paused and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess not.” He tugged the shirt up higher and smiled as the thin cotton of her bra did little to hide her pert nipple. “I like you like this anyway. All scared and confused.” He dropped down and sealed his lips around the bud, tugging hard.

Y/N squirmed and let out a cry that rang like music in his ears.

“Fuck, I missed that sound.” He sucked again and bit down. “The whores I’ve been picking up lately, they just- it ain’t the same.” He straightened up and looked down at her. “Sex is just sex until you learn someone’s body. You can’t really fuck someone the right way until you learn how. You gotta pay attention… learn what makes them… squirm. What makes them scream...” He crooked his fingers and Y/N squealed, her thighs slamming shut around his arm. “See? Just like that.”

“Fuck, please!”

Her lips were burning from his kisses, stubbled lips leaving the ghost of his touch behind. Her body was aching, throbbing from his fingers, dripping down onto the piano.

“Dean-”

He bit his bottom lip and let it fall slowly away. “Love hearing my name like that. Never gets old.”

He pulled away before she could cum, leaving her struggling and needy. She reached for him, but he slapped her hands away and unbuckled his jeans.

“Lay still,” he grit.

Y/N sealed her lips shut and clutched the hem of her shirt. She eyed the exit, thought about jumping down and taking her chances outrunning him, but before she could take a deep enough breath, Dean jutted his hips against her and his cock slipped between her swollen lips.

Her shoulders jolted upright and Dean grabbed the back of her neck, tugging her down toward the edge of the piano. Her ass was hanging, teetering off the side, and she grabbed at his shirt, holding on as he fucked deep into her.

“That’s it,” he grunted, one hand on her hip, the other on her throat. “Fuck, I remember this cunt. So fucking wet for me. So tight.”

She gasped, eyes wide, heart racing. His thumb covered her pulse and he pushed down just enough to blur the edges of her vision.

“D-Dean!”

His hips snapped upwards, his breath quickened. He squeezed her throat tighter and watched as the color drained from her lips.

“That’s it, babydoll,” he urged. “Gonna get you nice and dizzy so you cum hard. I know you like that…”

She could feel it building, that tightness inside as he hit every spot she’d been unable to reach herself.

Green eyes blurred in her vision and then with a grin, he snapped them to black.

Y/N came instantly, her cunt pushing and pulling on his thick cock; a flood of warmth slicking down his thighs.

“Yes…” He thrust harder. “Yes… Just like that!” His roar was intense and Y/N’s eyes began to roll, her heart struggling to beat. “Yes!”

The room was fading to white; her head was spinning. Still throbbing, her cunt was the only thing responding as Dean finished with a grunting cry. Just before her eyes rolled back, he released his grip and oxygen flooded her brain.

Y/N gasped and caught herself, falling back onto her elbows on the polished wood. “Fuck!”

Dean flashed a cocky grin and tucked himself away, uncaring of the mess. “You still got it, Y/N/N.”

His wink was uncalled for and aggravating, but Y/N had no energy to clap back at him. Carefully, she rolled onto her belly and slid off the piano. Her muscles were aching, her flesh on fire.

Dean headed back to the bar and poured another round. He walked a little slower, his voice rolled a little smoother off his devilish tongue.

“Can’t say I’m mad you stopped by,” he joked, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Turned out pretty good after all.”

Y/N yanked her jeans up and grimaced as the seam scraped at her raw pussy. “Just think how much better it would be at home, in the Bunker, where you belong.”

He laughed. “Really? After all that, you’re gonna try again?”

She stumbled forward, grabbing the bar for support. “I gotta keep trying, Dean. You need help.”

Sighing, he knocked back his glass. “See, that’s where you’re still wrong.”

Behind him, the door creaked open and Y/N’s eyes went towards the light.

Dean didn’t have to turn around, he knew.

“Hiya, Sam.”

Shit.

Sam let the door shut behind him and he walked in, arm held in a sling, face cut up and bruised.

He locked eyes with Y/N and her stomach tensed. They hadn’t spoken in weeks, and seeing him now, it all rushed back to her.

“Sam.”

He nodded at her and moved to stand equidistant from her and Dean. The triangle was a familiar one, but strange altogether.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, eyes flickering between them.

Y/N swallowed down her anger and swept the sweaty hair from her eyes. “Same as you, I guess.”

Dean laughed. “I highly doubt he’s here for that, Sweetheart.” He brought his right hand to his lips and licked her taste from his fingers. “Unless…”

She shuddered and Sam’s brow creased.

“We’re gonna take you home, Dean,” Sam said, ignoring the obvious sexual confession. He turned his back on Y/N and focused on his brother.

Dean rolled his eyes. ”Yeah, I don’t think so. I told you to let me go.”

Sam’s shoulders tensed. “You know I can’t do that.”

Dean pursed his lips and nodded. “Yeah. Well…” Reaching behind him, he pulled the First Blade from his belt and showed it to them both. “Sucks to be you, don’t it?”

For a moment, Y/N felt calm. Almost as if her soul had decided to give up all hope and accept the fact that Death was on His way. She exhaled slowly and imagined what it would feel like, that sharp jaw bone splitting her in half, gouging through her chest with one quick sweep of Dean’s hand. Would he be quick or let her linger? Would he weep for her in the end? Would he care?

Sam held up a hand, begging for patience. “Dean, you don’t have to do this. We can cure demons-”

Glass shattered behind Y/N and she turned to see the window break. A smoking canister landed by her feet and she looked at Dean, confused and flooded with panic. As her brain and feet got themselves together, the smoke rose around her and she covered her mouth and nose, too late. She started to choke her and beside her, Sam coughed loudly, waving at the smoke to push it away. He inhaled too deeply and stumbled forward, grabbing her shoulder for support. She buckled under his weight and fell to her knees in the cloud. It strangled her from every side, burning her lungs, stinging her eyes. She crawled towards the door and felt Sam’s big hand on her back, pulling her to her feet.

“Come on!”

He hit the door, pushing it open and knocking fresh air into the room, but it was already inside of them.

Y/N staggered out behind him, barely able to stay on her feet.

Confused and bleary-eyed she saw Sam fall, knocked out by a stranger’s fist.

She rushed out of the bar, leaving the smoke behind and slamming into the arms of Sam’s kidnapper.

“Who the hell are you?”

Blue eyes and a crew cut stared back at her and Y/N coughed, expelling poison from her lungs.

“Me?” she swayed on her feet and swatted at him. “Who the fuck are you!”

Cole grit his teeth and pulled a gun from his thigh holster, easily spinning to take Y/N in his arms and aim the muzzle at her temple.

From the back of the parking lot, Dean appeared, cool and seemingly unaffected by the attack. He held out his arms, cocked a brow as he looked at Cole, wondering who the fuck was bothering him now.

Y/N held still but seethed, nostrils flaring, anger sloshing about in her dizzy head.

Cole’s forearm pressed hard against her throat and he pointed the gun at Dean.

“Wow. It’s really you.”

Dean clicked his tongue. “We met?”

“Talked on the phone.”

“Right.” Dean laughed under his breath. “You’re the guy who’s supposed to put a bullet in Sammy’s brain.” He dipped his chin and smirked, cocky and unimpressed. “Did you miss?”

Dean took a step and Cole tightened up. Y/N clawed at his arm but didn’t have the strength to fight him off.

“Dean-” Her voice was shattered and weak.

Cole pressed the gun against her head again. “You stay there or I’ll-”

“What?” Dean leaned in casually. “You’ll put a bullet in her too? You don’t exactly have a great track record for that.”

Cole growled. She could feel it rumble through his chest and into her. “I’ll do it.”

Y/N blinked up at Dean, begging, but for what, she wasn’t sure. The calm of Death approaching had settled over her once more.

Dean shrugged, his eyes locked on Y/N’s. “Do it,” he said. “I don’t care.”

She drew in a breath and everything changed. Cole’s grip on her loosened and she ducked from his arm, ready to rush forward and out of the line of fire. He grabbed her arm and brought the butt of the gun down hard on the back of her head. She saw sparks, heard a yell, felt the rough gravel of pavement scrape her face.

When she woke, she was back in her bed in the Bunker, blanket smooth beneath her, boots still on. She’d been carried inside but not tucked in.

Sam.

Her head was pounding, mouth somehow dry and wet at the same time. She swallowed down the guck and rubbed her eyes as she climbed out of bed.

The halls were quiet, the lights bright as always. She peeked into Sam’s room, but it was empty, dared a chance at Dean’s, but he was nowhere to be found either.

What the hell?

A pained, demonic roar echoed down the hallway and Y/N pushed off of her backfoot, breaking into a run.

The dungeon door was open, the decoy shelving pushed aside.

She looked in to see Dean tied to a chair, his face covered in thick sweat, right arm bloody from needle punctures. Sam stood to the side, watching his brother writhe in pain.

“Sam?”

She stepped into the room and both men looked up.

Dean grinned through his strangled panting. “Heya, Sweetheart.”

She rushed forward and Sam stopped her, stepping in her way. He towered over her and looked down, hazel eyes filled with hurt and purpose. “Don’t.”

Dean sucked in a hard breath, lungs burning, blood boiling.

Y/N tried to circle Sam, but he barred her with his good arm.

“What are you doing to him? You’re killing him- look!”

Sam shook his head and gave her shoulder a shove. “Out. Now.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her to the door.

Dean watched her leave, struggling with consciousness. “Good to see ya, Y/N/N!”

Outside, she ripped her arm from Sam’s giant paw and growled up at him. “What are you doing in there?”

He sucked a breath through his teeth. “Curing my brother.”

“Looks more like you’re killing him! Can’t you hear him screaming? That can’t be good.” She turned to the door and again, Sam blocked her.

He softened, lowering his voice and easing his stance. “Look, I know you’re worried but-”

“But what? You’ve got it all under control as usual?”

He dropped his head. “He has to go through this. He’ll survive.”

She looked up, tears wetting the corners of her eyes. “How do you know? How do you know this won’t actually rip his soul apart and kill him?”

He let his head fall back against the door, resting for a split second. “I don’t.”

Hours ticked by with Y/N pacing the halls, listening as Dean’s wretched voice echoed through her, tearing at her heart.

Sam wouldn’t let her inside, but she caught glimpses of Dean when Sam came out for air. He was dripping in sweat, slumped down in the chair.

“Are you sure about this?”

He brushed past, barely holding on himself. “Honestly, Y/N… I don’t know anymore. But we’re almost done. He’ll either come out of this cured or-”

She held her tongue. “Yeah.”

Sam turned left and headed towards his room.

“Sam?”

He paused before rounding the corner.

“Should you and I- I mean, we should probably-”

He held up his hand, but was kind when he turned. “I know. We need to talk. I need to apologize. I just need- I gotta finish this first. I need to save him.”

Y/N nodded. “I know, Sam. I know.”

Sam had been gone for a while, so she took a chance.

Y/N slipped into the dungeon with a bottle of water and a damp cloth, her heart in her throat, her head in a vice.

Dean was limp in the chair, his chin tucked to his chest, eyes gently closed. She toed the Devil’s Trap, watching, praying to see a breath.

“Dean?”

He stirred and she sighed. “Thank God.”

A chuckle lifted his face to hers. “God ain’t got shit to do with this, babydoll.” He smiled and then coughed, heavy, painfully. His chest heaved, his mouth fell open as he strained for air.

“Dean… fuck.”

Before she knew it, she was inside the sigil and kneeling at his feet. She pressed the cool washcloth to his forehead and he sighed gratefully as she wiped the sweat from his brow.

“That’s… that’s nice.” His voice was cracked, throat raw from screaming.

She patted his cheeks, his throat, lay the cloth across the back of his neck.

“Are you OK?”

She looked him over, certain he was near to fading. His arm was torn from the needles and she could swear The Mark looked paler, as if Sam’s cure was pulling the evil from it. Maybe it was working…

Dean smiled. “Oh, sure. I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” A cough shook him badly and Y/N held his cheek, unable to help.

“I’m so sorry, Dean. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

She cracked open the bottle of water and held it to his lips, urging him to drink.

He managed a tiny sip and then pulled back.

“I’m dying, Y/N/N.” His head lolled to the side and her heart ached.

“No.” She grabbed at his flannel and shook him gently. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re Dean Fucking Winchester. You are going to be fine. You hear me?”

Green eyes rolled back to white and Y/N set her hand on his chest, rubbing hard.

“Hey! Hey! Dean! No. Wake up!”

She slapped his cheek and he sucked in a heavy breath, gasping loudly as his eyes snapped open.

“Oh, Jesus, Dean!”

Before relief could set in, Dean’s fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist and his pained smile turned into a devilish grin. He squeezed and her pulse quickened.

“What’re you doing? How?”

She looked down to see the ropes that had held his arms frayed and broken. “Dean?”

A blink shattered his beautiful green eyes and only black remained. He laughed. “You showed up just in time…”

It was like a rush of wind inside her head and all around.

In a flash, Dean had her up off the floor, her feet dangling, throat clutched in his big hand. He slammed her against the wall and held her there, lungs screaming, eyes bulging. He traced a hand down her body and tilted his head to the side, watching the blood rise to the surface of her skin. Aroused even as her breath died away.

“See, I don’t get you.” He let her slide down the wall until her toes scraped the floor. “Sammy warns you not to come looking for me by yourself and you do. He tells you not to come in here, and not only do you ignore him again, but you bring me a bottle of water. You came in here to take care of me. And for what?” His fingers squeezed and she felt her heart strain to pump. “You think you can ease my pain? Make it all better?” He brushed a hand over her breast and grinned. “Or maybe you think I’ll fuck you again.”

He tossed his head back and laughed.

“You’re a stupid little girl.” He blinked away the black and dipped his lips to hers, kissing her sweetly. “But I do enjoy watching you suffocate… I never told you that before, but it’s beautiful. Your eyes get real wide and the color starts to drain from your mouth. This sweet, delicious mouth.”

He forced his tongue inside and Y/N’s eyes rolled back. She clawed at his arm, but the strength was gone, the will fading close behind. Her vision ebbed and her fingers slid from his arm, falling limp at her sides.

“Do me a favor, babydoll,” he whispered, licking at her lips one final time. “Wait for me right here.”

With a flick of his wrist, she was on the floor, falling like a ragdoll at his feet. Air filled her lungs but she was already too far gone to wake fully. She tried to move, but everything was a struggle, everything ached.

“I’ve gotta go take care of my baby brother.” He ran a hand through his hair and she watched in horror as he stepped out of the Devil’s Trap. “Then I’ll be back for you."

Kind blue eyes were there when she woke and soft hands were helping her to sit up.

Castiel smiled sadly and lay his palm across her forehead like a mother would.

“How are you feeling?”

Y/N blinked rapidly, clearing the haze from her eyes. She squinted up at the angel and then panicked.

“Dean!” She scrambled to her feet, leaping from her bed and grabbing his arm for balance. “Where’s Dean!”

Castiel took both of her hands in his and forced her to calm down. “He’s fine. He’s…” A smile turned his pink lips. “It worked, Y/N. Dean’s back with us.”

It felt like the walls were crumbling inside of her. Everything slid downwards and she went with it, falling against Castiel, her body exhausted, her mind a mess of relief and worry.

He sank to the floor with her and held her close.

“He’s going to be fine,” he whispered. “You are too.”

The summer rushed through her head, ups and downs, horrors and worse. She saw black eyes and blood, felt every bruise, every strike against her flesh.

She wiped her eyes and sat back. “How?”

Castiel looked down, eyes sad but clear. “Time.”

Dean was sitting on the edge of his bed, fresh from a shower. His hair still damp, gray flannel a little dark around the collar from collecting the drippings. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, head in his hand.

She knocked gently and he looked up.

“Hey, Dean.”

He turned as he stood and started to go to her, but something stopped him. Flashes of what he’d done played on the empty space between them and he lingered over the bruises on her throat, the cut on her forehead. His fingers were twitching and he shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the unwanted movements.

“Hey.”

She wanted to run to him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him close, but he looked nervous to have her there, scared almost.

She cleared her throat and wrung her hands. “You feeling OK?”

Eyes on the floor, he nodded. “Yeah. All good.” He looked up through his lashes, afraid to face her fully. “You?”

She sniffed back a wave of tears and swallowed hard. “Yeah. I’m- I’m good.”

The lies hung like an iron curtain between them, massive and unbreachable.

She turned to go. “Well, if you need anything, just holler.”

He was on her before she reached the door, shaking fingers wrapping around her wrist and pulling her back. She spun and crashed into his chest, burying her face in his shirt, clinging to him. He was warm and alive. He was safe. He was home.

She could feel him trembling, hear the shaky intake of air. He held her tight, his big hand on the back of her head, the other slung around her middle. He pressed his cheek to the top of her head.

“Y/N, I can’t- I- I’m so sorry-”

His heart was racing against her ear and she snuck her arms around him, locking him to her.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “We don’t have to do that yet. Just… just be here.”

A tear escaped his eye and fell, landing on her arm.

“OK.” His hug grew a little tighter. “I’m here.”

She sighed and let the tears go. “That’s all I ever needed…”

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animefreak1145 · 9 days ago

Text

Lightning in a Bottle(Adler x Bell!Reader)(Oneshot)

Word Count: 2k Summary: A one in a million chance. Impossible.

But Bell always was a chance, weren't you? Just like Adler always was confident in his odds. Warnings: Mature Rating/Graphic Violence, Dark Themes, Torture, Brainwashing, Manipulation, Toxic Relationship, Trauma, Female!Reader Bell, Adler x Bell, Crack Treated Seriously, Solovetsky Ending. A/N: Don't treat this fic seriously. You might get dissapointed. This is literally crack at the start which turns serious. Me and @makeyourpeacenow were just fooling around and she inspired me to write this thing out as we chatted. Less tumblr meme format and RPG style and more actual story. She added a paragraph in here that I kept.

The afternoon sun did nothing for the chill that hung in the air, the crispness only adding into the classic Russian cold. The waves hitting against the cliff side in the distance where you’re sure they were doing the same on the cliff they were on, as the flowers and long grass moving with the cool breeze.

It was beautiful.

Beautifully tainted as your hand made quick work of releasing from your holster just as Adler did, both pulling the trigger and the sound of twin guns breaking the calm atmosphere. Broken just as Adler did to you, your heart torn and anger boarding in your veins still hot from the betrayal.

Clang!

The sound rung in your ears more than the bullet being released from the gun, a brief spark in the air. A violent flash that went in the next blink before a bullet ricocheted to the rock to your left while the other dug deep into the ground by the flowers that were just innocently moving along—petals torn from the speed of the bullet.

Your eyes were wide, mouth parted as you stared at the area where the bullet hit the rock, your grip on your pistol a tad loose although still up and ready. Adler in your peripherals sharing his own silent disbelief at what just occurred, gun still raised as well but head facing towards the torn flowers.

The air of heavy silence broke when you finally blinked your shock away, jerking your head towards Adler who continued to stare down at the bullets with a pressed frown.

“You just tried to kill me!” You accuse, gun gesturing wildly at the bullets on the ground while also motioning towards him.

Adler finally lifted his eyes, throwing you a blank stare. “That makes two of us,” he said blandly. He gave you a gave you a once over before stupefyingly deciding you were no threat for he took a cigarette out of his tactical vest and lighting it while managing to keep a grip on his pistol. You could only stare in bafflement as he took a lazy drag, giving a subtle nod of his head towards you. The one you always were desperate for before. “Say…you’ve been a good team mate, Bell. Take this as a sign. Second chance.”

“Are you…are you seriously not gonna talk about this?!” Your voice pitched higher at the end, completely bewildered.

Adler’s nonchalance was not something that bothered you before. You were actually thankfully for it and even a hint amused by it when he told Hudson he would be taking you and only you to Lubyanka. You remember his cool praise about you towards Hudson, how it created a warmth in your cheeks and feeling light momentarily before Hudson went off in a huff. Adler giving you directly words of comfort, speaking of Hudson not liking things in his control.

Adler was just mocking you. You were in the palm of his hand all along, accepting treats from said hand with casual pats to the head.

You feel like you might hurl. Or cry.

“Hm?” Adler took a hefty drag, his gaze not leaving your form. It made you shift your legs, swallowing dryly. "Something on your mind, soldier?"

His words dripped with smoke, going purposely in your direction and hurrying it along by blowing the rest.

Your jaw tightened, glaring. You waved the smoke away before moving forward, Adler tensing but not making any move as you just snatched his cigarette from his silver tongued mouth and throwing it over the cliff. Adler turning his head with only a quick press of the lips to show his displeasure at your waste. As if he didn’t prompt you to feel your wrath in the first place. It only made your blood boil further.

“You just tried to kill me and now you’re what? ‘Giving me a second chance?’ You can’t be this crazy! Cause you have to know, this—“ You wave your pistoled arm around the area with the bullets back and forth from your chest to his, even poking him with the barrel of your gun. “—is crazy!”

You knew he had some issues. Your “shared” past and all, you saw things from his past maybe you shouldn’t have. He cut off a piece of his mind, forcing the piece to fit into yours with brute force—all blood and brain matter and pokes of needles. Your fault for thinking you were special knowing him so well and intimately, knowing his way of thinking and plans before he even finished the sentence. Your mind clicking away at the possible scenarios he would suggest before zooming into one and stating it out loud. He always paused when you did that, assessing you before there it was—the reward, the ghost of a smirk before nodding at you with the words “Exactly my line of thinking.” or “A bit of a mind reader, are we, Bell?” or “And that’s why you’re my protege. Good job, Bell.”

It’s not fair, you want to cry out, clenching your grip around the pistol still to his chest yet your fingers off the trigger. Your throat feeling tight as you gazed up at the man who only rose a brow at you. It’s not fair!

“So you want me to kill you?” Adler moved your pistol hand away, you letting him as you looked down with a defeated scowl. Your hold on your pistol obsolete. Your eyes tightened at that fact. You notice Adler kept his own pistol loose by his side. All it would take is one quick movement and you’ll be dead. Truly this time. Luck can’t save you like this. You’re closer to the cliff’s edge, maybe your body will fall into the waters below. Forever separate from him. Your stomach coiled back at the image. “What is it, Bell? What do you actually want?”

You can’t say. It gets stuck in your throat.

You can’t say and you hate you still have it. This wretched feelings. Even after a deadly shot towards your chest. Even after his gall and apathetic nature to what just occurred(despite him still calling you soldier. “You’re still one of us.” Even now when you tried to kill him yourself, ignoring your own hypocrisy.) Your chest still bleeds only for one. You think only ever one.

It’ll only be the one because you’ve been ruined. Forever. Your trust dismantled for another yet still hopelessly, despairingly wishing to actually think you might have a chance. Even after this.

With him. You’ve been ruined for others. And the worst thing is, you’re actually fine if he is the one that’ll keep ruining you. This vicious cycle. You shot at him yes. But he had the gall to save you in Trabzon and make you think you’re close and something more. Not quite lovers. Not quite friends. Something in between.

He had the gall to make you feel this, your loyalties switched at the flip of a coin—you’re the tails he’s the head.

A coin. He had the gall to make you his other half. The tails. And he tried to kill you. And now he’s saving you. Because of…chance?

Take it, begrudgingly. Argue the matter, even if it's a nonsensical position. Argue because you want to argue—because you need to yell. Even if your feelings on it are oxymoronic. How can you hate him so much, yet refuse to part from him. Your stomach churned at the mere thought of your dead corpse even being away from his live one.

Fate? Bullets together? Is that what this is? Is he saving you to stick by him or to throw away and be by yourself? You don’t think you could be without him. Too tied together. You know his deepest secrets from Vietnam and he knows your mind. You’ve played in each other’s mind palaces, hands digging and blood spilling and bones crunching, napalm strikes on bodies—you’re tied.

You stay silent too long, biting at the inside of your lips before forcing yourself to look up at him meaningfully—eyes meeting for you can see them behind his shades at this distance, the sun helping you. Adler tilting his head and something passes over his gaze but you lower your head again and scoff, putting your pistol back in its holster begrudgingly.

“You’re stuck with me, then. Hope this is worth it.”

You notice the exhaustion set in his soul, the weight he bears. He carries it, alone, and you have no pity to offer.

You feel his weighted gaze just like you sense his exhaustion, putting his own pistol carefully away. Cautious if you will change your mind and decide to tear out his neck like he tore at your heart. You don’t.

Tied, your mind repeats. For better or for worse.

Like a twisted marriage.

You don’t look until your eyes widen when you feel the familiar touch of a hand on your head.

“Come on, kid. You know we’re stuck with each other. You’ve always been a slippery little thing,” his hand shifts and it’s on your cheek, feeling the leather as your eyes take in the quirk of his scarred mouth. What you always hunger for—the uptick to suggest a smile “But not with me. I have you, Bell. I have you.”

You’re so easy.

You fall so prettily for him.

You hate it. You love him.

You hate that too.

So it’s no surprise you let out a breathy sigh when he thumbs your lips and say an “Okay.”

He’s like a snake wrangler, you've got venom; you bare your teeth but you'll never bite—never him.

Always for others. He just has to point. He can be America’s Monster.

But you? You can be Adler’s Dog.

You can accept that. You can accept the little touches and mindful quips of philosophy and books—even if you burn more at his touch then the danger close you experienced a mere half an hour ago—you can live with it. You can.

That’s your mantra in your head. Even as you stare up at him longingly, adoringly—a little lost yet accepting of whatever he says and does as he seems to look into you—that’s what you keep thinking.

You’re fine with this.

Be the tool. You can be that again for him. Willingly this time. He doesn’t have to love you like you do him. He doesn’t.

Even if you know him as equal or better than Sims. Even if you know the man behind the Vietnam soldier—behind the brave face. Behind the mask he’s made(the mask wasn’t supposed to be for you). Even with knowing where his mind goes and tracks, you’re satisfied with this.

You have to be. After all, nothing was personal. Those conversations outside the safehouse, the roof, the elevator of Lubyanka( “I need Bell”), defense against Hudson, the camera—

You don’t expect—

A tilt of the chin with firm fingers and a touch to the lips. You can feel his face on yours.

Your pupils are blown and your hands are still just as your mind has stopped. He didn’t seem to mind, a tease of your mouth and that’s all it takes for you open for him. Ready. Just a touch. A hint.

That’s all you need. Adler always gets what he wants. You’ll give it to him.

You grab at him, the back of his neck and feel that hair underneath his beanie. Uncaring if it falls to the floor. You’re embarrassed at the pitiful sound you made when he pulled away. Only to silence when he taps his forehead to yours, hands on your waist with a comforting squeeze.

You can see his eyes. That electric blue.

“I have you, Bell,” he repeats, his breath tickling your face with that light smirk that unmakes you.

You blink. You assess, even with cheeks hot.

You hold back the cheek splitting smile for a more mild hopeful one.

“Okay,” you breathe.

▞

▚

A/N: Adler knows how to manipulate Bell perfectly well. Poor Bell. She knows how easy she is too. They're both satisfied where they're at. Sucks.

Tag List: @tr1ppylady @parkeepingparker @weirdoartist21 @gojocat247 @mayaibnlaahad @dallmaistir @salvija @kylezkie4adler @asaltryefl @stupid-stinky @aurora-windu @zachfoxx121 @pyxis-stellae @makeyourpeacenow @obsessedgremlin

You have to tell me if you want me to tag you for each update or else I won't know. Or if you wish to be removed.

#russell adler #call of duty #black ops cold war #cod #cod cold war #cod bell #call of duty cold war #adler x bell #adler x reader #russell adler x bell #russell adler x reader #bell cod

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unchangingwindoww · 2 months ago

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I'm stuck with a valuable friend I'm happy, hope you're happy too One flash of light but no smoking pistol

ASHES TO ASHES series 1 (2008)

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idle-lark · 8 months ago

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"I'm happy, Hope you're happy too" One flash of light, but no smoking pistol I've never done good things I've never done bad things I never did anything out of the blue

---

drawing fanart for my own fanfic like a huge dork

#moicy #mercy overwatch #moira o'deorain #overwatch moira #angela ziegler #mercy #moicy fanart #moicy ow #overwatch fanart #mercy fanart

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colesabi · 13 days ago

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Leon’s Death Island Tactical Vest/Gear

Alright, so in the R&D phase of my rewatch of DI in preparation for customizing a Death Island Leon figure, I received a request to do a little deep dive into his vest and gear from @desired-misery

*Just a little note: I am not ex-military or even current military. I am no expert but I have a generalized understanding of military gear and have done a fair amount of research for fics and other interests.

(there really aren’t great stock images out there of his vest so I’m just going to proceed with the screen grab I got during my rewatch)

So upon first inspection, it looks like Leon has a pretty standard MOLLE (Modular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment) tactical vest. The MOLLE component is really the webbed sections that allow you to slip small gear to hold flush against the vest or to equip with holster components or pouches to carry additional bulkier gear. It’s pretty standard in military and even some civilian use.

Moving from left to right (top to bottom):

Leon’s got a carabiner attached to the webbing in the MOLLE (carabiners have multiple purposes so not sure what it was used in this situation. At first I thought maybe it was used for rappelling onto the island but seems odd for it to be on his vest and it’s kind of small so I’m just going to leave that one to mystery for now).

Pistol holster (pretty self explanatory). Don’t have the greatest of images of the gun Leon gives to Jill so I couldn’t really place what type or model it is but it looks to be relatively small to fit on his vest.

He's got a radio with a wired push-to-talk adapter affixed to his left shoulder strap.

Now moving down to the next section below:

It looks like he’s got a pair of bent bandage shears. These could be used for first aid (as I suspect could be in the pouch on the back of his vest or for cutting the flex/disposable cuffs, or simply as another weapon. We love a multi-tool.

Directly below is two pairs of disposable cuffs or Tri-Fold restraints. They’re like the fancier version of zip ties (with less weak points).

To the right of that, are yellow chemlights. (Realistically, these things really should stay in their plastic wrapper as even unbroken, they emit enough light to give away your location and there really isn’t any SOP when it comes to the colors. Some use specific colors for different missions or objectives.) Yellow and Orange are typically the most commonly used but they can come in a whole myriad of colors including red, blue, green and purple. They are typically used for marking locations, drop points, exit points, etc. This is in contrast to the chemlights on Chris’ tac vest in Village (which were red, though I suspect Capcom should have made them purple or black (IR infrared variety) as his whole team was wearing nightvision headgear).

And now for the bottom row:

Leon’s got a small flashlight in a MOLLE pouch.

Three single mags (for his Sentinel Nine), also in their own MOLLE mag holsters.

And finally what looks to be either flash grenades (flashbangs) or smoke grenades. Some of those that have a colored line on them could indicate a smoke grenade, though that would seem a little odd for this particular mission so I’m going to assume they are flash grenades.

He also has a pretty sizable pouch attached to the back of his MOLLE vest which I had suspected above may contain a first aid kit or other smaller supplies.

So that’s it for his vest and gear! If you have any questions, let me know and I’ll do my best to answer them but this was fun to breakdown. Thank fuck Leon finally was able to wear some protective equipment in the field. The whole ‘going into certain hell with a handgun and prayer’ was honestly concerning lol. 😂

#resident evil death island #leon s kennedy #gear breakdown

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daryltwdixon · 6 days ago

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The Heart of Us: Chapter 19

You gasp for air, your throat thick with debris and smoke. The acrid taste of ash clings to your tongue, and every breath feels like you’re inhaling fire. Your hands tremble as you try to push yourself up from the cold cement floor. The sharp bite of glass and debris pierces your palms, forcing a hiss through your teeth. You ignore the sting, the heat radiating through your skin, and force yourself to your knees.

“Glenn? Noah?” you croak, but the sound is barely audible, a broken whisper that vanishes into the chaos. Panic prickles at the edges of your mind, a rush of adrenaline urging you to move. You cough violently, each convulsion tearing at your throat, and dart your eyes around the room. Shapes shift in the haze—shadowy, indistinct. You can hear voices, fragments of shouting cutting through the muffled ringing in your ears, but they seem so far away. You can’t tell where they’re coming from.

Your flashlight catches your eye, its beam weak but steady where it rests among shattered glass. You snatch it up, the familiar weight anchoring you. Swinging the light around, you survey the destruction. Shelving units lie twisted and broken, toppled over like matchsticks by the force of the explosion.

There—movement. The beam lands on Eugene crouched over Tara. She’s sprawled on the ground, blood streaking her pale face, her chest barely rising and falling. Eugene’s hands hover over her, trembling, his expression stricken. You swallow hard, your throat aching as you force yourself to keep moving. The others—they have to be here.

Noah is nearby, propped against a wall. He’s awake but dazed, his eyes glassy as he blinks against the dust-filled air. Further ahead, Glenn is already on his feet, his movements sharp and deliberate as he scans the room. Relief floods through you, but it’s short-lived.

That’s when you see what Glenn is moving toward—Aiden, impaled on a jagged piece of shelving against the far wall. His body is limp, blood soaking through his shirt in dark patches. Your breath catches as Nicholas’s voice cuts through the chaos.

“He’s dead,” Nicholas moans, his tone hollow, defeated.

You try again to call Glenn’s name, your throat too raw to manage more than a rasp. Shaking, you plant your feet beneath you and stand, every movement a battle against the weakness in your limbs. Blood smears the floor where you’d lain, thin trails from the cuts on your hands and legs. Just flesh wounds, you think, trying to reassure yourself. Nothing serious. Not yet.

The snarls of the dead pull your focus. Your flashlight catches their forms—shadows shifting in the smoke, pale faces contorted in hunger. The sound sends ice shooting through your veins. They’re coming. Of course, they’re coming.

Gunshots ring out, and you whirl around to see Eugene fumbling with his pistol, trying to take one down. Your stomach clenches as you spot another walker creeping up behind him.

“Eugene!” you try to yell, but your voice is gone. The sound comes out as little more than a croak. Before you can move, Glenn is there, his blade flashing as he dispatches the walker.

“Get to the office! I’m getting Tara!” Glenn shouts, his voice sharp, commanding. Noah nods and stumbles ahead, his steps uneven.

You don’t hesitate. There’s no time for fear, no space for doubt. You weave through the toppled shelves, dispatching walkers with quick, efficient strikes. Your movements feel mechanical, each kill a necessity, a means of survival. Your throat burns with every breath, but you force yourself forward, closer to the office.

The door slams shut just as you reach it, and for a moment, panic surges in your chest. You pound on it, your bloodied fists leaving smudges against the glass. Inside, the group flinches, their faces twisting in relief as they recognize you. The door opens, and you stumble inside, nearly collapsing as Glenn catches your arm.

“Y/N,” Glenn breathes, his hand finding your shoulder, steadying you. “You okay? You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. The words feel like sandpaper scraping your throat. “Too close… got thrown back.”

“Shit, your voice—”

“I said I’m fine.” You cut him off, your eyes darting to Tara. “How is she?”

Eugene shakes his head, his hands hovering uselessly over her. “She’s got some serious head trauma,” he says, his voice trembling. “She’s losing blood fast.”

“How do we stop it?” Noah demands, desperation clear in his tone.

“Med kit was in Aiden’s pack,” Nicholas pants, his voice tight with fear. “It got blown to hell.”

“There’s another one in the van,” you rasp, gripping Glenn’s arm for support.

“She’s on her way out,” Eugene pleads, his voice cracking. “We need to get her there.”

Glenn nods sharply, determination setting his jaw. “Alright, we’ll get her there.”

The sound of groaning cuts through the room. You all freeze, turning toward the source. Aiden. He’s awake, his body twitching as walkers close in on him.

“He’s alive?” Glenn says softly, disbelief etched across his face.

“I checked him,” Nicholas stammers, his voice breaking. “I—I thought—”

“We’ve gotta get him,” you say, forcing steel into your voice. Your hands tighten around your knife, the familiar grip grounding you against the chaos.

“Oh, Jesus,” Nicholas breathes, panic overtaking him as the walkers inch closer to Aiden.

“It’ll take at least three of us,” Glenn says, his voice grim.

“Do we have the time?” Noah asks, glancing at Eugene.

“If we pull him off there, we could kill him,” Nicholas says, his voice rising in desperation.

“So we leave him?” Noah snaps, his eyes blazing.

“Go!” Eugene shouts, his voice cracking. “Save him! She’d do it—I know she would. I’ll stay with her, keep her safe. I assure you, I will.”

Your chest tightens as you glance at the others, a silent agreement passing between you. There’s no time for second-guessing. Glenn throws open the door, and you surge forward, knife in hand, ready to cut through the dead.

All of you nod and look between each other. A plan formulates within seconds: Nicholas pulls out his flare, his hands shaking as Glenn flies the door open. You grip your knife tightly, ready to go hand-to-hand with the walkers.

The four of you move through the crowd of walkers, the air thick with their rancid stench and your own pounding adrenaline. Blood pounds in your ears, and every second feels like it stretches endlessly. It only takes a few heart-stopping minutes before you reach Aiden. He’s groaning, his face twisted in agony as he glances down at his impaled body.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Glenn says, his voice calm but firm as he presses his hands reassuringly against Aiden’s chest. “We’re gonna get you out of here. We need you to stay quiet. Can you do that?”

Aiden’s blood-covered face nods weakly, his breaths shallow and erratic. You turn quickly, scanning the room with Noah, flashlights raised and weapons ready for any new threats.

“One, two, three—” Glenn starts, but Aiden’s scream cuts him off as they pull. The sound pierces through the chaos, and your stomach twists at the raw pain in his voice.

“The flare’s burning out!” Noah shouts over his shoulder, his wide, panicked eyes meeting yours. The orange glow flickers, shadows creeping in around you, amplifying the rising tension.

Aiden whimpers in pain, his voice strained, while Nicholas’s panic is palpable. Glenn remains the calm anchor, his tone steady as he barks orders, but the room feels like it’s closing in. Your eyes dart around restlessly, flashlight catching glimpses of movement in the dark. The snarling of walkers draws closer, their silhouettes shifting just beyond the edges of the light.

You raise your gun, the weight familiar but no less urgent in your hands. Each shot rings out sharply, and you wince internally at the noise. The thought nags at you—you should’ve found a silencer for this damn thing. You really should’ve.

Aiden’s screams echo again as they try to pull him free, but Nicholas bumps into you, nearly knocking you over.

“Sorry, I’m sorry!” he stammers, his voice high-pitched and cracking.

You whirl around to glare at him, only to see him dart out of Glenn’s reach, slipping free from his grip. Nicholas stumbles back, his face pale with terror, before he bolts, his footsteps echoing as he sprints away.

“Damn it!” Glenn snaps, his hand grasping at air as Nicholas vanishes.

Anger flares briefly, but there’s no time to process it. Walkers descend on your group, snarling and snapping. You fly to Glenn’s side, helping him try to free Aiden, but the man’s screams make the task impossible.

“Okay—okay—it was us!” Aiden sobs suddenly, his words frantic and broken. “The others before—the last crew—they didn’t panic. We did. It was us. It was us!”

You freeze, the words hitting you like a blow to the chest. The pieces fall into place—the previous crew, the ones you were meant to replace. They hadn’t stood a chance. They’d been left to die.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say, your voice raw and barely audible as you tighten your grip on Aiden. “We’re not leaving you.”

“They’re here!” Noah shouts suddenly, his voice sharp with panic.

He grabs both you and Glenn, yanking you back just as the walkers close in. You stumble, your boots slipping on the blood-slick floor, and your heart lurches as you see the horde descend on Aiden.

“No!” you shout, your voice cracking with the effort. Your chest tightens as you watch, helpless, while the walkers tear into him. His screams rip through the air, raw and agonized, before they’re abruptly silenced.

Glenn turns to you, his hands firm as he pushes you ahead. “Y/N, go!” he yells, his voice snapping you out of the moment.

The three of you sprint out of the room, the snarls of walkers nipping at your heels. The sunlight ahead glints off the large glass doors, but your relief is short-lived.

“Nicholas, stop!” Glenn shouts, his voice sharp with authority. You’re just behind him, your gun raised as you reach the building’s front. Large glass windows let in the harsh light, the sight of walkers outside a grim reminder of the danger on every side. He sprints for the revolving door, but as he steps outside he must realize there's far too many to take on alone, and scrambles back for the doors.

Inside, you’re still far from safe.

“Heads up!” Noah calls, and the three of you turn your focus to the walkers advancing inside. You work quickly, taking out as many as you can. The deafening click of your empty gun makes your heart sink, cold dread seeping into your bones.

“I’m out!” Noah yells, frustration and fear blending in his voice as he runs out of ammo too.

“The doors! Go for the doors! I’ll draw these ones away!” you shout, your words rasping painfully in your throat. Glenn and Noah freeze, their eyes locking with yours in disbelief.

“Y/N—”

“Go!” you snarl, brandishing your knife. “And if you don’t find me—get the hell home.”

➳

Your legs burn as you take off in the opposite direction, leading the walkers away from Glenn and Noah, back into the dark but into another section of the building. Each breath feels like fire scraping your lungs, but you push forward, dodging between fallen shelves and debris. The dead are relentless, their snarls and the scrape of their feet growing louder with every second.

You glance back for just a moment to make sure they’re following, and your heart seizes. They’re close—too close. Their rotting hands claw the air, reaching for you as you dart through the tight aisles of the warehouse. Your knife flashes as you take one down, the blade sinking into its skull with a sickening crack, but there’s no time to stop. Another walker lunges, and you slam it back against the edge of a shelf, grunting as you drive the knife home.

“Come on,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to them. Your body screams at you to stop, to rest, but you can’t. Not now. Not with this many.

A sliver of light catches your eye—an opening, just ahead. You make a break for it, slipping through a gap in the wall into another room. It’s darker here, quieter, but the sound of walkers isn’t far behind. You force yourself to keep moving, clutching your knife tightly as you scan for another exit.

The sound of voices pulls your attention. Glenn. You can barely make him out over the groans of the dead and the pounding of your heart, but you know he's close, and you wonder for a moment where Nicholas and Noah went. Regardless, relief floods you for a brief moment as you pick up speed, heading for the direction of their voices.

But just as you round the corner, your foot catches on a piece of debris, and you stumble hard. Pain shoots through your knee as you hit the ground, your flashlight skittering away into the shadows. You scramble for it, but the walkers are already on you, their snarls deafening as they close in.

“Shit!” you hiss, twisting onto your back and slashing out with your knife. The blade catches one walker under the jaw, and its weight collapses on top of you. You shove it off, gasping as another reaches for your ankle. Kicking hard, you drive the heel of your boot into its face, sending it reeling backward.

Panic claws at you as you make your way to your feet, dragging yourself back toward the faint light of the warehouse’s exit. You can see the shadows of your group just outside the doors, their figures moving frantically as they deal with the horde outside.

“Glenn!” you rasp, but the sound barely carries. You push forward, slashing and stumbling as the walkers close in from every side. The exit feels impossibly far away, the distance stretching out like a chasm.

Finally, you break free into the open, the sunlight blinding as it hits your face. For a second, you think you’ve made it. You see a bloody Glenn just ahead, the van in sight…but no Noah. Nicholas is already climbing inside, his wide-eyed panic clear even at this distance.

But then the snarls surge behind you, and you realize the horde has followed you out. They spill into the open, pouring through the doorway like a tide, and you barely manage to stay ahead of them. Glenn turns, his face twisting in horror as he sees you.

“Y/N!” he shouts, his voice sharp with fear.

You try to push forward, but one reaches you with his clammy hands from behind, and your legs give out as the weight of terror crushes you. You fall hard, the impact jolting through your bones, and the knife slips from your grasp, skittering across the concrete just out of reach. Your breath catches in a broken gasp, and you claw at the ground, trying to scramble for it, but more walkers are on you. Clawed hands grab at your arms, your legs, their growls and snarls a deafening roar in your ears. Panic overtakes you as you struggle, kicking and thrashing, but their grip tightens, dragging you down.

Your throat burns as you try to cry out, but nothing comes. The screams are stuck, swallowed by the suffocating weight of fear. You smell the press of cold, rotting flesh flooding your nostrils, the sound of gnashing teeth and ragged breathing as you fight them, pushing and shoving and kicking.

“Y/N!” Glenn’s voice cuts through the chaos again, sharp and filled with raw desperation. You hear it, faint over the snarls and groans, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse.

You open your mouth, trying to call back, to scream for them, but no sound comes. Your throat feels like it’s closing, the air ripped from your lungs as you fight against the swarm. His voice echoes in your head, but you can’t see him anymore—only flashes of his face behind the horde closing in.

The last thing you manage is a weak gasp, your vision narrowing as the walkers drag you down completely. You catch a glimpse of the van in the distance, the engine roaring as it speeds away. Through the blur of panic, you see Glenn leaning out the window, his face twisted in horror, his mouth still moving—still calling for you.

You can’t hear him anymore.

#the heart of us #the walking dead #daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic

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lex-the-flex · 2 years ago

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hihihi sophie!!! i hope ur well!!🫶🏻 i saw requests were open and i wanted to shoot u the idea thats been hangin in my head for a few days. its an angsty one i hope thats okay🫡 6Leon gets called out on a mission, not knowing that his shared apartment with his partner had somehow been tracked and found by his target. when he arrives home from what he thought was a failed mission, having been unable to locate his target, he finds his partner in extremely rough shape on the floor after being interrogated by his target for info on Leons mission and whereabouts.

One Last Night

Leon S. Kennedy x reader

Word Count: 859

Warning(s): HEAVY ANGST, descriptions of injuries, action and violence, slight cursing, mentions of mission failure, mentions of nudity, MEGA FLUFF, reassurance, and lots of tlc.

A/N: It’s about time I get to my inbox after so long! Thank you for requesting my love and I hope you enjoy!

The bright purple neon lights slowly poured in from the aftermath of the flash grenade’s intensity. Regaining his bearings, Leon suddenly remembered where he was: downtown Ontario, and the street was completely torn apart. Staggering from his place on the cobblestone street, the smoke began to clear – along with the target.

Ada Wong.

Only it didn’t seem like her. It couldn’t have been her. Ada never wore blue, but people become desperate on the run.

****

A heavy sigh escaped his lips as Leon finally made it back to the shared private apartment that you and him call home. Checking the tiny mailbox, he fetched a few envelopes and a small package wrapped in paper before thanking the doorman. Adjusting his bags strap around his shoulder, Leon practically bolted for the elevator, wanting nothing more than to take a shower and to fall asleep in your arms.

Walking down the long hallway to your front door, Leon’s cellphone buzzed in his back pocket, alerting him of the time. 2:46 A.M. It was a Thursday, so Leon knew you’d be in bed as you had Friday’s off. Silently smirking to himself, a feeling of relief started to wash over his exhausted frame, but that was quickly taken away by the sight of a light beaming from underneath the back front door.

Silently pressing the keys into the lock, Leon slowly turned the piece of metal against the doorknob, and hesitantly opened the door. Coming face to face with an empty medium sized kitchen, he carefully put down his duffel bag by the counter, and reached for his trusty Matilda hidden in a secret cabinet.

Leaning towards the the brick wall that separated the kitchen from the large living room, one of the various vases shattered against the floor, breaking into multiple pieces. Hearing you scream, Leon bolted into action, and announced himself from his hiding spot. Within seconds he couldn’t believe what he was witnessing: you were on the floor, clutching your stomach, and bleeding from your nose.

Jabbing a taser into your side, Leon’s very target, the woman he was assigned to track down from his “failed” mission had infiltrated your home.

“Stop!” He ordered, stepping forward to Wong in blue.

“Leon, no don’t…! Don’t come any closer!” You warned, extending your hand to him.

Stopping in his tracks, Ada straightened from her towering form over you, and gazed at Leon with her black locks covering her barely sweaty face.

“Hmm, I take it that mission didn’t go well, Leon? Poor boy.” She mocked the man before you.

“How do you know about that?” Leon questioned, and his grip only tightened around his pistol.

“You really want to know? I thought I’d ask your lovey-dovey partner while she was out at the farmer’s market. It’s a shame, Y/N is really good at keeping secrets. Too bad her ribs are too bruised from being tased for two whole hours.” Ada explained, twirling the plastic device in her hands.

Writhing on the floor, you quietly reached for a spare butterfly knife tucked in your jeans, and Leon caught on once he realized this wasn’t the real Ada.

“Well, what can I say: as much as our relationship has been a thrilling chase, I’m happy with the lady I’ve got.” Leon declared, dodging the path of your blade.

Grazing the assassin in the shoulder, she winced in pain before zipping out the open window within seconds. Rushing to your side, Leon wrapped his leather jacket around your cold frame, and refused to leave your side.

****

5:21 A.M.

The police finally left the studio apartment after two hours of their seemingly useless questioning. Crossing the doorway into your shared bedroom, you were sitting in the edge of the bed, carefully tending to the bruises on your ribcage.

“You alright?” Leon asked, squatting to his knees, wanting to get a closer look.

“Just another day in the office.” You replied with a half smile.

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve been here for you, Y/N. I knew I shouldn’t have gone to Ontario.” He apologized, hesitantly touching your black and blue skin.

Taking his face in your hands, you cupped Leon’s cheeks in between your palms, allowing his worried blue eyes to meet yours.

“Leon, I’m okay. I promise. This is nothing a heat pad and painkillers won’t fix. I’m sorry about your mission.” You replied, reassuring him with your gentle touch.

“Okay…” He said with an understanding nod.

Rubbing your shoulder, he stood from his spot on the floor.

“Why don’t I make us some tea, and you get in a nice warm bath? It’ll make you feel better.” He advised, shrugging off his leather jacket.

****

Slipping out of his set of dirty jeans, Leon carefully stepped over the edge of the clawfoot tub, careful not to sting your skin. Sitting behind you, he extended his legs around you, and pulled you into his chest.

Surrendering yourself to the warm water, a deep sigh escaped your chest, and Leon wrapped his muscular arms around your body, finally enjoying a moment of comfort after one last night of pure chaos.

re taglist ~

@dreamliners

@iraot

@beautifuljellyfishqueen

@balach-cadalach

@fetaneecole

@odaschopsticks

@tiredsurvivoronmain

@thecodeisveronica

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#resident evil #resident evil writing #resident evil 6 #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy oneshot #leon kennedy fluff #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #capcom resident evil #capcom #nick apostolides #matt mercer

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giggly-squiggily · 7 months ago

Note

Forgive me if I'm being a pest, but...

Can you write a tickle fic of Yor and Loid being a Tickle Monster Duo chasing Anya.

And Anya uses Damian (who was there for study reasons) as a human shield. And the poor boy gets roped into the situation.

Hey anon! First and foremost, you are not a pest at all! This prompt is beyond adorable! :D Unfortunately I couldn't quite figure out how to include Damian into the mix so this is just the Forger family. I hope you like it! :D

Cloud 9 (Taglist Peeps):

@thatbigbisexual29 @dirtpie39 @duckymcdoorknob @baby-tickles2022 @cupcake-spice13 @backy-san @rachi-roo @chibisstuff @imjusthere07 @sevenincubistolemyheart

Anya leaned back against the wall, her eyes narrowed as she dared a peek around the corner. In her hands, her bright green pistol gleaned beneath the overhead lights. “I’ve gotcha now, bad guys. Agent Anya’s not letting you get away.”

Her target was sitting on the nearby couch, a newspaper in hand as he scanned over the pages. A quick poke into his mind confirmed what she already knew.

Boring. Everything he was reading was boring.

Rolling into position, she made it to the next rendezvous spot, daring another peek around the coffee table at him. The bad guy flipped a page and leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. His guard was down, this was her chance!

“Take this, bad guy!” She cried, diving out from the table and pointing her gun. The bad guy blinked and looked over, eyes widening.

“What-”

Bang! Smoke rose from the steaming barrel of her pistol. Anya watched with cool composure as the bad guy slowly fell from his seat, clutching the chest wound she gave him.

“No…this isn’t how..it’s supposed to end..” He groaned out, coughing. Anya gave her gun a spin as she tucked it against her hip, puffing out her small chest. “Agent..Anya..”

“What?” She gasped, her mistake hitting her like a ton of bricks. Such a careless mistake- how did she forget to ask him where the hideout was? “Tell me where your boss is!” She ran over to his dying body, grabbing him by the collar. “Tell me before you go!”

“Hehe..that stays with me..to the end..bleh.” The bad guy gave her one last smirk before his head tilted to the side, showing he was gone.

“...” Anya sighed, releasing him from her grip as she took a step back. Well- there went the easy route. She’d have to hold a meeting and decide what to do next. Turning her back to the body, she pulled out her walky-talky and brought it to her lips.

“Agent Penguin, Agent Bond, do you read me-over?” She waited for a response, staring down at the peanut shaped walky-talky.

Then she peeled back the shell of said walky-talky and proceeded to eat it. She’d get a new one at headquarters.

“Time to go-” She went to leave, but before she could- a hand grabbed her ankle!

“Agent….Anya…” The voice behind her groaned, slowly sitting up as she let out a shriek. “Why…did you kill me…?”

“Oh no! A zombie!” She cried, reaching for her gun. Unfortunately for her, it had fallen off her hip, scattered across the way. “Agent Bond! Agent Penguin!”

“There’s…no use…” A new voice groaned out, making Anya gasp. Another zombie had appeared, face hidden beneath her long dark hair. “We’ve come…for your sooool!”

“AHHH!” Anya screamed as they attacked, her life flashing before her eyes.

~~~

“AAHH-Aheahhahahhahahaha! Gehahahahha, nohohohohohoho! Doohhoohohn’t eahahhaht meheheheheehe!” Anya squealed as she was gathered in Loid’s arms, Yor’s fingers dancing against her stomach and sides as she kicked and giggled. “Mahhahahamahahaha!”

“Who’s that? I’m a zombie!” Yor cried back in glee, giggling just as much as she carried on prodding her daughter. “And I found myself a tasty morsel! You should try this, Loi-I mean, bad guy!”

“Who are you calling a bad guy?” Loid teased gently, adjusting his hold on Anya so he could sneak a few tickles into her neck. “Though I suppose I’m willing to give this a try.”

“Aheahhahahaha! Nohohoohoh, nohohohoohoho pahaha-Pahhahahahhaha!” Anya let out another loud shriek when fingers pressed into her chin, going for her worst spot. “It tihiihhiihickles!”

“Does it now?” Pulling his hand back, he pretended to give it a taste. “Mm, she tastes like peanuts.”

“Really? I love peanuts!”

“Eheheehheehehehe!” Anya was sure there’d be nothing but bones left of her when they were done! Desperate for help, she cried out one last time. “Bohoohohohond!”

Like an angel descending from heaven, a blur of white fur and huffing came charging from around the corner- going straight for Yor! The woman yelped as she was tackled, flailing over with a squeal of mirth as Bond began licking her face relentlessly. “Bohohohond, it tihihihickles!”

“Uh oh- our only weakness!” Loid gasped in mock fear, letting Anya go as she rolled onto her feet. “Huh? How did you-”

“You’re done for, Zombie!” Anya cried, grabbing her gun and pointing, pulling the trigger. Loid yelped in surprise before falling back, falling still for good.

Well- good being about five seconds before Yor freed herself and proceeded to tickle him.

“Trahahahitor!” He cried out, his window to fight back growing smaller by the second as Bond threw himself across his chest, effectively trapping him. Anya laughed in delight before joining the fray once more, giggling alongside her parents.

~~~

Anya Agency Report:

Operation Zombie Hunt- Success.

Thanks for reading!

#spy x family #anya forger #loid forger #yor briar #yor forger #forger family #tickle #tickle fic #squiggily writes the things #fluff #family fluff #their silly your honor #I love them so much and miss them #I wanna rewatch the anime

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rosemaeridream · 1 year ago

Text

mercs have mommy issues. || aespa - uar

uchinaga aeri x reader (drabble)

warnings: guns, mentions of murder, reader is kinda insane but not so threatening, aeri just wants to live, reader’s got mommy issues (aeri give them a hug pls), aeri's weirdly calm?, stay away if u have a peanut allergy

A/N: i wrote this at like 2 am while i was delirious and had too many ideas for dialogue so enjoy xoxo also just realised there isn’t much romance it’s more aeri & reader — unless y’all want a second part which i would consider cause i enjoyed writing merc!reader and straightman!aeri (in the comedy sense - aeri’s not actually a straight man … ) anyway, just read and you'll understand what i mean.

Synopsis: Aeri just wants to have a happy and healthy life. So why can’t she get this stupid mercenary of her back. And why on earth do they keep calling her princess???

word count: 3.7k

(this is longer than a drabble but it’s my train of incoherent thoughts so it’s not worth putting in my actual works)

You scramble for the gun that’s placed on the table. It takes you a moment to get there, and by the time your favourite pistol is safely back in your hands, there’s a scream from the other side of the room and a vase is flying straight towards your face.

Dodging it with practised ease, you point your weapon at the new arrival who has just entered the apartment. The girl stands there with her eyes wide, long dark hair falling to rest messily over her shoulders after her overhand throw. She opens her mouth to let out a shriek.

You physically cringe at the pitchy sound. “Oh my god, stop screaming-”

Clearly your words don’t work because a chair is flung in your direction along with another yell. Sidestepping the chair with a huff, you give her an exasperated glare, returning your gun to its position aimed at her. “I’m not trying to kill you! Jesus Christ-” You twist your wrist so the gun is on its side, a show of pacifism. “Stop throwing things at me.”

The girl pauses to catch her breath, glaring at you suspiciously. Her voice is shaky when she starts to speak. “What are you doing with that gun then?”

You sigh, still pointing it at her. “Okay fine, you’re kinda sort of slightly on my hit list.” Your eyes roll as if this is the kind of thing you deal with on a daily basis.

She freezes, looking at you with her eyes wide. It’s not exactly a fearful expression, more surprised or astonished. “I’m on your what now?”

“Hit list?” She returns a blank stare.

“Uh… like a group of people to kill.” You explain, slightly confused. Who doesn’t know what a hit list is? Your empty hand goes to your combat jacket, slipping out a piece of paper. “See - hit list.” It has a couple names written underneath each other; the top few are ominously crossed out.

“And your name!” You point to the scrawl with the gun, a little ‘Aeri <3’ written. Flashing a gleaming smile at her, like the tiny paper is your pride and joy. “I added a heart here because you’re the only one close to my age, and I thought you might appreciate it more than the others.”

“Uh-huh?” She steps backwards slowly, edging towards the door and you’re too caught up in explaining how the hit list works, and who your favourite targets were to notice. “Why am I on your list?” She squeaks out, picking up speed.

You shrug, pulled from examining your list. “I don’t ask questions, it’s not really my list.”

“Who’s is it then? And why am I on it?” She takes another two shaky steps, gaining ground quickly.

You notice immediately this time, no longer looking at the piece of paper. Firing a warning shot at the door, she flinches and stumbles back in fright, putting distance between her and the door, where there is now a smoking bullet hole. Your trusty silencer makes sure that the shot isn’t too loud, but a gunshot is a gunshot and the firing pin still creates a metallic crack. Returning your gun to aim at her, your eyes light up in excitement. “Don’t move, princess.”

Aeri grimaces, clearly unimpressed with her new nickname. “princess? Don’t call me that, and don’t shoot at the door!” She scans around her apartment and you assume it's to look for other exits. Or maybe that’s just your brain working overtime and she’s just trying to figure out how much of a mess you’ve created in her home.

Feeling slightly guilty about the newly made peephole. “I’m sorry. It’s a lovely door. I’ll make sure the landlord adds in a fisheye lens for the next tennant.” Your words are said with utmost sincerity, clearly the door means a lot to her or so you assume. “Also, I think princess suits you! You’re definitely pretty enough.” You absentmindedly scratch your head with the gun.

Aeri rolls her eyes, as if being called princess was the very last thing in the large pool of nicknames she could have been given. “Whatever, I guess.” Your eyes get caught on the way she bites her lip, perhaps in thought. “Is there any way I can get off the list?”

You hum in thought. “You know, no one’s ever asked me that.” You move your gun down and think about it for a moment.

“Probably because I’m usually quicker than this.” The words hang in the air between the two of you, just a casual comment for one, almost a threat to the other.

The beat of silence is disturbed by a frustrated sigh. “If you’re gonna kill me, I guess just get it over with, no reason to drag this out any longer.” There’s a flash of thick dark hair as the girl walks past you, slumps down on one of the kitchen stools with a huff, and rests her head on the benchtop, closing her eyes.

You blink, sort of puzzled. No one’s done that before either. Furrowing your brows, you sit down next to your target. The urge to comfort her comes before your trigger happy nature. “Woah, cheer up, princess, this whole accepting death thing is a bit depressing.”

“Well, what do I have left to live for? I’ve never met or seen you before, but if you’re here to kill me then someone clearly wants me dead. There’s no point living like this.” The words come out almost lighthearted but there’s an undertone of fear and sadness. Aeri glances at you from the corner of her eye. “What’s your name anyways?”

Usually you wouldn’t tell anyone your name, but thinking about it, it doesn’t matter anyway. Squinting in decision, you ultimately come up with a compromise. “That’s classified, but you can choose a nickname if you wish.”

Instantly, she throws you a look that screams ‘Seriously, what is wrong with you??’. “Yeah, no thanks.” And yet, Aeri still sits up properly on the stool and the tiniest of smiles forms on her lips. “So… is killing me like… your job? Or a hobby?”

“My Job.” You fiddle with the safety catch on your firearm. “You rack up a pretty price. Nearly 5,000,000,000KRW.”

A couple seconds tick by before Aeri reacts, she doesn’t really seem to register the amount. “Oh wow…” Her eyes move to the benchtop and she seems to deflate a little, if there was a sad sort of squeaky noise she’d 1:1 replicate a balloon. “Why are you still talking to me then? Shouldn’t you be killing me or something?”

“I don’t know.” You respond after a beat, confused by your own actions. Although she looks like the human equivalent of a slinky toy failing to get to the bottom step, you appreciate that she still looks stunning in her last moments. Her hair shiny and clean, jeans hugging her legs nicely and her top feminine but not extensively. “No one’s ever thrown a vase at me before. Or a chair for that matter.”

Aeri tilts her head and considers you for a moment before she bursts out laughing. “Wait, so you’ve never met someone brave enough to fight back before? What about the other people on your list? Did they all just sit there and accept their fate?”

Your hand waves in the air like what she’s asked is silly. “Everyone else is dead within the first couple minutes. Or like, they beg and cry.” You look around her kitchen, eyes getting caught on the plate with a peanut butter sandwich you were making before Aeri came home. “I got a bit distracted tonight.” You push up from your stool, leaning across the bench with a small ‘sorry’ to pick up the sandwich, then you pull half your mask down to eat.

She stares at you like you're crazy. Maybe you are. “You’re not concerned about me seeing your face?”

“I mean, you’re about to die, sooo…” You bite half of the sandwich slowly. It’s been cut diagonally into triangles just how you like. “Besides, it’s only my mouth. How are you going to identify me from that?”

“I- yeah… I guess so…” Aeri trails off, seemingly lost in thought. Her body relaxes, like there's no trace of fear left, just pure confusion.

“You’re calmer than I thought. Usually people cry a bit. One guy pissed his pants.” Another bite of the sandwich. This time you make a little moan of appreciation. “God, what peanut butter do you use? This is so good.”

Surprisingly, she smiles at you. “Oh, it’s Skippy. I know, pretty basic but it kinda slaps, right?”

You mull over her words. Skippy wasn’t your usual choice, but maybe you should start buying it. Taking another bite of your peanut butter goodness, crumbs fly as you speak. “You’re sorta cool. I’m starting to feel bad about killing you.”

Aeri sends you a sceptical look, raising her eyebrows. “I don’t doubt you’re going to kill me eventually.” She shifts a bit in on the kitchen stool, her leg bouncing. Whether it be with nervousness or adrenaline, you can’t decide. “So why did you choose not to shoot me the second you saw me?”

“Well, you threw a vase at me. And a chair. It’s hard to aim while you’re dancing around flying objects.” You point out, finishing up one half of the sandwich then moving onto the other. “Do you have jam?”

Eyeing you, she slides off the stool and walks to her fridge, rooting around, then sits back on the stool with a jar of jam. “Don’t eat the whole thing. My mum gave it to me.”

A beat of silence follows as Aeri watches you slather one side of the remaining sandwich in jam. Then she speaks again. “I know I’m not dead yet, but I'm guessing if I were to convince you not to kill me then you’d just go home and find another target, right?”

“Yeah. I actually have another one tonight, but I think I may have missed my window.” You think over your schedule as you spread the jam thickly before closing up the sandwich and taking a bite. “Strawberry… Can I keep your mum?”

Her lips quirk up and she rolls her eyes, almost playfully.

Then there’s a pregnant silence.

After a moment or two of Aeri watching you eat, she tilts her head over to the tap. “So… Do you think you would let me get some water?”

“Are you going to throw the glass at me?” You move the sandwich from your mouth right before you take another bite.

She sighs, rolling her eyes again, this time less playfully. “No, no I won’t throw the glass at you. I promise.” Her arms cross and she leans on the counter. She looks depleted, like there’s no hope. You suppose there isn’t.

Studying her with a sturdy gaze, you decide that even if she does throw the glass at you, it’d be easy to dodge. “Sure then.” But just in case, you put your gun down on the counter close to the jam.

Another round of silence takes over as Aeri fills a glass of water and gradually drinks it. Well, at least until she breaks the silence again. “Are you working alone?” Her body twists so that the question could be addressed directly to you.

“Hm? Like, am I alone here killing you or what?” Your tongue runs over your teeth, poking at little bits of bread caught then you take another rather large bite of the pb and j.

“Yeah, are you alone in this whole assassination thing? Like, do you have a partner or a boss that you report the mission results to?” Aeri moves back across the kitchen and leans close to you. You can feel her watching your every move.

“Nope! All anonymous. I’m really just a goon, I suppose.” Your words are muffled by the amount of bread and peanut butter and jam in your gob. Patting your combat jacket, you pull out a little tube. You can tell she’s about to ask what it is, so you just shake the contents onto your sandwich. Rainbow sprinkles come out. “The blue ones taste the best.”

She blinks twice before muttering something along the lines of ‘Don’t they all taste the same?’ but you’re too happy munching on your sandwich to really hear.

“So… you’re literally just a mercenary getting orders on a random assassination from a client?” Her eyes light up for a moment. “I could literally just pay you more to not kill me, couldn’t I?”

You scratch your neck, slightly saddened that you’re about to burst her bubble. “You could. But where are you going to get 5 billion won? That’s like 3 mil USD. 5 mil CAD. Maybe… 500 mil Japanese yen?” Squinting you try to convert in your mind.

While you distract yourself with conversion rates, Aeri begins to freak out. “Wait, woah 5 BILLION??!” She steps back in shock. “That’s the reward?” Her hand flies out to grip the counter, trying to contain her panic. “What the fuck have I done to deserve such a high price??”

You shrug, not surprised by her reaction. This was closer to the type of thing all your other targets did. “Don’t ask me, princess. I just get the orders.” Your legs swing back and forth as the sandwich diminishes to a couple bites.

Aeri glares at you. Assuming it’s about the nickname and not the fact that you’re here to kill her in general, you give her a polite smile. “Well… the money and the orders. I get paid half when I accept.”

Her eyes widen and she takes a shaky breath. “So you’re getting 500 MILLION for walking into my apartment and having a chat with me?” She processes the information rather well, you think. “I could give you half of what you’ve already got and you can just call it a day, right?”

“Well, I mean, I get the other 500 mil after you’re dead.” You point out. “That would only be 750 mil. I’d be 250 short.” You go to bite your sandwich again and find that there’s nothing left.

“What if I give you the other half then? 500 million?” She takes a couple steps messily in a circle, her hands flailing. “My life is more than just 500 million fucking won, right?”

“I personally believe that lives cost $0 but you do you, princess.” You say nonchalantly, picking up your pistol again.

“Oh my god, why are you calling me princess all the time?” Aeri snaps at you. Then her eyes flick to the gun in your hand and she smiles nervously. “So you’re not accepting my offer? What if I make it better? Half the money, and get you a lifetime supply of Skippy peanut butter?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “You’re pretty like a princess. And you have those Disney eyes.”

Standing up to stretch, your back crackles. Then your hand moves to slide your mask back down over your lower face, covering your identifiable features up again.

Aeri watches you do so, almost glaring at you. “Ok, let’s put your attraction to me aside for a second and think about what I’m offering. You take the offer and you can have 500 million in cash, plus a lifetime supply of Skippy peanut butter. I’ll even throw in some of my mum’s Strawberry Jam.”

Your eyes light up when you hear her offer the jam, but then you remember your contract. “Mmm I don’t know. I already accepted the offer, and turning back would be a slight on the higher ups.”

“A slight? So they’d be upset if you let me go?” Aeri steps towards you again “Oh my god, I swear on my life I won't tell anyone you were here, I’d just prefer not to die.” Her voice is laced with fear, her eyes pleading. This is when you started to hate your job. Bargaining was always the worst part. “Couldn’t you just tell someone I ran away or something?”

“Not plausible. When people run I just make a mad dash after.” You pretend to run for a moment, then turn back to Aeri looking proud of yourself. “It always ends up with the target dead.”

That final sentence seems to get to her and her skin is a sickly pale sort of tint. Weary that she might throw up, you take a wide step back. “Are you actually gonna kill me?” Her face pales further and now she steps back, eyes wide open. The brown almost shimmering with tears. “Please don’t do this, I just wanna live happily and healthily.” Her voice cracks, and the tears start to fall. “I don’t want my mum to be sad.”

As she starts to make her final speech, you prepare your firearm. It’s beloved, having added your favourite silencer. LIfting it up to aim where it would hurt the least, you are a little sympathetic to your targets, your finger brushes against the trigger.

But something about her last sentence makes you pause. It echoes around your mind. Bouncing into the depths and then running you over like a bullet train. “Your… mum?” The words aren’t meant to be said out loud but they come out anyway.

Aeri watches tearily as you freeze and her voice catches in her throat. “Mum, yeah.” She looks at the floor, trying to hold back her tears. But it’s always hard to stop crying once you’ve started. “She’s my whole world. Always telling me how proud she is. When I’m down I think about how much she’d miss me if I were gone.” She looks back up at you, and you have to look away, avoiding her ‘Disney princess eyes’.

“She’s been through so much… having to deal with losing people. I promised her I’d stay safe.”

You grunt, your jaw clenched so hard you could feel the enamel scratching off your teeth. Then finally you lower your gun with a huff. “This is why I don’t talk to my targets.” You mutter to yourself before you flick the safety back on.

Your now ex-target rubs her eyes when she sees you lowering your gun. “Hey wait, you’re not gonna kill me?” She looks at you, her tear-streaked face staring earnestly into your eyes. You hold back a huff. “But what about the client? Your bosses? Will there be consequences for sparing me?”

“Yeah, probably.” You move around the room, grabbing the bugs you had placed around her apartment a couple days prior.

Aeri watches you and something switches in her. “And what exactly are you going to tell whoever ordered the hit?” She takes a step towards you, for the first time since she entered her apartment. “What if they send someone else to do the job?”

“Oh, they’ll send someone else.” You nod to yourself before strapping your things to your combat jacket. “I’d say lock your doors, but I don’t think that’ll help much.” Humming, you make an advance back to the window you came from.

“Then what the fuck was the point in sparing me if you know they’re gonna come after me again? You saved me, what, like a week at most?” She crosses her arms and glares at you, her eyebrows furrowing in disapproval. “Why go through this whole charade? I could’ve just died and it would’ve all been over with.”

You pause, thinking over her words. They circle in your mind, turning into scenarios that lead to the loss of your job. Then you grunt exasperatedly. “Oh my god, princess. You’re not my responsibility.” You twirl in a circle, frustrated, before walking back over to her and giving her a childlike squint.

She rolls her eyes, clearly still not a fan of your nickname. “Then why even let me live at all? Why not just shoot me? Why go to all of this effort just to spare my life and prolong the inevitable?” Aeri points a finger, like a gun to her head, then moves it to the floor. “This, right here. You sparring my life was so unnecessary.”

You groan, moving your head in a circle. “It’s your fault for bringing up your mum, I can’t deal with old people being sad.”

“She’s not even old!” Her voice raises a level. “And what about me feeling sad? What about YOU making my loved ones sad?” She moves her finger to your face now, clearly frustrated. It’s getting to the point that you’d be intimidated by her, except for the way her finger trembles. Now that the threat of dying seems to be over, she seems to realise how absolutely ridiculous this entire situation is. “Your clients are just going to send another assassin after me, so saving me was the most pointless, time-wasting choice you could’ve ever made.”

“Fine! Oh my god, Jesus Christ. I’ll make sure they don’t send another hitman.” You groan, then huff, then grumble to yourself as you check your pockets.

“And how the hell are you going to ensure that?” Aeri asks. “They paid you so much money to do this, do you think they’re going to just give up and be like ‘Aw okay, we’ll look for someone else.’? I honestly don’t think their next choice is going to be any nicer than you.”

You give her a glare behind your mask, annoyed that she can’t see the fullness of your frustration. “I’ll just kill the next one, jeez.”

Her jaw drops open as she stares at you, completely stunned. “You’re gonna kill them? Really? Even if it goes against the original orders?” Her eyebrows raise in shock, her head tilts and she crosses her arms. She’s clearly angry. “Why on earth would you do that?”

“I don’t know.” You sound meek.

“What a stupid answer.” Aeri rolls her eyes, looking at you with utter disbelief. “So, let me get this straight. You’re going to kill another assassin and probably get your loyalty card revoked and get into a bunch of trouble just because you feel bad for me because I talked about my mommy?” She shakes her head, looking completely flabbergasted at your responses. “Does the job matter that little to you? Wouldn’t you rather just ‘BANG’ and get paid?” She puts her finger back to her head and mimes the hammer striking.

“Mothers are important, okay?” You practically whine, taking a couple steps forward to remove her hand from her head.

Aeri takes another breath to continue her tirade, but your words and touch make her pause. Her entire expression dissolves into joint confusion and concern. “Huh? Are you like… mum-less?” You can tell her words are trying to be harsh but they just come out sort of flat.

“That’s classified.”

She raises an eyebrow like she knows that you’re lying, and that’s when you decide it’s time to jump ship.

Moving away to her window again, this time you make it to the frame. Lifting the lower pane with ease, you wave your hand behind you in an aloof manner. “Try not to die, princess.”

She looks at you, her mouth slightly ajar again. “Oh, ok.” She looks up at the ceiling as she tries to process what just happened. The more she thinks about it, the more ridiculous it seems. “Okay, I’ll try not to die,” Her voice is laced with sarcasm and she can’t believe she’s saying these words right now. “Thank you so much for sparing my life, Merc. The world is a much better place with you around.”

You flip her off as you vault through her window and into the night.

A/N: my search history is full of peanut butter brands now (this is the dumbest thing i’ve written in my entire life)

#!! dreamy’s pieces #aespa #giselle x reader #giselle #uchinaga aeri x reader #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots #idol x reader #aespa imagines #kpop x reader #aespa x reader

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