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unhappy-last-resort · 7 months ago

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What Lovers Do (Yandere Roland x GN Reader)

Warnings: non con, implied past non con, smut, no mention of readers genitalia, implied bondage, penetration, use of lubricant, slight spoilers for future chapters but if you don't know then you can't tell

A/N: I started this at 4 AM this morning, apologies if the writing is a bit stiff I kinda wanted to get something quick out.

As always, constructive criticism is welcome and I hope you enjoy.

Status: Edited

"Then...can you tell me if I'm performing or being genuine right now?" The question was thrown at you with a chuckle and a certain glint in his eye, like he was a gambler about to win a bet. That should have been your first warning to say no, or better yet say nothing at all.

"I think..." It was less of a thought and more of a hope at the time. "You're being genuine." You spoke softly, as though you might shatter something if you spoke too loud despite your silly costume and unique setting. The maze you had cleared together now behind you, faux flower petals gently danced in the air above you. Despite the mechanoids of Constellia lacking a complete understanding of human aesthetics and choices, their imitation of them never failed to impress you.

In return, Roland gave a hearty laugh as he closed the distance between you two. "Is that so, Babylonian Commandant?" He reached his hand up and before you could stop him, you were stripped of your Sharksphere-esc head, leaving your face in his full view.

He held your chin gently, yet firm enough to hold you in place as he leaned in close, "Since I'm being genuine, why don't we commit ourselves to one another and do something only lovers do?" He whispered with a small smirk that barely contained his excitement.

While you had momentarily forgotten the differences between constructs and humans, but Roland was quick to remind you as he pulled you towards him, his other hand going straight to your crotch causing you to gasp and swat his hand away, which he ignored in favor of teasing you with his fingers.

"Roland, wha-"

"Shhhh...." He hushed you gently, as if he was consoling an upset child. "It's alright, just follow my lead and everything will be easier." You tried to push him away to no avail, it felt like you were trying to push a wall. Your struggling meant nothing to him as he held you tightly enough to keep you in place, but not so much that it was painful.

Despite yourself, you could feel your body responding in kind to his deceptively gentle touches and the occasional fleeting kiss on your skin as he whispered little words of praise or comfort to you, steadily drawing you into your first unsteady orgasm of the day.

Which led you to now, your costume and pants stripped from you and his artificial cock buried deep inside of you as he held you pinned to the floor, his black coating making him look like a wraith among the sea of pink and purple hues. It was so swift that you hadn't the chance to process what he was doing before your eyes widened and a stilted cry left your lips at the sudden intrusion. His faint scent of roses making your head spin as your walls spasm around him, struggling to adjust to him.

"Shhhh, Mon Chér it'll feel better soon, just wait." Roland held your cheek, making you look into his heterochronic eyes. One the color of the color of the sun and one the color of blood. Both looking at you almost sympathetically, had it not been for the subtle glee in his eyes you might've believed that sympathy to be true.

Before you could muster a reply, he very gently thrusted into you. It was clear now that he had slipped a lubricant on you amidst your earlier distraction of his insistent kisses as he removed your pants, easing your walls into accepting the stretch as each inch slowly sunk into you.

"This isn't..." You shut your eyes tightly as he slowly thrusted into you again, more lubricant this time than the last quickly turning the initial pain into pleasure. "This isn't what lovers do."

Roland raised a brow, his hips pulling back only to steadily push into you once more, reaching deeper with the help of the lubricant as you heaved an unsteady sigh. The sensation wasn't as painful as you'd hoped. "Isn't this what lovers do in a place like this?" Another drag of his cock easily had your body relaxing against the colorful floor of the venue. Empty chairs watching you both from a short distance away.

"They'd say their vows and consummate their love, ensuring they always love one another until the end of time?" His hold on your wrists had a grown a little tighter as a squelching sound filled the silence between you. You could feel arousal heightening your senses and making your body receptive to his actions despite you wishing it wouldn't.

Roland smiles sickeningly sweet as he leans in, your faces mere breaths apart. "You want this too, I can tell." He whispers before placing small kisses on the corner of your mouth. You take in a breath, about to protest before his eyes narrow slightly and a sudden thrust of his hips takes your breath away and leaves your mind buzzing with pleasure.

He kisses your face a few times, humming in satisfaction with your silence as he sets a steady pace inside you. Each thrust making his tip hit that place that had you seeing stars. If you didn't know any better, you would say it was almost with practiced precision, like he knew every inch of you better than you could ever hope to know yourself.

You can feel the smile on his lips as he decorates your neck with kisses, his iron grip on your wrists never once loosening. "You know, I was surprised when you contacted me." He whispers breathlessly, lightly nipping at your skin as your unsteady breaths turn into squeaks and moans. "I was certain this was a mere trap, or something so important it had left you desperate to achieve your goal no matter who you had to do it with." At that moment, a chime sounds and the doors leading to the exit of the maze open and all you can do is stare at it through glossy eyes as pleasure hits you like a wave with every thrust of his hips.

Roland chuckles again as he looks down at you, a gloating smile playing on his lips as he watches you fall apart, your human desires overtaking any protest or fight you might've had. "But when I came here and found out that you were simply naive enough to seek company from your enemy, well..." He drifts off, as his hips start slamming into yours with something that mimicked reckless abandon yet lacked the recklessness, being more akin to something designed for squeezing every little bit of pleasure out of you. "I couldn't help myself. How could an actor like me resist such an interesting plot?"

You jerk suddenly, your eyes seeing white as an orgasm crashes into you, leaving you dizzy in its wake as Roland's thrusts don't slow down or stop for a second. "You are such an interesting human. Like a blooming flower on a battlefield, I can't help wanting to pick it up and keep it for myself." He whispers with an edge, each brutal thrust of his hips making you writhe underneath him as your pleas are reduced to senseless babbling.

He leans in, your foreheads resting against each other and in this moment his expression falls away into something softer, almost loving. "We spent so much time arguing amongst ourselves, but seeing you like this makes everything we've done worth it." His voice sounds soft and raw, like a confession whispered only for his ears.

"C-can't...what..." Roland smiles and cups your cheek with his hand, freeing one of your wrists now that you can't struggle. His thumb brushes your bottom lip and it sickens you how genuinely happy he looks, his eyes full of adoration as the gentlest smile plays on his lips.

"I love you so much, you have no idea how many nights and days I spent on this Earth yearning for something to truly call mine." His pace becomes faster, any embers of your sanity fading with each slap of skin as the body heat of the construct above you rises. "And now, I can finally say..."

He grunts, his body shuddering as his eyes snap closed, a growl reverberating in his chest as he struggles to hold something back. "I can finally say..." His voice module strains as he arches into you, his cock somehow reaching deeper as he places messy kisses along your neck before he brings his face back up to yours again.

"I love you." His whispered words can barely register before his lips crash into yours, his eyes open to drink in every expression you make as he moans into the kiss. Your hips instinctively buck up into his as something hot coats your insides, he gives a final thrust to make sure you take every last drop of what he has to give and the sensation is enough to make your back arch as your second orgasm takes you.

He kisses you again and again, barely letting you breath as his other hand abandons your wrist and settles to hold your hip instead. "You have no clue how long I've wanted this to be true. Even if this is just a dream, or a play, I'm tired of playing to the audience's whims." He sounds ecstatic and desperate as he wraps his arms around and lifts you up as he slowly stands with cock still buried inside you, as if his previous orgasm meant nothing to him.

"Where are..." You slump against him, your head resting on his shoulder. You could barely speak, only just now having been given the privilege of breathing as you're vaguely aware he's walking, colors and light shifting around you in a blur.

"A proper place to continue our act, of course." He says as if it's obvious and kisses your forehead. "I'm not done yet." You're vaguely aware you're indoors again, a small living space greeting you, or perhaps you always were and you were too tired to notice.

"I hope this is to your taste," Roland says with his usual bravado. "Because we'll be here for a while." The bedroom door opens, revealing a bed illuminated by surrounding candles and the glitters of chains tied to its bedposts.

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thewritetofreespeech · 3 months ago

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hi! prompt 3 or 39 with roland would be interesting!

3. Body Worship

“Wow! You are so strong [Y/N]!” Roland gushed. His eyes sparkling as he took in his partner’s form. Their figure seeming to almost vibrate now in the stillness after battle. “I’ve never seen moves like that before! Such agility. Such grace. And your muscles….I wish my body could be more like yours…”

The Chasseur hiccupped in a gasp as he realized what he just said. His mouth often running much faster than his brain.

He felt he should kneel down right now and pray to God for his sins. Envy was one of the big ones, but there was something more than that. Lust. Roland knew that he did not just look on [Y/N] in adoration for the strength of their body but also for its physical curves. Everyday he had to fight the urge to reach out and touch them. Run his hands over those gorgeous muscles and body. But he knew he could not. He had made a vow to God and the Church. To be pure and void of sin as to better serve their Lord, and irradicate the world of vampires. This was his promise. And it seemed [Y/N] was his test from the Lord.

“Let’s head back! I’m sure Olivier is eager to hear of our report. And I could do with a hot meal and a nice bath.” Roland felt bad behind his smile. What sort of weakling was he that he would pivot his sins from envy to gluttony. He would have to pray harder to God for resolve.

[Y/N] agree and they walked back to their base together. Their scent in the air as Roland’s heightened sense from his serum, leading him like a salivating dog following a bone. If only he could hold them and get a full whiff of their scent. Surely that would be alright? Hugging, and smelling their battle potent aroma, would not be a broch of his vow….

Roland shook his head to get rid of these thoughts. He knew it would be a slippery slope. One hug would just make him want more. Another hug. To hold their hand. To run his fingers over those powerful legs that just kicked a vampire clear across the courtyard, and heaven help him what he wouldn’t give to have them wrapped around him.

He shook his head again. It wasn’t working. He would have to pray harder tonight after last prayers. Beg God for forgiveness and strength. To stay away this temptation from [Y/N] to worship at their alter instead of their Lord. God help him…..

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#roland fortis #vanitas x reader #vanitas no shuki #vanitas no carte #the case study of vanitas #vanitas scenarios #vanitas no carte scenarios #vanitas no carte imagine #vnc imagine #vnc scenarios #vnc smut #[kind of?]#[this is as smutty as priests get]#[that's kind of what Roland is]#[also there is something hot about 'I love God but I love you too']#[but maybe that's just the bad catholic in me lol]

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kit-williams · 10 months ago

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Desperate thirsty yandere astartes who can't handle it when you sit on their lap cause it just makes them want to bend you over and plow a few kids into you.

This is Roland coded (sorry if you were wanting a different man) and Tulio coded

Roland leaned back in his seat as his Bäckerin was soon walking over sitting beside him as the impromptu meeting was drawing in more and more brothers. So it was understandable when you would sit in his lap... his soft Bäckerin. He felt his mouth water and salivate as you did your little hip wiggle like a Hen getting comfortable in her nest. He never wanted to tell you what you were doing to him... though he wondered if you knew it was why he was more eager whenever you two returned to the bedroom that he was so very eager to try to put a baby into you. But he did his best to control himself but oh... how he wanted to.

Tulio bit back a whimper as his Psychi crawled into his lap as his hands twitched not wanting to rest them in an improper way but he had convinced her to lounge with him. To get her off of her feet and to indulge with him as he enjoyed lounging and conversing, was the excuse he had given her. He watched her look away and the blush that danced on her cheek... the way she gently bit her bottom lip for only a moment before she crawled up against him. A stray hand of his brushed against her thigh pulling the swell of her ass to his hip and he had to will his cock to not twitch in pleasure nor to simply cum at the feeling of his Psychi against him as he offered her grapes and wine.

#warhammer 40k #Yandere #Yandere Space Marine #Space Marine #Yandere Black Templar #Black Templars #OC: Roland #Yandere Ultramarine #Ultramarines #OC: Tulio #x reader #x you #Space Marines x reader #Space Marines x you #reply #answer

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comfortless · 1 year ago

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write swagger. anything for swagger. anything. i’ll take a crumb, I’ll take medic x swagger i’ll take any overdone trope give me something for this man!!!! i love u and your writing sm syl i’m sorry this isn’t a köni request but..

Spin Cycle

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski x mercenary fem!reader

CONTENT / WARNINGS: 18+ minors do not interact! violence, enemies -> lovers, implications of sex (no actual smut), swagger points a gun at your head sorry, reader may have a gun kink.

i hate(love) you, lele!! i listened to this guys voice lines so many times they’re just embedded in my brain at this point. lil rushed & not proofread, so there may be some mistakes, sorry!

wc: 3k

Cold. Wet.

This isn't the weather for a battle. This isn't a night to die. But some lack taste in the intricacies of being victimized, and as her sight settles on the enemy maneuvering through the war torn warehouse, she realizes he certainly doesn't have a preference in which way he's ripped apart. The mask covering his face tells her everything she needs to know, he's dead already, hiding beneath an ugly cover to conceal his identity; an unknown, evil thing in her eyes. She would be doing him a favor. Mercy for the man marching around wearing a face not his own.

She slowly positions her pistol, quietly aiming as her finger brushes the trigger. Once, to prepare herself for more blood on her hands. Twice, to make peace with his creator in his stead— he wouldn't have the time nor the delicate nature for it. Thrice, because she likes the feel of the cold metal against her fingertip; it grounds her, tethers her to the reality of what she’s here to do. Lucky numbers be damned, it was all for the thrill of it.

She pulls the trigger and the bullet rips from the barrel as she bites her lip.

To her chagrin, it buries itself in the wall behind her target. To her relief, it definitely struck. The man buckles to the dirtied floor with a groan, gloved hands reaching out to apply pressure to the gash in his calf. It's not enough to kill, they both knew it, but it would put the buck down long enough for her to reload and fire a shot right into his brain. She wonders if she could tell what his face actually looked like when his mask was blown off and gray matter spackled the floor behind him.

"Knew you were in here, you slimy bastard."

The voice pulls her from her thoughts, and if she were forced to have any sort of virtue left she could be honest and embrace the fact she isn't the most coordinated mercenary out there. Her pistol clatters to the floor. She quickly slips further into the dark, not bothering with her lost weapon for the time being as she positions herself behind a crate to hide.

"Your aim is shit. Your hands must be shaking."

The man's voice continues to rasp. He's taunting her, wants to lure her out. There's something playful about his voice that sends a swell of unease from her chest to the pit of her stomach. The man had just been shot, and that surge of confidence couldn't stem from a wounded man unless he had some sort of a plan. She's been here so many times with so many different flavors of prey that the warning signs aren't lost on her.

She swears she hears the click of him replacing his magazine, the static of his radio, the sound of ripped fabric and a lightening quick application of a makeshift tourniquet. The thought that the gunfire gave out her position crosses her mind.

"Come out, fucking coward."

She's been here so many times, in the dead of night, playing this one-sided game of cat and mouse. She's seen blood, felt the sting of a bullet carving it's way through her, and she's never been afraid. Not until tonight.

This isn't a night to die, yet she's pissed off the fucking grim reaper.

A church bell rings out in the distance, some small mercy. It plants the seed of an idea and she follows the path her mind carves with her hand grasping for a knife at her belt. The knife rips through the quiet air of the warehouse, coming to a clatter some three meters behind him after she tosses it. The man takes the bait, fires several shots in the direction of the noise as she quietly finds her escape. Delivered from death by the heavenly portal of a broken window.

But when it comes to the intricacies of being victimized, it's very rare that things play out so simply. Hunting is a messy task, and one slip up can so quickly prove that prey often have fangs, too.

Her target, some Polish elite soldier, Roland Kaminski, isn't a buck at all. Bucks are easy, they're skittish and stupid. You fire off a shot at one of them, they buckle or prance back into the plush foliage of the forest for cover. When thundering footsteps can be heard in the dark, just past the safety of the broken window, she realises she's not dealing with another deer. Shes got a frenzied boar at her heels.

She's defenseless, her arms scattered in the darkness of the warehouse the boar is charging from, and she finds she lacks the will to break her ankle jumping down onto the pavement below. This is the line where the hunt becomes a proper fight. Her pulse beats like the thunder tearing apart the sky above her, every muscle in her body pulled tight like a spring waiting to maul her impending threat.

The fight never comes.

One moment, he's charging through the wreckage inside like a behemoth with a taste for human flesh, and the next he's simply staring at her while he's shrouded by the dark. It's almost comical, really, her thoughts flood with pictures of horror mascots as she teeters on the windowsill, staring right back into the wide, dark eyes of his mask. They remain in a stasis for a moment, both breathing shallow, both watching the other. Then, he does something that surprises her. Surprises and infuriates her.

He pulls his radio up to his mask, breathes out a heavy sigh as the sound of static cuts through this pair's silence. The grim reaper has the audacity to pretend his frustration over arches her own, and she's gritting her teeth wondering how likely it was she could free his esophagus from the column of his neck with her mouth alone.

She feels his gaze rove over her, lingering along the empty holster at her hip and the garter on her thigh.

"Target's down."

He's lying to his team, lying because he pities her, and she can't think of a thing more insulting. A mercenary is no different than a prostitute, money for flesh, pain or pleasure. She's aware of it, she's seen her fellow mercs gunned down without a second thought from their enemies. She's heard the men in her company boast of ravaging paid women without thought. For some time, she's considered they may all be beasts, but the grim reaper is sparing her. Sparing her, because he doesn't see her as a threat at all. A defenseless woman clinging to a broken window like it's the only tether she has to the world at all. He's no boar, no blood-stained reaper, just a person. He doesn't see her as pounds of flesh to march into battle before him. She sees humanity, and he sees an insect unworthy of his bullet.

"I tried to kill you," she breathes out, enunciates each word careful and slow as she tries to get a read on him, praying her assumption isn't true. There's the creaking of broken glass beneath the toes of her boots as she pivots herself to fully face him, standing in the window with the backdrop of a dark sky threatening violence. The man shrugs his broad shoulders, turns away, as though nothing has even happened. Her stare drifts to the tourniquet on his calf, and it dawns on her that he isn't even limping.

"I wouldn't even need a minute with you." He sounds bored. The pity stung enough. She wasn't just a hapless rabbit in his eyes, she was a gnat. A nuisance to top it all off. "Who are you working for?"

She falls silent, teetering on the ledge of the windowsill in silent debate. The jump would end in injury, but the darkened sky and the rain could cover her. There’s a building less than half a mile away and if she just made it there then—

“Answer.” Roland’s gruff voice sounds out in the quiet warehouse again, and she hazards a glance up just in time to catch those dead eyes of his peering at her from over his shoulder.

“I don’t know.”

“No?”

“I don’t have a name.”

Roland merely huffs at that, rolls his shoulders a little. He’s confident, a bit too arrogant for a man that’s been shot. She may have seen a boar, and he may have seen an ange, because he has the audacity to give her a comforting pat on the shoulder with a gentle swipe of his thumb along her neck.

Tells her, “Get lost.”

Follows it up with, “Let us never meet again.”

She doesn’t die on this frigid, rainy night, but a part of her is lost with him. Lost with a man that looks at her as though she had tiny angel’s wing, buzzing at her back. Lost with a man who’s entire existence is an enigma to her. Shoot to kill, and she hadn’t. Shoot to kill and not ever would she again, not to him, not to the man who gave her mercy when she deserved none.

— — —

She finds herself working alongside the Polish GROM. Realistically, she had returned sopping wet to her shabby hotel and spent hours researching how to work her way in. She doesn’t know why, but she’s found herself enthralled in a shadow, worshipping him in her own way. All for a chance to see her should-be reaper. And she’s no elite, can barely keep her trigger finger steady, but supplementing for a fallen soldier is the standard and she’s got enough falsified experience under her belt to look the part of a proper gunman.

It pays enough to keep her afloat until the next thing piques her interest or her contract ends, whichever comes first. Her room is simple, a barren mattress and dark walls, a concrete floor. It doesn’t feel homey, but no place ever does nowadays. Small blessings are found in the fact she doesn’t have to share the space, it’s hers and hers alone.

She spends her first few hours inspecting the place for bugs, then takes to staring up at the ceiling, listless, because what the hell had made her so impulsive? Roland could have already had his head blown clean off by anyone else by now. Did she even want to see him? To choke him with his own words or thank him for his kindness?

All of this uprooting driven by impulsivity for a man who told her not to meet him again and yet she’s here, walking about the compound like she truly belongs.

She should have cut her hair, tried to make herself look different from the trembling mouse on the ledge that night, but a part of her wants him to see her. Recognize her, bring him down from that gilded throne of his where women like her are just nuisances instead of a proper challenge.

Only, she’s not a challenge. Not at all, because the second she meets him in the stairwell her mind starts swimming and all she can do is stare. He looks a bit tired, likely having just returned from some dreadful mission, even wearing all black he’s covered in sprays of dust, the denim of his trousers painted darker in some places, blood.

“Ja jebię.”

He hadn’t forgotten.

His breath sounds shaky, and she’s not sure if it’s because the gas mask in its proper place or if he’s actually surprised, startled. If anything could shake him down from his pedestal she imagined meeting the woman who tried to kill him once again would do it.

“How’s your leg?”

“Better than your aim, pizda.”

She imagines that he would probably like nothing better than to put a bullet through her right then. The man merely laughs, something breathy and low. She’s surprised him, probably both startled and impressed that she even had the balls to face him again. She likes that, likes that little laugh, that his voice isn’t angry, that he’s playing with fire just as much as she is.

“What are you doing here?”

“Contract,” she states simply, not bothering to hide the way her gaze rakes over his body in the yellow haze of fluorescent lighting. “Just a few months, filling in a gap.”

He mutters something under his breath, a string of Polish and French that she doesn’t quite catch. She knows that he knows she’s infatuated, taking to follow after a wild coyote like a house pet.

It’s a dirty word, infatuated; dangerous in a way that scares her more than facing down the barrel of a gun.

Roland takes a step towards her, brushes her hair from her face with a touch too rough and leans in close to look at her, inspect her as though she’s not even really here, some figment of his vile imagination. She just… lets him. Despite her better judgement she lets him grip at her face like she’s nothing but putty in his hands.

“Here to kill me?” He asks his question as he retreats from her and drops his hands to his sides, staring at her as though she’s not an implant in his force, but an implant on the planet itself.

“Not this time.”

He gives her a tilt of the head and a grunt in response before brushing past in a hurry.

— — —

The following morning, she wakes to several rapid knocks at her door. Sounding just impatient enough to pull her from her sleep with her heart fluttering like a small bird in her rib cage. She readily hops out of bed and dresses before turning the knob to reveal something she didn’t expect— Roland. It’s the first times she’s seen him without his gas mask, but she recognizes him immediately. He’s more handsome when he doesn’t look the part of a famished buzzard seeking out carrion.

“Kaminski.”

“Swagger,” he corrects and she can’t help but laugh at the usage of his callsign. She wants to know how he got stuck with that, something so embarrassing it makes him sound as though he’s some teenage boy desperate to fit in or perhaps even a pirate, not the man she sees before her.

“We aren’t on the field.”

“Today we will pretend.”

He grabs her arm in the very same boorish way he had grabbed at her face just yesterday, and leads her down an empty hallway in silence. Each step seems to echo louder than the last. She wonders for half a moment if he does intend to kill her, hazards a look up at him expecting to see some flame of gruesome determination in his eyes only to be met with a calmness that makes her reconsider.

Today isn’t a day to die, either, it seemed.

He leads her to a room of bulletproof glass and well-placed targets. Pulls his gun from his holster after inspecting that she hadn’t thought to bring her own. She feels silly when his touch goes to prod at her hip, dips along the waistband of her trousers to seek out a weapon that just isn’t there. She’s ill-prepared and now her face feels hot all while Roland didn’t seem to have so much as a care.

“I’ll teach you to shoot,” he huffs as he steps behind her and places his gun in her hands, an ugly thing she recognizes to be a SIG P226. The metal feels cold and heavy in her hands, but she handles it well enough. It doesn’t particularly help that one of his arms curls around her middle to keep her steady. It’s even worse that one hand remains splayed over hers as she holds the gun.

Shooting when you’re in a desperate situation is difficult enough. The thought that death could be approaching doesn’t keep most grounded, not her at least. It makes her shaky. This is far worse. The man is so close she can smell him, gunpowder and something pungent and clean like mint. She feels his warmth cover her back, his fingers digging a bit into her side.

“I’m ready.”

He grunts in response, maneuvering her a bit closer to a small window carved out in the glass.

“Then shoot.”

So, she does. She misses, of course, and she feels even more silly when he mutters something into her shoulder and deliberately moves and angles her arm properly. The only thing good is that the gun’s recoil is soft, because if she were pushed any further against him she may very well melt down into putty.

Again and again she takes aim and fires at the brightly colored target through the window. After what feels like hours she’s finally hit some place that makes Roland give her an appreciative pat to her tummy.

“I’m improving.” She feigns his confidence, puffing out her chest a little in pride.

“Are you?”

He steals the gun from her hand and draws away to face her properly. There’s a tension she can’t place, something strange in the flicker of his eye.

“You saw—“

Her words are cut off when the man tackles her to the floor, covering her entirely as he pins her from either side. A sharp intake of oxygen is stolen as her spine tingles in pain from the sudden force. She yelps, he laughs, and none of it is funny because he’s still holding a loaded fucking gun. Only, worse, when he presses the muzzle against her cheek and uses his free hand to fix her wrists to the cold floor beneath her.

He tuts at her when she doesn’t try to fight him off, only looks up at him with wide-eyes and parted lips, a face too warm to only depict fear. If he didn’t know before, he knows now. She catches a mischievous glimmer in his eyes right before she tilts her head to kiss the cold steel clutched tightly in his fingers.

Roland stiffens above her for a moment, every muscle in his body pulled taut, jaw clenched and eyes fluttering.

“Not pizda,” he whispers as he clicks the safety back on and shifts to holster the weapon. “You are like a…”

“Ange?”

“Non,” he laughs. “Aniołku.”

If she didn’t know before, she knows now.

— — —

Any training session is spent with Roland.

Every mission they’re tethered to one another.

Any free time she finds yourself having is spent with him, even seeking him out herself just as often as he comes pounding at her door.

It feels both natural and absurd, sharing meals with the man she almost murdered, covering him as he covers her, both finding themselves less and less willing to be on their own as the days pass by. The progression just doesn’t halt, a train plowing off track, the man has his blunt talons curled into her and she just doesn’t have the sense to beat him back because she knows she’s got her teeth embedded just as deeply into him.

It doesn’t even come as a surprise when she starts her mornings peeling herself away from him, still sleeping peacefully in her bed. His room lacks taste— too barren, too bogged down with well-oiled metal and violence. She’s spruced hers up in the free time she has with small items, things she can pack up and carry with her to whichever side she finds herself pulled to next.

The thing she keeps most sacred, however, is a little photograph of him, one he had insisted on her keeping on the bedside table, despite being in flesh, wrapped tightly around her each and every night.

She picks it up, turns it over in her hands a few times before the weight of a heavy hand splays itself out across her middle, languidly tugging her back down.

“Stay,” he murmurs, someplace lost between dreaming and waking.

“Just for a bit,” she whispers in reply, nestling close, curling against his chest.

“Forever, aniołku.”

With a soft inhale, she falls back against him in a tangle of limbs and warmth, a part of her lost to the fantasy of permanence.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

ange: angel (French)

Ja jebię: fuck me

pizda: cunt

non: no (French)

aniołku: angel

#cod fanfiction #mw3 fanfic #roland kaminski #roland swagger kaminski #cod swagger #Roland Kaminski x reader #swagger x reader #i hate this guys name my god #cod x reader #cod x you

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dutiful-wildcraft · 6 months ago

Text

Strange Candy

After a strange encounter. A chubby witch must now figure out how to escape the interest of 3 very dangerous demons.

Fat! Original Female Character/Roland "Swagger" Kaminski/Nikto/Sebastian Krueger

Tags: enemies to lovers, monster au, blood, gore, masturbation, liberal use of italics, soul mates elements, chubby oc, stalking, multi-parts

(This is a self indulgent project that got a little out of hand, and the first semi-serious piece I've posted, so polite critique is welcome!)

Banner by @/cafekitsune

Roland “Swagger” Kaminski hardly read over the document before whipping his signature down and sliding it back haphazardly to his superior. The man had simply rolled his eyes before urging him to actually read over the document before departure. Swagger couldn’t have cared less.

The contract was for the United States. Some bullshit intel regarding the smuggling of volatile chemicals. Orders were simple: seek, and destroy if appropriate. Half of their money up front, the other half when the job was finished. Not that Swagger cared about the money, none of the team did, they all had more of it than they knew what to do with. No, most of them had joined the private military group for their own…peculiarities.

Being an untethered demon came with its own challenges, but Swagger was tenacious if nothing else. Had always known exactly where he needed to be, and when he needed to be there. Confident that all these twists and turns would lead him to his Chosen. To sate him when the time was right.

Whether he would keep them or crush their bones between his jaws was still yet to be determined. Either way his troubles would be over.

He’d had the same dreams since he was a wee beast. Loud music and blinding strobe lights. Smoke rolling languidly from ornate silver sensors. A witch of his own, hiding somewhere in the world.

As he strutted across the tarmac he couldn't keep the shit eating grin off his face, there was a humming beneath his flesh, a simmering excitement beginning to bubble its way up his throat. And as they drew closer, Swagger knew in his little black heart that his time had finally come.

It had taken a few days of ground work before they'd gotten a reliable mark. As they would come to find out, one of the city's most popular nightclubs also posed as a front for illegal smuggling.

Very creative, Swagger huffed amusedly from his position. Feet kicking in the rafters as he watched the bodies writhe to the beat below him. He had been quick to slink inside and let his compatriots handle the intricacies, having hardly paid attention to the briefing before sauntering off in the opposite direction. The other two would do perfectly fine on their own with the petty human mission. He had other business to attend to.

He scanned the crowd through the round lenses of his gas mask. The head piece having become an unfortunate necessity over the last few years. The longer he'd gone without his Chosen, the more controlling himself had become…troublesome. Demons were insatiable creatures to begin with, requiring hardy meals of flesh and bone and blood that swirled through the living like the sweetest nectar. The longer he’d continued untethered, the more voracious his appetite became. Frequent contracts kept him placated enough, but holding in his strength and shape, especially when hunger clawed at his belly, made him unsuitable for more delicate operations.

He wrinkled his nose against the onslaught of sheer stink in the room. Sweat and weed, and far too many humans drenched in cheap cologne. Making it nearly impossible to sift through the cocktail of what could be human or Other.

Almost.

A scent wafts through the round vents of his mask, rich and sugary. Chocolate over cherries that was nearly lost among the rest. He stands, immediately alert, desperately searching for the source. Blinding lights dance across the glass of his lenses, music pounds, and Swagger finds himself dizzy with deja vu of it.

Here, here, here. They were here.

His body begins to tremble, sickly acid pooling in his mouth like some eager slobbering mutt. He slinks through the rafters, scanning body after body. His black little heart seizing in his chest when his eyes zero in on her.

His Chosen.

She gyrates gracefully to the music. All long ginger waves and cherry painted lips. Multicolored lights dancing over the black velvet minidress that hugged gorgeous full breasts and a soft belly, the exertion of the night painting her cheeks and neck with a hot flush.

She was perfect. Looking so warm and soft and fucking luxurious.

He could feel the tether rip through his chest, slamming his heart against the cage of his ribs as he drank her in. The once thin thread he had felt before now twisting and growing into a heavy rope, curling around his heart, suffocating him with the weight of its abundance.

A feral grin splits across his face as he watches it slam into her too. She stumbles, brows knitted with a palm against her sweaty chest. She whirls in confusion, trying to find the source in the undulating crowd.

I’ve got you now -

An explosion shakes the building, followed by the shrill bleating of alarms and pouring emergency sprinklers. The dance floor scattering in a flurry of frantic screams and flailing limbs. And in the split second his eyes tore away from her, she was gone. Lost in the sea of falling ceiling and fleeing bodies.

No, no, no.

He’d just found her! He couldn’t lose her now! Red hot anger rolls through him like a tidal wave. Roiling smoke spilling out from underneath his mask with the heat of it.

His comms crackle to life.

“They destroyed it themselves. Evac immediately.” comes a familiar german accent, Krueger, his unofficial lead for the operation. Always so fucking calm.

He snarls, dropping from the high rafters with a thud, moving lightening fast to snag a straggler in the panic. Lifting them clean off the ground, and slamming them bodily onto the floor. He pins them there, using his weight to hold down their frenzied thrashing. Stupid, clumsy, humans.

Roland yanks up the edge of his mask, lips twisted into a snarl, noxious fumes rolling out in waves from between his teeth. He opens his mouth, tongue lolling as he lets the acid there spill messily onto the flesh below him, relishing in the sizzle and burn as it melts through skin and muscle. The writhing stops soon after, and with little fanfare he plunges his fingers into now hollow sockets, snapping off pieces of blood soaked skull to devour like a gruesome party tray.

“Kaminski, now” comes another voice, very russian and very annoyed.

He sits up finally, scrubbing blood off the scruff of his chin. The familiar weight of his tether tugging at his chest. His witch was fine, still firmly connected to him, he could find her again soon enough. He stares, just a bit dazed at the flames roaring around him, the headless corpse beneath him still spilling blood lazily over beer soaked laminate. Perhaps he had overreacted.

He clears his throat, yanks his mask back down and dusts himself off. Pocketing the loose teeth he’d saved into his tac vest for a little snack later. With a tired sigh he trots outside as his teammates' annoyed tone buzzes in his ear once more.

What the fuck?

Ruby stands annoyed amongst the crowd of onlookers. Watching with healthy suspicion as the nightclub she favored most roared with flames.

Tonight was supposed to be her little bi-weekly ritual. Self care and all that. Get dolled up and take herself out for something fun. Dance her heart out, and maybe a little more if something pretty came sniffing. Dousing herself in magic was never a smart thing to do given her heritage, and she rarely bothered with any magic that changed her appearance, but she had really put in effort this evening. Full hair and skin routine, silky sweet lotions rubbed into her skin. All on top of the little black dress and blood red color painted onto her lips.

All of which had been sorely ruined when falling strobe lights nearly crushed her, emergency sprinklers soaking her to the bone. Now she stood like a soaked rat in the crowd of onlookers, hair frizzy and wet heels sliding uncomfortably, thankful for waterproof mascara at the least.

Something strange was afoot, and she wasn't about to chance a little charm to wick the water away, less even that draw something more unsavory to her.

Something had struck her on the dance floor. She could still feel it now, not painful, but tight, like a thread around her heart. The strange weight still clinging to her ribs was proof enough that something was certainly wrong. She had hardly had time to look at the faces around her before the alarms blared. Was this something cosmic? A curse?

She pondered her dreams. The same visions had been repeating for weeks now, neon lights, flames. Clairvoyance was not her specialty. Visions had never plagued her, nor did she seek them out. She had been taught early that the future was not finite, lines shift and flutter. She had deemed the art useless long ago, too unpredictable, and certainly not because the art had always been like sand through her fingers. What was the fun in always knowing anyway?

In hindsight it should have been obvious. That maybe the dreams hadn't just been dreams after all, but warnings… like she was supposed to just know that! Instead she had stubbornly fixed herself a sleepy time tea and ignored them without a second thought. A girl’s gotta get her beauty rest after all.

She had been in adamant danger. Maybe the weird feeling in her chest was another side effect? A more physical warning to urge her away? A little too late, she groused inwardly.

Another small explosion rocked the concrete below her, snapping her from her thoughts.

She scanned her surroundings again, her eyes falling to a trio of men in the distance. All clothed in masks and oddly tactical gear for just firefighters. She had caught a few murmurings around her. Something about a chemical fire and judging by the masks, that at least checked out? She slipped through the crowd, eyes pinned to the men. Determined to at least get a practical explanation for her paranoia.

She approaches with purpose. Heels in hand as she marches up to one of the men. Barefoot and lacking a fuck to give she asks whats going on, having learned a long time ago that if you say anything with enough confidence most people would just yield. She stares at the nearest one, his face nothing more than a black void behind a thinly netted veil. She no more than gets the words out before he is cutting her off.

“Keep back” he replies in a low german accent, holding a hand up to her in mild warning.

She huffs, feeling another set of eyes on her she spares a glance to one of the others, a bulkier man, with icy blue eyes surrounded in black fabric. There is something off about how they glow in darkness, and Ruby quickly averts her gaze, rolling her shoulders before she tries again, “What happ-”

“Confidential” he barks this time, the timber of it hitting her just so over the roar of flames. It sounded distinctly different from the calm warning he’d given her moments prior, like he'd pushed it right into her head.

She should leave. Instead, she pivots her legs, taking on a power stance as she crosses her arms. Lips pressed into a fine line, fully prepared to be annoying until she spots the third man coming toward them.

He approaches with purpose, flames dancing in the dark lenses of his gas mask. She cant see his eyes, but an unease washes over her, blood turning to ice. Adrenaline preparing her to fight or flee.

Her chest tightens, and in a split decision she does just that, tucking tail with as much dignity as possible and turning on a heel. He was certainly coming as backup, and the last thing she needed was to be the asshat on the news who started beef with the emergency crew.

Maybe she was just shaken up, it isn't everyday that you get nearly blown up. She'd survived, despite ignoring her dream’s incessant warnings. And maybe the tightness in her chest and belly was just gas. A serious case of the bubble guts after a truly dangerous encounter. She sighs, settling on taking the long way home and having a peppermint tea for safe measure.

–

Judge greets her as Ruby swings open the door to her dusty loft apartment. The big shaggy hound stepping carefully out of his nest on the couch, old bones creaking with a drawn out stretch. He trots over to her, big shaggy tail thwapping hard enough against her side table to make her keys jingle. She smiles at the old wolfhound, scrubbing her nails through the wirey fur of his chin. He schmoozes in closer, resting his big head against her belly as he leans on her bodily. She'd only been gone a few hours but the old man always acts as if it'd been days.

Exhausted from the night,she slides down her door and onto the floor. Wincing at the squelch of her soaked dress as her ass hit the hardwood.

She meets Judge's big brown eyes and sighs. “I think we got a problem buddy” she tells the gentle giant, who on cue begins giving her a once over, snuffling seriously at her ears and clothes.

Would he even be able to tell if something was off? Could familiars even smell curses? He continues his inspection, a steady rhythm of careful sniffing as he noses down her legs.

“What's the verdict buddy? Am I going to turn into a toad? Have perpetually burnt toast?”

He finishes with a final snuffle to her face, huffing out a stinky breath, forceful enough to blow her hair from her face. With a tired yawn he lays down over legs, his large body hanging off of her at an obviously uncomfortable angle.

If Judge wasn't bothered, It can't be that bad, right?

And yet….

She closes her eyes, taking deep breaths to center herself. She tries to see it. This pesky thing attached to her, and it appears. Nebulous in the ether of her mind, a wispy red thread stretching out from her and into the infinite darkness. She concentrates on it, reaches out to grasp it with both hands and yanks, like ripping off a band-aid.

It doesn't budge, only briefly pulling taught like a fishing line before falling slack again, floating easily in a nonexistent breeze.

She tries again, twisting her fingers through it, tugging it this way and that. Tries to pull the string apart between her fingers. It stretches and pulls, but gives no indication of damage.

Well shit.

Roland perches on a building ledge across the street, watching her through the large windows of her run down apartment. It's homely, with large bookshelves lining one wall, filled to the brim with old worn out tomes who couldn't quite make out the titles of. A myriad of plants hang from her high ceilings and fire escape. She’d even hung soft linen curtains and warm strings of tea lights throughout her space. Giving it a soft orangey glow.

He wasn't going to follow her quite so soon. But when the silly witch toyed with their tether like that, she was begging him to come find her.

Nosey thing wasn't she? He'd lit up like a christmas tree when he heard her speak, stubborn confidence in a soft southern drawl as she'd sassed Krueger. He restrained himself as best as he could before approaching, giddy to get a better look at her. Only for the little witch to flee. Which was fair enough.

His attention is pulled again when she comes shuffling back in, faced washed and now clad in an oversized t shirt and sweatpants. Grabbing a leash from the side table she swings her way back out the door, oversized hound in tow.

Leaving again so soon? He'd been fully prepared to wait until she slept. Slink into her apartment and simply snag her there. She was either very brave or very stupid. Either way she would be under his wing soon, warm and protected.

He tails her from the rooftops, ogling the sway of her hips as she trails behind her mutt. Waiting patiently as the dog stopped every few feet to sniff a trash can or street corner.

Swagger waits, anticipating her route and slinking down into the alley near her complex. Eager to see her close up. As anticipated she passes through, eyes scanning the darkness where he lays shrouded in shadows.

However, the mutt pauses, sniffing at the air before standing stone still, a fine line of hair splitting up his back as his hackles raise, growling into the shadows. He would have preferred not to scare her first but no matter.

He saunters out of the darkness, hands in his pockets as if this were a serendipitous reunion. She freezes, grasping the little bejeweled can of pepper spray tighter in her free hand. She stares at him wide eyed as he makes a careful approach, her eyes flickering briefly to lead attached to her first line of security.

“Easy, ma petite. I'm not going to hurt you” he coos softly. Pausing a safe distance away from the slobbering beast standing between him and his witch. She'd be smart to let it go, however if the dog bit him, he would most certainly be biting back. Dog isn't the worst thing he's eaten over the years.

“Look, I'm sorry about earlier, if this is some kind of interrogation tactic, I can't help you. I don't know anything about that club thing” she says slowly, taking a careful step away from him, one he follows immediately with his own.

He likes hearing her talk. Her voice is low and soft with a drawl he's only really heard in movies. It's endearing in a way.

“Not here about that.” he says simply, taking another step closer.

Something unreadable flickers behind her eyes and he watches as her pretty plush lip wobble, eyes going misty.

“No need for tears, witchling” he reminds her softly. Even though she looked so pretty with tears in her eyes. His cock gives an interested twitch at the thought of licking those tears from her cheeks, tasting the salt of her on his tongue.

“Witchling?” she croaks, brows furrowed in confusion. Her soft body trembling as she tugs her pet closer to her side.

Swagger cocks his head. Did she not know? He thought it was odd to see her on her own like this, had the great covens truly left their kindred to the wolves?

His poor thing, she was lucky she was his chosen, she'd be nothing but blood on the pavement if any other demon had happened upon her first.

“Yes princesse, it's in your blood. I can show you” he offers lightly “Just need to come with me.” he takes another step forward, raising his arms in mock surrender.

She continues to sniffle, eyes flickering back and forth in thought before she looks at him again.

And it happens all at once, her fear stricken face shifting to one of pure malice.

“I'm not going anywhere” she hisses.

He barely notices the flick of her wrist before the concrete rattles below him. No time to dodge away as jagged cement teeth emerge from the earth below him. A bastardized carnivorous plant made of stone and rebar.

He howls as misshapen teeth split though muscles and bone. A sickening squelch echoing through the alley as his arm is ripped messily from the shoulder. The concrete monstrosity crunching audibly before sinking back into the sidewalk with its bloody prize. He clutches the bleeding stump. Stumbling and whirling to get his eyes back on his witch.

Gone, not even the sound of her footsteps. The sly shit hadn't wasted a second. He should be angry, furious at the witches' deception.

Yet he stands there panting. Listening to the residual aura of her power fizzle and crack in the air around him like lightning. He feels elated. The static of old magic buzzing beneath his skin, raising his hair on end as what blood he has left flows between his thighs.

He curses, clumsily propping himself up against the alley wall, using his good arm to fish his cock out from his tac gear. Not only was she gorgeous, but she was clever, powerful.

He pumps himself lazily with blood soaked fingers. Groaning as he gives himself a squeeze. Swiping a thumb through the copious precum weeping from his tip and dragging his slick over the quickly drying tack of blood on his length.

He's dizzy with it, whole body pulsing with pain and pleasure and the electric buzz of her still left the air.

He pumps in earnest now, lewd slick sounds fill the alley as he pants like a dog. Fucking his fist to the thought of his pretty thing running from him. Tits bouncing and sweat slick as he chases her through back alley streets.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He spills into his hand with a choked sound. Pulling spend down his blood soaked cock in lazy strokes until it turns a pretty pink.

He remains there for a moment, catching his breath as he grows soft and the adrenaline fades. Leaving nothing but the radiating pain in his shoulder and the reality that he is literally standing around with his dick in his hand.

He tucks himself back in, giving himself a good natured pat over the groin, laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

He can't even find it in himself to be mad. Only amused at his witch's clever little show. Oh yes. She would do perfectly, they just had a few wrinkles to iron out.

He winces a bit, the uncomfortable stretching of bones and flesh growing and stitching itself back together, reminding him of his new issue.

A quick meal would speed up the recovery, but it wouldn't go unnoticed by Krueger and Nikto. He pushes himself off of the wall, thinking up his next plan of action.

He already knew where she lived, and even if she ran the tether would bring them back together regardless.

He'd let her rest. Think on her actions.

For now. Dinner was in order.

#wildcraft writing #roland swagger kaminski #nikto cod #sebastian krueger #call of duty #chubby oc #swagger x oc #nikto x oc #krueger x oc #oc: ruby martin #this is completely self indulgent #I hope you guys like it

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