#Before I say anything I know he used the bullet on his neck to shoot him I just wanted drama okay!!!!

[tapeworrmart]

Eye to eye 🐍🐾

[ramonathinks]

lesson— onyankopon short short short drabble

warnings: (18+) gunplay, ony is in the mafia, mention of violence, cursing, dirty talk, established relationship, fingering (with a gun 💔💔 crazy ik), she/her pronouns

summary: onyankopon teaches you how to shoot a gun for the first time.

“now, you hold it like this.” he helps your body relax, with his hands circling your waist so slightly and his mouth close to the back of your neck.

“can’t believe my pretty girl wants to learn how to do this… don’t you know I’ll protect you? you’re way too soft and sweet for this…” he’s said that about a million times before and he continues to say it, making it more and more clear that he didn’t want to do this. but with his hand on your waist, he kicks your feet more apart — helping you with your stance.

“deep breaths.” you shiver when he says that so close to your ear. “you can’t freeze up, when the moments right you have to make the shot, a skilled person won’t hesitate… no matter how pretty you are, okay? so you can’t take too long. you just got to do it.”

but it was harder said than done. you knew that life with him was dangerous and sometimes even with a million bodyguards that something could happen. you needed to be prepared for it at all costs. “relax your shoulders, make it natural. you’re too tense.” he pinches your shoulders and they drop a bit.

“this is my first time holding a gun, im holding someone’s life in my hands, of course im tense!” you whine, you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes yet again. even though this was your idea and a way to be in his world, it was still so much pressure. you swallowed and your lips quivered. “i just… i wanna be able to do this when i need to but im scared. imma be so useless…”

“hey, look at me…” he taps your chin and you drop your stance. “just being able to admit that you wanna be able to protect yourself is a bit step, remember that. i don’t plan on you ever having to use this this custom baby pink hello kitty gun… i got it for you because you asked. you learned how to put all the bullets in, week one, you learned how to clean it and unjam it, make sure it’s not on the safety. you’re badass mama. stop being mean to yourself… you need me to teach you a lesson?”

that’s how you ended up in the position you were in.

he circled the gun on your clit, dragging it down and watching you twitch. your wetness already all over the gun and he couldn’t help but smile, a twisted little smile. using his fingers he spread your lips a bit more and pressed the gun to your entrance.

then his gun inside of you, twisting and entering you. “so fucking wet. you tryna jam my gun baby? you’re so dirty…” he continues to stretch you out, your juices coating the gun and dripping on to your shared bed.

you dug your fingers into his wrist, trying to get him to slow down at least. “ony— ony, baby… slow down.” but your legs shook and your hips grinder deeper.

“you fucking soaking my glock and you think i can stop? im gonna fuck this pussy up, show you not to talk about what’s mine… don’t ever want to hear you saying anything bad about yourself.” his dick jumped in his pants when he saw your eyes haze over.

“can i just…” your eyes had stars in them. “need to put you in my mouth, let me say sorry.”

your were salivating.

[loaksbitch]

imagine how the sully boys would react to your sudden death right after you both fought or had an argument? — i don’t know why i wrote this but i had to write the pain i’m going through.

warnings — mention of death, numb feelings, losing mate, blood mention, lmk if i have to add anything.

“i’m so sorry” — jake sully

jake would instantly know something is wrong, that something has definitely happened to you. he would fly his ikran to where his friends had called him through the neck microphone, worry settling in him.

right the moment he lands to the ground, the na’vi’s that were covering your body opened a way for him. jake doesn’t say anything, looking at their eyes and questioning what was wrong. they only gave him a sad gaze, avoiding his eyes.

he could feel his knees weakening as he kept getting closer and closer. his heart raced, mind drifting to ugly thoughts.

jake let a small whimper out when your body came to view. he swallowed the pain on his throat, blinking the tears away. you’re laying on the floor, eyes closed and your sister next to you, holding onto your lifeless hand and crying.

she would look up to his standing figure, shaking her head and crying more. jake locked eyes with her before returning his gaze back to you. he was slow when he kneeled next to your body.

your lips were dry, no life in your face like there was minutes before you two argued and left him. jake bites on his inner cheek, pushing the threatening sob down to the pit of his chest.

the world shut down, the only source of light was your body in his mind. “baby.” he says, voice cracking and ears folding to his hair. you didn't answer him and it was breaking him. “c’mon, open your eyes.” he would brush his hand on the cold skin of your cheek.

“they shot her, they shot her when she was trying to save us.” your sister cried more.

jake told you not to do anything, at least not until he gave you an order but you were always stubborn. you always said no to things he told you not to do, you were the opposite.

jake closes his eyes, sneaking his arm under your head and pulling you to his body. he just wants to be close to you. he doesn’t say anything, the na’vi people watching him in concern when he just silently hugs you close to him.

you’re dead now, you’re no longer with him.

if only you heard him, if only you stopped being a stubborn brat and followed his orders. he still remembers how he yelled at you, telling you nothing you do will be worthy.

you just wanted him to know you can protect the people. your people.

jake softly cries, tears free from his eyes. “i’m sorry.” he would cry, holding you close like you’re the only oxygen he needed. “i’m so sorry, baby.” he cries. jake was never going to forgive himself after this. no, he just can’t live happily knowing he was somehow the reason that led you to your death.

“i’m sorry.” he would whisper as he kept crying.

“she’s not answering me” — neteyam sully

you died protecting him.

neteyam won’t ever stop taking the blame, not when you died taking a bullet for him. everything was in a slow mo, you screaming his name and throwing yourself on top of him.

he felt your body fall on top of him, tumbling him down to the floor. he cursed under his breath, arms wrapped on your waist to prevent you from getting hurt. “shit.” from the corner of his eyes, he can see his brother shooting the enemies and killing them all at once.

once everything was silent, neteyam held onto your back, about to get you up but he was met with a warm liquid smearing over his fingers.

he brings his hand up to see blood all over his hand and instant panic hits him. “princess?” he tries to shake you but you’re not budging. he was fast to roll you over, him on top of you and calling your name.

you’re not answering and it was eating him alive.

“don’t play with me, pretty girl, c’mon.” he taps on your cheek, looking down to see the hole the bullet created from your side to your stomach. neteyam can sense lo’ak walking close to him and gasping when he sees the mess.

“lo’ak, she's not answering me.” the panic and pain was visible in neteyam’s voice. your eyes are closed, not breathing, it was driving your mate crazy. “LO’AK! SHE’S NOT OPENING HER EYES?!” he was in pain, cradling your face to his large hands and humming.

“c’mon baby, lo-look at me.” his breath hitches, tears blurring his vision. “please, eywa, no.” it was in a blink of an eye when he lost you, when neteyam lost you to a fucking bullet.

he doesn’t care how he was looking maniac in front of his family that got here now. he can’t live without you, it’s hard without you. nothing was worth it without you and you’re just gone like that.

neteyam won’t be able to live one moment with you no longer next to him. he can’t and won’t accept the fact you died protecting him.

“i can’t lose you.” — lo’ak sully.

lo’ak knew the trouble he causes would make him pay consequences and he knew dragging you into his problems would cost him high prices.

he doesn’t even know how things turned dark so fast, how the sound of you giggling while you two hide in the bush from the skypeople shifted to where you’re now fighting for your life and whimpering in pain.

“hang on baby, we’re almost there.” he holds you close, trying to sit you straight and help you lean on his chest while he flies you both with his ikran.

the skypeople found you two and tried to get you, but lo’ak was fast enough to get you both out of there but what he didn’t know was you had been shot on your chest while he kept dragging you by your hand.

“lo’ak, i can’t breath.” your loincloth was soaked with your own blood. lo’ak let a cry out, pressing his hand to your chest and commanding his ikran to hurry. “no, try to breath, i can’t lose you.”

he knew he was going to lose you, he knows you’re gonna die sooner or later but lo’ak was in denial. your vision was blurry but you know you’re not far from the village now. but the sad thing was you know you don’t have much time.

you’re barely conscious when the ikran lands on the camp. lo’ak sliding down before bringing you down and securing his arms under your knee and back. you cough, metalic taste on your tongue. “lo’ak…” he heard you whisper but he only shushed you, telling you not to waste your energy.

“SOMEONE HELP! MY MATE IS DYING?!” you can hear him cry, your head lolling to his chest. he knew you didn't have much time, the blood you lost was too much and was smearing on both of your bodies, your vision suddenly turned white, something pulling you down in force.

lo’ak watches the na’vi’s gasp in shock, your weight now heavy on his hold. he was scared to look down, his heart in pain when he didn't feel you breathing. lo’ak sucks a deep breath and looks at you, taking your relaxed features.

his knees were weak, he was now kneeling and placing you on the ground. “no,” he silently whispers. lo’ak glances at your chest and it’s not moving, you’re not breathing and something in him breaks. “no, no, no.” you’re gone too soon.

his bloody large palm pressing on chest, trying to get your life back. “you just can’t leave, wake up.” he cries, shaking his head. lo’ak brings your blood smeared and lifeless hand to his cheek, trying to feel your warmth but nothing was there.

“open your eyes fr’me, look at me.” he hates how the people are watching him in sympathy, his mother’s voice getting closer. your eyes are open, staring on nothing when you’re being cradled to his arm. your blood was all over his face, hand, chest.

no one knows what happened, you two were laughing when you left for a flying date but now lo’ak is back with a lifeless body of a person who he saw his future with.

lo’ak keeps crying, having your body close to him and hissing when the na’vi’s try to take you away. he knew his actions will have consequences but on eywa he never thought you were the price he was costing.

are we feeling okay? i need thoughts on this cause i can’t be the only one suffering now teehee ;D — like + reblogs are super appreciated!

i love each and every one of you sm! ** mwah

[loko4koko]

Cowboy Toji. He's taken over my mind. Imagine him tied up with his own rope, commanding you to help him, but instead, we tease him till he's all hot and bothered.

oh my sweet anon you have NO idea how this ask has affected me 😭 as someone who used to be heavy in the rdr2 fandom, i have a LOT (A LOT) of thoughts about sexy yummy cowboy men hehe

gn!reader but they do wear a dress!

MDNI 18+ BELOW THE CUT

cowboy!toji—well, he isn’t just a cowboy, he’s a bounty hunter. one of the best around, too. he has no rivals because everyone knows they aren’t even close to being as tough as him. he’ll hog tie a bounty right up (or shoot them if they’re being a pain in the ass), sling ‘em on the back of his horse, and when he’s done dropping them at the sheriff’s, he’ll use the hefty reward to celebrate at the nearby saloon.

only, toji may have celebrated a little too hard this time, ‘cause he fell victim to one of the oldest scams in the book. 4 whiskey shots and 2 beers in, toji gets approached by a working girl, and she’s real pretty, too, so who would he be to say no to a little company? so he stumbles off with her, following her lead to a secluded room in the saloon. but what happens there is far from what toji had expected.

when he wakes up, only a couple of hours later, he can’t see anything. the room is dark, and…why does it feel so cold? there’s a grimace on toji’s face as he tries to get up from what he thinks is the floor, only to realize his limbs are completely immobile. ‘that fucking girl…” he thinks, hissing as the ropes tied around his almost completely naked form dig into his flesh. he’s left in nothing but his underwear, grumbling angrily to himself while he tries desperately to wriggle out of his binds. that girl must’ve been a pro at this, though, ‘cause those ropes aren’t budgin’.

you’re in the storage room next door, organizing the newest case of liqour when you hear it. there’s someone groaning, some shuffling, and it startles the hell out of you. you set the box full of alcohol aside and listen further, and when the person swears your eyes widen. you tiptoe your way out to the hall, pressing your ear up against the door of the second, empty storage room. “goddamn thievin’ girl..shit..” you hear them say. it’s a man’s voice, real deep and boy, does he sound angry. your curiosity gets the best of you in the end, so you push the door open, reaching to turn on the lantern near the entrance. it takes a second for your eyes to adjust but when they do, your breath hitches.

there’s a man—just like you’d heard from the other room—and he’s..oh. your face grows hot as you take in the compromising position he seems to be in. his short black hair is tousled, scar on his lip twisted up as he tries to wriggle himself free, and when he looks up at you, it’s like a switch flips inside of you.

“ya mind givin’ me a hand here, doll?”

those dark, brooding eyes follow your every movement as you cross the short distance to reach him. you drop to the floor in front of him, dirtying the long skirt of your dress but you couldn’t care less. you’ve heard stories of a famous bounty hunter, one who could clear rooms with his gaze alone. the one with the scar and the midnight black stallion. the man who rides through the night like death incarnate. the one and only toji fushiguro. and here he was, bound in his own ropes, right in front of you.

your eyes are full of wonder as you take him in, hand subconsciously reaching out to smooth a thumb across his scarred lip. it’s real. he’s real. and he’s bared before you, wrapped up like a present that only you know about. your fingers skip a path down to his chiseled jaw, then further, down past the thick cords of his neck, before they come to a stop on his broad chest. the skin is flawed—healed knife slashes and bullet grazings etched across his pale flesh—but still so soft, so inviting with how it ripples under your delicate touch. as you explore him, your thumb brushes his nipple and he shudders, steely eyes boring into you when you meet his stare.

“this ain’t what i meant by ‘givin’ me a hand, sweetheart’,” he says, voice rumbling low.

“i- i’m sorry, do you..want me to stop?”

he’s silent for a long moment, jaw clenched tight while your hand hovers just off of his toned abdomen. your palm is so close you can still feel the heat radiating from him, and it’s killing you how badly you want that heat on you directly from the source.

“no.”

so you don’t stop. your hands are fully on him now, groping at his chest and caressing his stomach. and when your hand trails lower, your eyes meet his again and he holds your gaze quietly. you can feel how hard he is through his underwear, can feel how hot and big and throbbing he is. lip between your teeth, you take the plunge and grip him tight, barely able to wrap your hand around the girthy shaft. he hisses, eyes still on you, unwavering in their confidence. it doesn’t matter to toji that he’s the one restrained, he knows (in his sober state) that he could intimidate anyone into backing down, and you’re no exception. but there’s something in him, something that he sees in you that has him keening at your touch. in him- addicted, in you- addicting.

you’ve reduced this big, burly, violent man into a grunting mess. there’s sticky spots of pre staining his underwear and his head has fallen back between his bulky shoulders and fuck, he wants to cum, so bad—so fucking bad—but you’re not as sweet as you look, keep slowing the pump of your wrist down when his hips start to grind up into the strokes.

are you going to be nice, be kind to this scary man? or are you going to leave him there, high and dry? choose wisely, he’s a professional at finding people who’ve wronged him…

>thank u for reading ♡︎

>masterlist.exe

>send a request here!

[vesper-tinus]

Hi Vespertine!! First off I wanted to say that I’m super impressed with how amazing your writing is considering English is your third language!! It is mine too, after Spanish and French, what about you?

Anyways I say your requests were open and I thought I could jump in and give you an idea. It’d be a König x female reader, in which she is a worldwide recognized sniper, but they only know her alias, so when she accepts a job at KorTac, König is smitten with her instantly, maybe she’s in the shooting range training at night and he comes up to her? What do you think?

Hello, anon!

What a lovely message, thank you so much! My languages are Danish, Italian, followed by English 😙 I took Spanish & German in school, unfortunately I don't remember much!

I love the idea! Hopefully I managed to write something you can agree with!

𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 König x F!Reader

Summary: On a late night, you find more at the shooting range than you expected. Keywords: König, female Reader, reader is a sniper, you have fun shooting guns in a safe environment 👍 König is giving puppy fanboy energy. Wordcount: 1206.

Bang.

Another shot rings throughout the empty, indoors shooting range. You lower your weapon, and unsurprisingly, your bullet ripped through the tacky, free sticker that came with a pair of shoes you bought recently. It might not be a normal use of stickers, but hey, you’re anything but normal… and the sticker was free. 

You press a button and the long-distanced fiberboard creaks towards you. 

They dubbed you "Lovelace''. After the mathematician. All due to your sharpened mind being able to perform extraordinary feats of warfare and calculations, all through the small scope of a sniper rifle. Companions have been noted to refer to you as either 'Love' or 'Lace', depending on the situation (and your relationship)—but those companions have been left behind for the time being. KorTec’s mercenaries are your companions now, though you have yet to actually meet any of them. 

With the board coming to an abrupt halt in front of you, you peel off the damaged sticker, replacing it with another, before sending the target away again, tracking it through your scope. 

Your ears perk at the sound of someone entering—even with the noise cancelling headphones—so you hold your fire and listen. 

From their footsteps, you can tell they are not attempting to disguise their approach towards you. So you mind your business, emptying your lungs before taking the shot—bullseye—and lower the rifle onto the desk before turning towards the newcomer. Sliding down the ear-protectors to rest around your neck. 

“Late-night practice?” Comes the question from the stranger, and you clock the Austrian accent almost immediately. You have toured there before for a mission. Great coffee. 

The answer to his question is an obvious one, but you humour him, and offer him a curt nod and pleasant smile. “Got it in one,” you say with welcoming tone, wiping your hand on your thigh as you approach him for a handshake. “I’m—”

“Lovelace. I—I know.”

You blink. You had not expected to hear your callsign to be said with such… enthusiasm. While you cannot see his face, the awe is undeniable on his tongue. His infatuation showed freely in his eyes—almost sparkling. Such piercing blue eyes, you think absentmindedly as your hand is shaken. He seems almost reluctant to let you go, and you cannot help but quirk a smile. You are rarely, if ever, met with such boyish fascination. 

“I have been following your career,” he says, straightening his back. “You’re an incredible sniper, it’s an honour to have you on the team.” His fingers twitch. It’s almost overwhelming meeting you in person. “I’m König,” he says, finally remembering he (rudely) interrupted your introduction. 

His stature is impressive, formidable even. And your eyes never leave his as you step backwards until you can lean against the desk—and funnily enough, he follows you. The image reminding you of a puppy trotting after its master. “I’m honoured you keep me in such high regards,” you say with a chuckle, mirth arising from your throat as one leg comes to cross over the other in a casual, relaxed posture. “It’s all very cute.” You glance up at him, a smile pulling up one corner of your mouth, your eyebrow raised just enough to tell him that he is not as subtle as he might think. “King.”

You translating his callsign should not affect him as much as it does, aber Scheiße does it cause him to do a double take. He clears his throat, coming to stand near you. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to say. So he goes for whatever the both of you have in common. Guns—more specifically, sniper rifles. 

“I, uh. I tried becoming a sniper once,” he says, eyeing the discarded rifle on the surface behind you. You follow his eyes, the only thing you can see of his face, and you unceremoniously hold the rifle up to him. Brow arched.

“Then you must have some training. Mind showing me what I’m working with?” Your tone is inviting, almost playful, as you encourage him to let loose. “-and if you want, I don’t mind giving pointers.” The last thing you want is him thinking you find yourself superior. You know how frustrating it can be, when others force “suggestions” on your techniques. Unfortunately, you have been the victim of many such men. 

Thankfully, König seems thrilled to have your expertise at his beck and call, and lines himself up in the booth. You give him the space he needs. “Hold fire,” you order, inspecting his posture, his grip on the rifle, and suddenly you can’t help but imagine yourself back at the many sniper courses you’ve attended. You see his trigger finger twitch, not enough to fire, but enough to make you comment on it. “Steady fingers, König.”

“Apologies. I am… excited,” he admits with a faint chuckle. He cannot help himself. He cannot help himself so he sneaks a glance at you, and he’s thankful that his expression is veiled, because he’s smiling.

“Alright, I’ve grilled you long enough. Compensate for bullet drop, and impress me.” 

He’s not sure if you caught him staring or not, but if you did, he’s thankful you didn’t mention it. “Yes,” he says, exhaling to empty his lungs as he prepares his shot. 

A short silence follows, and then… 

Bang.

The rifle shot echoes around you. Both your ears are, more or less, insensitive to it at this point. 

You squint your eyes as you check the target. Not a bullseye, but a few centimetres north of your original sticker-shot. You find yourself nodding in approval. König hasn’t moved a muscle after the shot, awaiting any further instructions. 

“Not a bad shot, König.” You pause, quirking a smile. “Go ahead and finish the magazine. Rapid fire.” Might as well put him through his paces, you’re curious to see how well he aims when pressured. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Comes the response.

Shot, after shot, after shot, after shot rings out. You are quick to notice that the more shots he’s firing, the less stable his posture is. But when the rifle empties its last bullet, König breathes a sigh as a hand disappears beneath his hood to rub his jaw. The gun rests on the tabletop, spent. 

Wordlessly, you press the button to call the fiberboard. 

“You have a hard time standing still,” you comment in a light-tone. A casual observation, not a reprimand. “Your pinky started twitching after the fourth round, and you kept repositioning your left leg.” Alright, that might have come off as reprimanding. “...but otherwise, good. Very good, even.” 

König rubs the back of his neck, almost embarrassed at the observations. “I doubt you would be surprised to know, that’s what kept me from graduating. That and my height.” 

You reach up to pat his shoulder before turning to the board.

What you find is not what you expected. 

A perfect circle encasing your bullet-hole. The shots almost perfectly aligned with two centimetres between each. You look to König, baffled at your discovery, and he chuckles as he notes your expression. You wait for an explanation, and he gives it after a moment. 

“Der König beschützt die Königin.”

The King protects the Queen.

[shutit-haha]

Retired MafiaBakugo HC

Bakugo isn't that much older than you, he just acts like he is. His body aches sometimes, muscles spasming or clenching involuntarily. If he steps wrong his knee pops out of place and you've got to push it back in. There's bullet wounds you don't like to look at for too long since he only has them because of you.

Playfully you call him your old man, to which he responds one of two ways. On tired days: he'll sigh, hands reaching for you while he growls out an "I know."

On those days where he's feeling more like himself, he'll bark, face scrunching into a snarl. "I'm not old dammit! We're nearly the same fucking age!"

You especially like saying it while he's busy doing something. Like how he struggles bench pressing while snarling at you, or the one time he fucked up his measuring too busy arguing with you. You're just such a big distraction, can't think of anything else once you've gotten his attention.

Bakugo still acts like he's in the Mafia, he can't help it. You've tried to teach this old dog new tricks but he found his tricks transfer over real well. When ever new people come around he squares up and cracks his neck. He stares them down all scary and intimidating. He takes up as much space as possible when entering a room.

Your husband when not on the phone rest it on his crotch and inner thigh just like he used to with his gun.

He speaks to you without speaking to you. Blinks for just a second longer when he's about to lose his temper. You rush into conversations all polite and open-minded. Even though the conversations have moved from negotiations that could end in death, to "I'm surprised you do all the house work." Sometimes it just means you need to take a breath and let the argument end where it is.

He'll raise his pointer finger and beckon you closer with a curl from the end. He watches you carefully waiting for you to tap your finger twice as a signal to him. Though now it's only reserved for when you can't breathe while he's down your throat, he remembers it from when things would start to get unsafe. Your husband watches for that fake smile you give, flashing a single one of your fangs. You use it when you need to get out of places, this includes awkward conversations.

You've grown used to his paranoia. Checking the locks on the doors everytime he passes them. Keeping the garage key opposite to where the garage is. Occasionally he'll take a different route home just to see if that car was really following him. You learned not to get too attached to these houses after the third move, to which your husband promised was your last. True to his word you've lived stabile in this home just fine.

You've grown used to his nightmares, finger twitching in his sleep like it's still on the trigger. Groans that arch his back, and have him double over his stomach. He can still feel the searing pain that comes with the bullets. The ones that penetrate leave mark deep with his brain despite never coming close to his head. He only remembers them, because they're yours. Because the bullets were fired for you, shots that never hit but were supposed too. He was lucky enough to jump in the way in time, shooting out his rounds just moments before he was even hit.

Katsuki killed that bastard. There's no question about it. It was nice and slow, and he'd do it again.

[luveternals]

paring: 1. simon 'ghost' riley x mercenary male reader rating: mature, MDNI cw: implied killing, mention of killing, tell me if I missed anything (a little rushed bc I'm trying to build a schedule here ;^; sorry! I'll fix it later, promise.) ~ ~ ~

It’s the perfect night for a kill.

The moon shines bright up above, but it’s a pale wonder in comparison to the lights hanging over the city square. You’re sitting at one of the tables set near the center for the event.

Your target is a nobody, a goon bold enough to try his fortune, lucky enough to succeed. Feeling generous, you let him have his moment, let him bask in the attention. Before you'll rip it away, hands stained with his blood.

The guy doesn’t seem a threat to anyone but himself, and you have to wonder what he could have possibly done to have you, of all people, be sent after him. Sometimes not asking questions does make your job harder.

But the money is convenient, and you're not giving that up.

You stand, empty glass abandoned on the table, let your lips spread into a lazy grin, and move to blend in with the crowd.

The man sits at the bar, the conversation with his admirers forgotten in favor of the fresh refill of his sparkling drink the bartender sets in front of him. “This one’s for you,” you imagine the bartender say, “offered by the anonymous stranger over there with the charming smile.”

It’s not hard to step to the counter and steal a seat right next to his while he stares at the glass. His eyes are glazed over when he meets your gaze, alcohol burning a pleasurable chill through his vein.

Face flushed, pupils dictated, and lips pulls into an awkward grin, he leans against the counter. “My luck really isn't over yet, eh,” he slurps and raises his drink to tip it your way, “Don’t need anyone to pay for me, but why pass the chance to meet the handsome man that comes with the free drink?”

“i wonder, is a simple close up of my face all you’d expected to get alongside it?” you say, amused.

He perks up and sits up. “Well,” he says stretching the word, “are you offering anything else? Would love t’know,” he leams forward and runs his gaze down your body.

You press your lips into a thin line and have to fight for it not to turn into a grimace. At least he wasn’t dumb enough to just reach over and touch.

“I think we should move somewhere else so you can find out, hmm?”

You don’t know how people do it, to use your body to get what you want out of your victim. But in such a crowded space and so in the open, there is little else you could do to get him to move somewhere more secluded.

Besides meeting your target here does have its own little perks. Especially for someone with his own little bounty on the back of his head.

There are too many people to keep track of unless your following your target close up or from a high vantage point.

“After you,” you say and when he turns away to leave, you turn your head and shift your attention upwards. There’s a hotel facing right towards the square, windows sparkling as they reflect the event's lights.

You don’t have to scan the building to find your own hunter.

The light of his own room have been left off, strategically placed between other empty rooms to avoid suspicion. But years of this life have taught you where to look and when you send a wink his way through the lens of his scope, you know he had him.

You turn back around to follow your own target, exposing your back to a possible bullet to the neck.

He won't shoot anyway.

Not now, not here. Not when it would send the people into a panic. Not when you are more valuable alive than dead — if they ever get their hands on you in the first place, of course.

It’s a perfect night for a kill, yes. And perhaps, for a close up to a different face as well. One that is hidden behind a mask, which despite, his believes, doesn’t add to his anonymity. You think it only adds to his fame, really.

-

Killing is inconvenient.

Despite the money it can land you if you have the right contacts and skill set, killing is inconvenient.

The body you are left with. The blood that clings to every surface like a witness. And all other clues and tracks you might leave behind if you're not careful.

Setting things right as if you’re innocent is what takes up most of the work and time. The planning, the actually doing the act, the aftermath.

It’s late into the night when you finish the deed. It’s late into the night when a white skull appears from the shadows, the moonlight spilling into the room from the balcony accentuates every detail.

He leans against the wall and watches you in silence. You'd be impressed that he found you, if you hadn't lead him here yourself.

“Is this how you make friends?” you ask, leaning back against the kitchen island of your new, little safe place for the night. “Creep on them from the darkest shadows?”

“You knew I was there,” he says, voice flat and gaze burning from inside the eye holes.

“Did I?” you say and let out a chuckle, “and you let me go through with my job after all. I’m surprised.”

You push yourself off the island and step forward, closer. Slow and calculate.

He watches you, but doesn’t twitch a muscle when you stop at stabbing distance. “I wonder. Is my employer joining forces with you to pay his debt to me?” you say. “Or do you need my service and my target tonight was a simple nuisance to you?”

“We don’t work with criminals.”

“Of course not,” you say with a dangerous grin, “so, who's my new target? Mind you, I have a different price for you.”

He crosses his arms and squints at you in suspicion. “Which is?”

“I think you can figure it out yourself. I like money, but I don’t have any real need for it.”

Infamous Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley. He would be quite the price instead, you think.

Whoever the new bounty is, their days are over.

~ ~ ~ a/n: just telling ya, reader isn't the same as the last story, not crazy! Just in for the fun XD disclaimer: I don't know bananas about military nor cod. just here for the fun too :)

[freestyle-crocodile-trashpile]

Fear

[A/n:I just randomly thought of this and haha I don't know how this is gonna turn out]

Summary:During a mission you seen someone familiar, too familiar and Ghost is the closest person to you

Type:Scenario: Ghost X M!Reader

Version:Mw2

~

It was like usual, in a building killing off the enemy. Separated from everyone but Ghost who was quite far but the closest and in sight. The enemy was coming left and right, not stopping. You could hear Ghost curse under his breath everytime he was alerted more people knew of their present. You on the other hand were quite calm, since you still had a ton of ammo due to Ghost being in front of you the whole time. When you two finally cleared the room with barely any bullets left, you two checked the body's to continue your search.

"Find anything Ghost?"

You shout from across the room, dropping another body in the process.

"Negative"

You looked over you shoulder and seen a flash. Not like a camera flash, or flashlight. But like a quite memory of someone, you couldn't tell who but it set you on guard even more.

"Sergeant!"

You quickly snap out of your thoughts when Ghost called for you. Realizing you were zoned out you rushed across the run to Ghost.

"In thought I'm guessing"

You gave a small 'mm' before you two moved to the next room. Looking around Ghost gave you to go ahead as he entered the room. Entering behind him 6ou creeped around the room, searching for any clues. Which could be anything at this point.

"Behind you Sergeant!!"

Ghost shouted loudly, a lot louder than ever before. Turning around quickly you froze. You knew that face, that face was why you were in the military. You figured you'd never see them again. No....you wished you'd never see them again.

"Y/n...."

You dropped to the ground as they stood.

"Long time no see"

They smirked, they knew the effect they had on you. It was obvious. Ghost was busy with other people to be able to help you. As you started to crawl away from them you could hear the muffled voices of Alejandro and soap up stairs.

"Aww I thought you'd he happy to see me"

They leaned down and grabbed you by the collar of your shirt.

"Aren't you just...thrilled to see me"

They had a devilish grin as you wiggled in their grip. Why? Why were you so scared of one person? Shoot them..Shot them y/n. Why can't you? You have a gun? Shoot.Them.

"SERGEANT!"

Your thoughts raced as tears feel down your face. Frozen with fear you stared up at their grinning face. Panicking Ghost called for the others.

"Alejandro! Johnny! I need you down here now!"

Ghost said just as he shot someone's armed head. Alejandro and Soap cake running into the room and took down the people that were surrounding Ghost.

"Looks like the fun is ending"

They said as they looked back down at you.

"Maybe I should take you with me? My? Yeah and get caught up."

They looked over and just slightly seen Ghosts pissed off eyes glaring at them.

"Mm, no I don't want the ghost to haunt me"

They dropped you and left with a demonizing laugh. They were to fast for the others. But they left such a impact on you it made your heartbeat cover every other sound. You tried to grab your chest but couldn't due to the equipment. Ghost ran over to you, finally not being surrounded.

"Hey---i---"

You couldn't hear him, you couldn't hear anything. Ghost grabbed you and pulled you up enough to grab your shoulders. You looked at him and seen the worry in his eyes, he was saying something to you. But you didn't care, you pulled him into a hug with your face in his neck. Feeling your heavy breathing on his neck ghost just held you. He knew what this fear was like, he knew why to well.

"Alejandro! I'm gonna get him to cover!"

"Got it, don't die on us"

Ghost carefully pulled you up and lead you to a dark bathroom close by. Sitting down on the tiled floor he let you hold him, he let you cry into his neck. Feeling your shaking body he felt bad, he knew you were scared but, what did that person do? Did they hurt you this much? You've never cried like this infront of Ghost, or in his arms. He was stuned and quiet. You slowed your crying and silenced it but couldn't stop shaking. Ghost gently took your hand causing you to look up at him.

"It's okay"

He quietly said as he held your hand.

"Your okay, breath Sergeant."

Trying to slow your breathing you followed Ghosts instructions. He continued to tell you way to calm yourself down and kept doing it until you were calm.

"Hey, look at me"

Looking at Ghost still a little shaky.

"Your okay now, their not here anymore. Your safe with me, with all of us"

You smiled slightly as Alejandro opened the door and shinned his light on you two.

"I promise"

Soap helped you two up and gently patted your back.

"You alright mate?"

You nodded. Smiling slightly at Soap genuinely feeling better than before.

"Alright come on."

Soap helped you out of the bathroom, due to the uneven flooring and your shaky legs. Looking back at Ghost you continued following Soap.

"Ghost, everything alright?"

Alejandro asked. Ghost looked over at him and nodded not knowing how your really feeling right now, he just hoping you can make it through the mission alright.

~

[A/n:This sounded alot better in my head. I hope you enjoyed]

[aldcaldos]

i follow rivers

pairing: mad sweeney x reader

warnings: explicit. bathing and sex as forms of worship.

summary: It was as though your quiet exaltations, in tandem with the way your hands moved across his neck, shoulders, and back called to him, to his godhood, reaping the same effect as if you’d put out a plate of bread and cream. It told him, instinctively, that there was an offering to be had, and strength to be gained in its having.

read here or on ao3

Disgruntled banging against your door sometime in the afternoon had you shooting up like a bullet, tossing the book you’d been attempting or pretending to read carelessly onto the coffee table. 

You’d been up all night, all morning, nerves too spiked to have even tried to sleep, despite having made a valiant, though undeniably distracted effort. You’d done as asked, even if it had been one of the hardest tasks you’d ever endured. But you did it, because he asked. You’d half—more than half, really—expected him to show up in the middle of the night, and you’d been ready, first aid kit set out and a whole list of questions prepared, questions you ran through again as you all but sprinted to the door. They vanished from your mind in an instant, however, when you saw him. The damage the fight had done to his face was bad enough, but it was the look in his eyes that silenced you. 

He looked furious, that was for sure. But he also looked worried, and there was even a glint of defeat. He appeared almost vulnerable. It wasn’t an expression you were used to seeing, and not one you’d hoped to see again. It wasn’t as bad as it had been a few days ago, but that knowledge did little to lighten the weight that was settling into your chest. 

You didn’t say anything, despite having so much you wished to, and simply moved out of the way so he could enter. When he did he was careful, like he thought one wrong step might cause the entire building to come down on your heads. Every move he made appeared to be second-guessed or weighed, even the way he looked at you, when his gaze brushed you at all. Sweeney was skittish, and it scared you. 

He wasn’t bleeding anymore, you noticed, as he let himself fall onto your couch. Even if he had been, you knew you wouldn’t have said anything. Not this time. Having him here in the day at all was strange on its own, especially under this circumstance. 

Your body moved without thought until you were sitting across from him on the coffee table, too wary to do anything other than stare at him. 

He was leaning forward, elbows on his knees and head in hands, but then he moved back, fists clenching and unclenching in his lap as he finally really looked at you, one hand reaching for yours and holding it tightly. He stayed that way for a moment, but then, before your brain had a chance to process the movement, he was tugging you forwards, pulling your body onto his lap. Your forehead smacked with an audible crack against his. Ouch. He shut his eyes and let out an angry breath through his nose, lips pinched together like this was just one more in a line of unhappy accidents.

Instead of leaning away to rub at the now sore spot, you left your forehead against his, noses almost touching and your hands coming to his neck. You wanted to bandage the cuts on his face, but Sweeney didn’t need you as a nurse right now. He needed you as a believer. He needed you as just a figure of care and calming physical contact. Calloused hands came to rest one on your waist and the other in the crook of one elbow. 

“I fuckin’ lost it.” His voice was rough like sandpaper when it broke the silence. 

“Lost what?” Thumbs mindlessly moved back and forth beneath his jaw, your own voice was quiet when you responded. 

“My lucky coin. I fuck-I gave that cunt my coin. I didn’t mean to. It was the wrong coin. It wasn’t meant to be that coin. Grimnir. He was too close to you, and I-“

You leaned back to look at him. “Did he know? I tried not to think about you. I sang a fucking song in my head the entire night to keep you out of my thoughts and I didn’t look at you, but then the fight started and I couldn’t not look. I’m sorry.” 

A pang of guilt shot through you and you closed your mouth. He was the one who was upset and in need of comfort. Not you. Your nerves could wait. 

“You did beautifully, lass. As best as I could ever have asked of ye. I just didn’t like him being so near you. It distracted me.” 

You opened your mouth to apologise, but he was quick to cut you off. “Not yer fault. It’s mine.”

You wanted to ask if he was okay, but that felt stupid, given the situation.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I have to find the bastards. Get my coin back, and my luck with it. Until then I’m a disaster waiting to happen.”

“I could give you a ride-“ His grip tightened considerably and he shook his head once, and hard, cutting off any further offer you might have made. 

“No. No you fuckin’ can not. Last man who tried that didn’t make it two miles. You’ll stay here.”

“Sweeney.”

“Don’t argue, lass. Not this time. Please.”

Please. He never said please. He just made his demands and you willingly acquiesced. But the concern and almost fear in his voice, in his eyes, and in his touch had you nodding. 

“Okay. Okay, I’ll stay here. But without your luck, how will you manage to find them without getting hurt?”

“Finding ‘em won’t be the issue. Can’t do much about the getting hurt. Not without my coin. Don’t have the power.”

You thought for a moment. Power. He needed power. Worship was power, he’d said. Worship, you could do. 

“Maybe I can help.” You tipped his head up to look him in the eye before rising, with as much grace as you could manage, and tugged at his hand. 

His tired eyes darkened in understanding, and the side of his mouth twitched upwards, just barely, as he let you pull him to his feet. 

He followed you slowly, feet not quite dragging as he allowed himself to be lead through the small apartment, turning at the door to your tiny bathroom, made only more ridiculous once he was standing in it. You smiled softly to yourself at the sight as you pivoted away from him to draw back the shower curtain and turn on the water. It would take a good minute or two to warm up, maybe longer. 

Returning to face him, you frowned faintly at the conflicted, confused, and cautious expression painted across his features. You raised one hand to brush a thumb over one of the cuts in the side of his face, and for a moment, his eyes closed. It was only just a moment though, and then they were back on you, waiting. Watching. 

Both hands were working now, smoothing down the fabric covered planes of his chest, and then underneath the soiled denim of his jacket, slowly pulling it back and off down his arms. When his arms came free, you folded the jacket over itself once, then twice, then set it down atop the lid of the closed toilet seat. The flannel shirt came next, unbuttoned just as slowly, patiently, before it came off and joined the jacket. Onto the suspenders, then the wife beater, slightly awkward as his arms raised and you had to stand on your toes to pull it up and off. 

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed, as you sank down to your knees to unlace his boots, the way his fingers twitched, but his hands weren’t shaking as much anymore. You meant only to glance up to ask him to lift his leg so you could pull off his shoes but the intensity of his gaze held yours and you felt a hum somewhere in the air. 

You stayed like that for longer than you meant to, looking up at him, before the feeling of steam gathering on your arms brought you back and, finishing with his boots, you stood up again to focus on the fastening of his jeans. When it came undone you slid the fabric down his legs until finally he was completely bare before you. The sight was enough to make your skin warm and your head light. How fierce your god was in his beauty, how wonderfully made and worthy of worship.

Reaching a hand back to the water, you determined it had reached an appropriate temperature and stepped back as much as you could and motioned for him to squeeze past you to stand in the tub. His head came up above the curtain rod. It might have been comical if the moment were open to comedy.

His head fell back as he stood under the stream, letting it run down his neck (he’d have to bend at the knees for it to reach his head) and again, the sight of him immobilized you temporarily. How long? How long since someone, anyone, had cared for him, tended to him like this? The hum in the air seemed to settle against your skin as you pulled off your own clothes and stepped in behind him. Your hands ran up, then down his arms, back up and over his shoulders before descending down again. Moving them around his waist left you in a mock embrace which turned true as you let your forehead rest against his back and held him there for a moment. 

One breath, two, and you pulled away, reaching towards the small hanging caddy of bath supplies, fingers closing around a half empty bottle of body wash and an exfoliating net. As you squeezed out some of the soap he was turning, carefully, moving his body so you stood face to face. Or, face to front, seeing as you were nowhere near tall enough to put you at his eye level. Still he said nothing, content to watch you and let you do what you would, hands at his side. This might have been the longest he’d ever gone without touching you, especially given your shared states of undress. Perhaps it was the trace of disbelief in his eyes, the minute way his brows knitted together, that kept them where they were. Or maybe it was just curiosity.

With the net lathered you brought it up to his chest, and from there you set to your task, slowly working the soap into every inch of his skin. Up his neck and across his torso, down each arm, against his palm and between his fingers. Another squeeze from the bottle and you descended to give the same treatment to his legs and feet. With one hand gripping to your arm he helped you stand again, and thankfully, mercifully, despite the slipperiness of the tub, the both of you remained steady on your feet. Pushing him to turn around again, you scrubbed at his back, following after the net with your other hand, pressing against the skin in a way you hoped passed as soothing. He didn’t complain.

You let him stand there under the water for a moment, rinsing off the bubbles that had gathered across his skin while you poured out a dime or two of shampoo and rubbed it between your hands, and when you reached for his head he leaned back against you to let you work it into his hair. You noticed then that his eyes had closed, when you did not know, but they remained shut even after he leaned away momentarily to rinse out the shampoo, and as he came back again so you could follow it with the same amount of conditioner.

You spent more time than was probably necessary on this particular step, but with  the way every breath left him in a slow, heavy sigh as your fingers massaged and your nails softly scratched at his scalp, you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. When you eventually did, he moved again, first to rinse the conditioner from his hair, and then to bring water up to his face. 

You stepped out of the shower first, walking around to shut the water off and to grab a towel to dry him with. His clothes stayed on the toilet lid. You’d wash them later.

No words passed between you as he let you drag the soft fabric of the towel over him to dry his skin, and you only looked back up at his face when you took his hand to pull at him again, to lead him again, this time to your bedroom.

Standing there in front of your bed, you trailed your fingertips over his face, the touch just barely there and he stared at you the whole way. 

Pulling his chin down, your lips pressed against his gently. The kiss was chaste, one of Sweeney’s hands hovering over before settling at your waist, not quite pressing and not quite pulling. Yet. 

Finally, you spoke, low and quiet, staring up at him with your hand still cupping his cheek.

“I believe in you, Sweeney. You have my prayers. And my offerings. You have me.”

Now did he act, a groan leaving his lips before they closed over yours, and the way he hauled you into his body and held you close caused your breath to hitch. The grip on your hips tightened, as though he thought you might change your mind and walk away, even now.

Backwards he walked you until you felt the foot of the bed hit against the back of your legs, and down you tumbled, the full heft of his body knocking the air from your lungs as he settled there in the cradle of your thighs. With what breath you did have you continued to whisper praise and prayer into his ear, delighting in the visceral, physical reactions the words elicited as he buried his face in your neck and you your fingers in his still wet hair. 

It was as though your quiet exaltations, in tandem with the way your hands moved across his neck, shoulders, and back called to him, to his godhood, reaping the same effect as if you’d put out a plate of bread and cream. It told him, instinctively, that there was an offering to be had, and strength to be gained in its having. 

His mouth overtook your own again as his hips ground against you slightly, your lips parted in a moan and he took full advantage, tongue tangling with yours until you could taste the full warmth of him that was still always somehow so fresh, like lying in a field on a summer day. 

Each drag of him against you pulled a whine from your throat, which only seemed to spur him on more, to take him deeper and deeper into the sensations your pliant body offered up to him. Where before, when he’d first come in, he’d appeared scared to touch you, now his hands couldn’t get enough of your skin, trying to be everywhere at once. 

It almost pained you to push those hands away with how good they made you feel, but you’d had a plan when you came in here. He needed to be patient. 

His confusion at being pushed away was helpful in that it gave you the opportunity to roll him onto his back, legs settling one on either side of his hips, his hands coming back to run up and down the skin of your thighs. That you could allow. You leaned forward slowly, languidly, movement like molasses as you slid one hand up his broad chest, the heat of his skin sinking into your palm.

“Why the rush, Buile Suibhne?” You could feel him jerk up into you at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue in such a husked whisper, so close to his ear your lips brushed its shell. It was the first time you’d said it, having practiced rolling it over your tongue for days in a desperate hope you wouldn’t butcher it when the right moment finally came. Practice, it seemed, that had paid off. “I want to take my time with my worship.” 

You looked at him then, the look in his eyes burning straight through your mind as much as your body. With a smile you placed a kiss, simple and quick, on his lips, moving down to mouth at the thick column of his throat before he could pull you back for more.

You felt him moan more than you heard it, vibrating against your lips and your teeth and, while he was distracted, you moved lower, making your way down the sun-kissed skin like you were playing Connect the Dots with your lips against each of the freckles that dotted his chest. When you came across a scar you paid it special attention, but kept moving, further and further downward. Eyes flitting back to his face you found him staring you down. The connection of your gazes set something to trembling inside of you and you held him there, watching him watch you as you continued your descent, kissing along the trail of fine, fiery hair.

One hand moved to smooth up the length of his thigh. You could feel how the hard muscles roiled and rolled beneath your touch. Another kiss to the skin just above his pelvis and you looked back up again to admire for a moment the beautiful flush that had spread across his chest and up his neck as you took his hard length in your hand. 

Still you could feel him staring. The weight of his eyes felt like a physical blanket over your body. It was a shot of opium pouring straight into your veins. 

Your touch was gentle as you ran your fingers along him, pressing gentle kisses along his shaft. 

“We have all night. I want to take care of you. Will you let me?” The words weren’t as much a question as they were a plea. There was prayer on your tongue and his eyes shut as it washed over him. Rather than wait for a verbal response, you lowered your mouth over him, gathering the liquid at the tip of his already weeping head with slow kitten licks. The salt of him in your mouth and those bottom notes that brought to mind morning dew and the electrically-charged air that preceded a storm were heavy and intoxicating, perhaps even addictive. Closing your mouth over him you gave a long suck, wanting more of his taste, more of his pleasure, more of him. 

He hissed above you, one hand coming to rest on your head, not pressing or pushing but just touching running softly, almost affectionately, over your hair.

You sunk down further on him, taking in more and more with each pass of your lips. He was heavy against your tongue and you revelled in all of it. Your nerve endings were thrumming and you thought you just might be getting as much out of this as he was. Taking a man in your mouth had never been something you’d been particularly passionate about doing, but Sweeney was no ordinary man. He changed everything. 

His chest was heaving, every breath in and out full and hard. Still, you wanted more. You needed more. Hollowing your cheeks and relaxing your throat, you took him as deep as you could, feeling him slide against the back of your throat. 

“Fucking fuck, lass. That’s good.” His voice was rough and his fingers had tightened in your hair but the sharp pinpricks of pain were in no way unwelcome. 

You kept him where he was until oxygen became crucial, until you just started to heave, lights beginning to dance at the edges of your vision. When you pulled away with a gasping intake of breath, you glanced upwards to his eyes and the look he was giving you would have knocked you on your ass had you been standing. Flushed and drunk on sensation as a result of your actions, he was truly beautiful. But it was the look behind the mossy green of his eyes that pulled at you. The adoration, the disbelief, the ardent desire. Sweeney always made you feel wanted. But this look? This look made you feel worshipped. Was this what it was like for him? This electricity singing beneath your skin and setting your blood ablaze like you held a forest fire in your veins? It was a head rush of epic proportions and it was delicious.

You could see the way he restrained himself from bucking his hips and just fucking up into your mouth. You wanted him to finish like this. You wanted to taste him. Your nails dug into the curve and cut of his hips, the bite of them a sharp contrast to the soft, constricting heat of your mouth. Your movements sped up slightly, still on the slower side but the intensity of it all was pressing harder and harder. For a split second you wondered if it was a sin to pray to one’s god for said god to cum in their mouth, but by the low whine he gave, you didn’t think he minded.

His resolve was breaking. You felt it in the minute motion of his hips. You felt it in how he began moving your head back and forth in small, faint pulls. You felt it in the way he twitched against your tongue. God but you wanted it. It was as though the continued beating of your jackhammer heart relied entirely on watching him come apart beneath your ministrations.

When he finally let go, he did so with a quiet shout of your name, and it was beautiful in a way nothing else in the world could hope to match. He filled your mouth and you drank from him greedily, savouring every drop and reluctant to let even one go to waste. To do so, you thought, might feel like sacrilege.

Pressing a kiss to the side of his hip, it was with a pleased expression that you slowly crawled back up his body to bring your lips back to his. His tongue was reaching for yours before your mouths had even fully connected. When you pulled away he made to follow, but with a hand on his chest, you pushed him down again. 

“Bad luck to interrupt a ritual before it’s finished.” 

Sweeney sighed beneath you. “You’re too good for the likes of me, little bird.”

You knew it wasn’t just a compliment. He really believed it, and it grated on you, tugging at your heartstrings. 

“You deserve so much more.” He wouldn’t believe you, but you’d say it anyways, on the off chance that one day he might. 

He wanted to argue. Ever the fighter. So you distracted him. Bringing your arms together, your hands sat side by side on his chest. Pushing your breasts together to win a not-quite-argument was probably playing dirty but it was effective. Your chest immediately had his attention and you nearly laughed. A shift of your hips over his had you both inhaling sharply. He was still hard. Or was he hard again.

As his hands travelled from your thighs to your waist and back again, you snuck one hand behind you, lifting to line him up beneath you and slowly—agonisingly, painfully slowly—lowered yourself down, feeling every inch of him as he filled you to the brim and then some. Sweeney’s head was thrown back and his hands, which had moved up your breasts, gave a hard squeeze. It was hardly the first time you’d taken him like this, but that feeling when your bodies fully connected, that pressure as you adjusted to him never got old.

The rhythmic roll of your hips started slow, remained that way for a time, but as the air seemed to swell and swirl around you as he moved with you, the dizzying feel of him lead you to speed up, wringing mewls and whimpers out of you that you might have been ashamed of any other time.

The slide of him inside you felt better than could possibly be healthy, and already you could feel the coil begin to tighten low in the pit of your stomach. But he was holding back, waiting for you. Such a gentleman. That wouldn’t do. You pulled at him until he sat up, carded your fingers through his damp hair and trailed your lips up his neck to suck at the spot just below his ear. 

“My god. I am yours. I am for you. Everything I have, everything I am, everything I will ever be.” The words just seemed to pour from your lips and you knew as they did how truly you meant them. They were a bone-deep truth, making their home in the marrow of you. “My worship and my warmth. My bread, my belief, and my body. Every breath I take, I breathe in your name. You have my pleasure as you have my promise. I am yours, always, to do with what you will.”

His choked cry was muffled as he buried his face into the skin between your breasts, pressing hungry kisses to your sternum.

“Let go. Please. I want you to.” You wanted him to finish first, wanted to watch him break one more time, but if he didn’t hurry up you’d beat him to the punch and that just couldn’t happen. Hands moving to his face, you forced him to look at you.

“Suibhne.” His name on your lips was drawn out into a long whimper, a moan, a plea, low and breathy and it seemed to do the trick. His hips were jerking, thrusts erratic until they stilled, and you pressed down, wanting to feel every inch and when you did it was heaven. The sight of him, the feel of him erupting inside you, it was everything you needed to push you that final step over the edge and you came with a cry, arching your back in a sharp angle and holding him as close as he held you, as though the tight press of his skin against yours was still an unbearable amount of distance. Sweeney’s arms, locked around your waist, muscles like tectonic plates and nearly as strong, reminded you even now of the divine nature of the being beneath you, and of the ease with which he could crush you. The danger in the knowledge was more thrilling than it should have been, but there was also some semblance of comfort in it. In such strong arms as his, how could you be anything but safe?

When he laid back onto the rumpled sheets you followed, collapsing on top of him, head resting on his heaving chest and with your ear pressed against his skin you could hear his heartbeat. Above your head, Sweeney was muttering something in some old tongue, the words lost on you, but you could feel his voice, his full, usually booming voice, vibrating against your cheek.

He was stroking your hair away from where it stuck to your face, skin slick with sweat, and the kiss he placed on the crown of your head had your heart doing a funny sort of flip, as though despite everything, it was still the most intimate thing either one of you had done tonight. Coupled with the overwhelming feeling of safety and security you felt as he held you, and you knew you were in trouble. 

Rather than ruminate on that, however, you simply lay there with him in silence, letting the slow rise and fall of his chest lull you to sleep.

[ghostfacesfavoritevictim]

Semi public sex & gun play

More? Oh... I'm just getting started

NOT MY GIF

Warnings: 18+, smut, yandere, name calling, dom!Carl, sub!reader, gun! play, characters aged up, anything else I forgot(please let me know!!)

I was walking through the forest having just out ran away from a herd of walkers. I was walking and suddenly bumped into something… or someone. The boy turns around with a look of fear and slowly starts to smile looking me over. ‘Hey! I'm Carl, Carl Grimes.’ 

‘Can I help you?' I draw my gun out of its holster ready to shoot him. ‘Easy - Easy! No need for the gun.’ He held up his hands, ‘Why don't you put that down?’ He says taking a step towards me. 'Why don't you get the fuck away before I shoot your other eye out' I step back a little.

He raises his eyebrows, ‘What did you say?’ He asks with an almost serious look on his face. 'You heard me' I get a serious look on my face. He smirks,  ‘What... you only got one bullet in there?’ He chuckles, taking another step towards me.

'Nope, I've got plenty to kill you though' I quiver but my face remains serious and I take another step back. ‘Easy…’ He steps closer, ‘You don't have it in you, sweetheart.’ 'Wanna bet?' I step back but pull the trigger, a bullet flying right past him. He smiles ‘Damn, you're feisty. Alright, alright, put the gun down. Please. I just wanna talk.’ He steps forward. 

'Make me' I cock the gun ready to fire another shot. His eyes narrow and he moves closer, ‘Put. The gun. Down... or I'll take it from you myself.’ 'I'd like to see you try.' I step farther back and get ready to shoot again.

‘Don't underestimate me.’ A shadow crosses over his face - He slowly and calmly walks towards me. ‘Hm I could say the same, I'm capable of many things' I smirk and continue to step away hitting a tree. ‘Ah, but that's where your problem starts... you're always stepping back.’ He pins me against the tree and pushes the gun to my chin.

'Hmm but I can still kill you' I suck in a breath, my breathing becoming heavy gun still in hand. ‘True, you could kill me. But will you?’ He pushes the gun harder against my chin and smirks deviously.

'If I really need to I will' I take my gun and hold it up to his chin. ‘I'm not worried. You got no bullets loaded.’ He grabs the gun and tries to pull it away to see if there are bullets in the chamber. He smirks, ‘See? No bullets. And…’ He slowly and seductively takes the gun away, looking directly in her eyes, then placing it back to her chin. ‘Don't underestimate me either.’

I suck in a breath 'I have two words for you Carl.. Fuck. You!' I spit in his face and chuckle with a smirk. He chuckles and slowly leans in and softly bites my neck before pushing away and smirking cheekily. ‘You're feisty, I like that. What's your name?’ He licks his lips, 'Get off me!' I try to push away but he's stronger than me and I can't get free. He bites harder, pushing me up against the tree, ‘Oh, but you like this, don't you?’

I shake my head no, trying to ignore the hot feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘Oh you're a fun one!’ He bites again, more aggressively. Pushing his body against mine as he continues to nibble my neck. 'Get off me!!' I shout and try to push him away again.

‘Not so easily.’ He smirks and presses against me harder. Nibbling harder. Running his fingers through my hair, pulling slightly, drawing me in even closer. I let out a pathetic whine as the heat grew more 'P-please.' ‘How about no…’ He smirks even harder, nibbles on my neck and whispers into my ear, ‘Just give in to it... you want this.’

'N-no I don't.. get away..' I can't do anything. He trapped me and took my gun. ‘Oh, but you do... come now, don't deny it.’ He nibbles further down my neck, closer to my chest. I shake my head no repeatedly but my body betrays me and gives into his touch. He smiles as I try to deny it, nibbling on my neck and kissing my neck, then moving to my ear and whispering, ‘Shhh... you have no choice here, you could scream, but it's no use.’ He says softly into my ear whilst nibbling my neck again.

'Please get off C-Carl' I try not to give in but I can't help it. ‘Come on... I love how you try to resist, but I know you're enjoying this.’ He smirks, nibbling on my neck more, and whispering softly, sensually, ‘I can taste your fear.’ He bites harder, drawing blood. Against my own will I moan and lean into him more.

‘That's it…’ His voice softens and he nibbles my neck again, leaving a mark. ‘You taste wonderful... fear and sweat, a little blood too.’ He whispers into my neck once again. My hands reach for his hair and pull it hard. He pulls away slightly, grinning. ‘That's it, don't fight it. Let all those feelings out.’ He nibbles on my neck and suckles on my blood again.

'Mm need more Carl' I moan pressing myself against him more fully giving in. He smirks, ‘More? Oh... I'm just getting started.’ He nibbles on my neck harder, pulling more on my hair - kissing, nibbling and biting. Slowly moving down my collar bone. 'Mmm feels good carl...' I grasp at his shirt signaling him to remove it.

He smirks and starts to slowly and steadily remove his shirt, teasing me. Letting his fingers glide against my neck as he continues to nibble on it. Kissing my collarbone. I removed my shirt and forgot for a second I wasn't wearing a bra. He looks down at my boobs and smirks. ‘Looks like I get to have my fun, too.’ Then he nibbles me even harder, starting at my neck and slowly moving to my stomach, kissing me softly yet nibbling on my stomach slightly.

I start to undo his belt, getting impatient. He smirks, ‘Oh, you can't be that impatient, sweetheart.’ He continues to nibble on my stomach and kiss me softly, slowly going back up my body and kissing my neck, licking my neck and sucking on the tiny marks, the blood. ‘Mmm' O moan the pain and pleasure getting to me.

He smirks. ‘Enjoying yourself, sweetheart?’ He continues to nibble on my neck and suckling on the bite marks, kissing my neck and going back down my body, slowly. Looking up at me and giving me the most sensually seductive look as he kisses my stomach, nibbling it slightly. His hand on my leg as the other roughly grips my neck. 'Mmm, I really need you Carl.'

He smirks, ‘Is that so, sweetheart? I suppose I better help you with that.’ He stops and takes a deep breath in, and smirks, ‘But not yet.’ He slowly pulls back and stands back up, still smirking, "And you better ask nicely, princess, because I could always say... 'No' to you." He lets the thought settle, not wanting to break the moment. But, oh how badly he wanted to continue this and... to finish this. To... fulfill both our pleasures.

He smirks, ‘And... you wouldn't want that, would you?’ He steps closer again, ’I have to admit, though... seeing you like this, wanting me, needing me like this... it's quite a turn on, darling.’ He licks his lips and smirks. ‘But you still can't have me.’ He whispers while nibbling on my neck. ‘You gotta say it.’

'Say what?' "Say please." He whispers, whilst nibbling on my neck for the millionth time. ‘I like it when you beg, baby girl.’ ‘Please?’ *I smirk* - "Louder." He bites down on my neck and nibbles yet again. Pulling me in slightly. 'PLEASE!' I yell hoping not to attract walkers. 

He pulls away and smirks. ‘There we go, baby girl. Good girl. Now, we can really start to have fun, huh?’ He looks me up and down and smirks once more and takes off his boxers, ‘Take off those short shorts and panties of yours.’ I do as he tells me and remove my shorts and panities. 

He takes his gun and rubs the tip of it through my folds, my juices dripping onto it. ‘M’ gonna fuck you with my gun first.’ ‘B-but the b-bullets-’ I moan as the cold tip of the gun pushes against my clit. ‘Empty..’ His voice breathy enjoying the sight of my dripping cunt. 

‘T-than-’ ‘I know my pretty little slut…’ He pushes the tip of the gun into my hole, ‘I had you all scared and worked up because you thought I had bullets,’ He pumps the tip of the gun in and out of me at a fast rate… ‘Mmmm Carl need you inside me..’ I moan, lifting my hips to meet the thrusts of his hand on the gun. 

‘Ok baby I’ll give it to ya.’ With that he takes his gun out of me and sets it on the ground. He grabs the back of my thighs signaling me to jump. I jump and he rubs himself against my entrance pushing himself in after a few seconds, ‘Your s-so tight my little slut.’

‘S-so big Car-’ He thrusts into me with a hard thrust causing me to let out a very loud moan. He puts his hand over my mouth, ‘Shh baby, don’t wanna attract the dead… Or the undead.’ I nod against his hand and try to remain quiet as he pulls away his hand. 

He continues to thrust into me bringing his hand down to rub my clit. ‘Mmm close Carl…’ ‘Shhh baby it’s ok come for me cum for daddy.’ I do just that, my juices leaking down between us. ‘That’s my good little slut all cock drunk and stupid for me.’ He keeps thrusting into me at a fast pace, 'I'm close baby so close… want it in you??'

'Y-yes please,' after a few more thrusts he's filling me up. 'Gonna give you my babies.' I nod as he.continues to fill me up. Once I'm full he pulls out and tucks himself into his pants.

'Get dressed baby gonna take you to my camp and clean you up.' With that's we dress and I pick up my gun and he picks up his and we head to his camp.

[imtryingmybeskar]

Come Home Chapter Twenty Four

Joel Miller x F! Reader

Word count: 4,219

The aftermath of the dam attack.

Warnings for blood, death, violence...and without giving too much away, one very happy Joel.

Come Home

Chapter Twenty Four - Blows Me Away

For a moment you and Joel look at each other in shock, then overwhelming relief melts into his features and he scoots over to you quickly on his knees, embracing you in a one armed bear hug. You wrap your heavy, pain laden arms around him too and squeeze him tight, relief coursing through you until he twitches away from you, hissing in pain.

“What’s wrong?” you ask urgently, pulling back from him.

“Nothin’ that can’t wait,” he replies, his voice pinched and tight. “Fuck…I didn’t realise it was you…Christ, lemmie look at you.” His eyes are soft with concern, his fingers gentle as they tilt your head back and run gently over your definitely bruised neck. “Are you okay?” he asks shakily.

“Bit dazed. I will be though,” you answer shortly, and he nods, trusting that you would tell him if anything was seriously wrong.

He stands and helps you slowly to your feet. Your vision is still a little blurry and you cling on to him as you stand, dizziness coursing through you. In the distance, you hear the rumble of thunder and the room seems to grow even darker before your eyes, the storm that has been brewing all day making its final approach.

“We gotta get back to Maria,” you say in a low voice. “She was in the control room when I left her.” He nods.

“Who else is with you?”

“Three at the gate with the horses. Twelve inside working our way through. No Maydays over the radio so they’re probably okay. Maria told me to break off to take care of this one before he could see that we killed a couple more of them. How many are there?”

“Too many,” Joel growls, frowning his displeasure. “They got what’s left of us holed up in the supervisor’s office. Tommy told ‘em he’s got explosives in there, rigged the place to blow if they try to get in. He doesn’t but it bought us some time. I managed to climb out of a window, tried to take ‘em out sneakily. Got a few but I don’t know how many are left. We gotta get our people outta that room. You okay to keep goin’?” You nod, though your throat feels raw and achey and you’re still a little spaced out from your ordeal. “C’mon, then,” he says, firmly but not unkindly as he takes your hand.

You make your way back upstairs, through the control room and take up your previous hiding place that has now been vacated by Maria and the others. You risk a look around the pallets that disguise you, briefly catching sight of a group of seven raiders in various states of bored lounging outside a heavy looking door. You also catch sight of a flash of familiar blonde hair – Maria has advanced on them again and this time her gun is drawn. You see her sign toward someone out of your line of sight and the message is clear – take them out. Clearly, she is of the same mind as Joel and wants to release your people from where they have been pinned down. You withdraw back behind your protection and take your gun out too, giving Joel a meaningful look as you do. He draws his own weapon – a wicked looking pistol with a scope mounted on top, and his expression is all business as he nods firmly at you.

The first shot rings echoingly through the large room and is swiftly followed by a volley of additional gunfire. Keeping the pallet covering as much of you as you can, you raise your head above the parapet and take aim, shooting one of the men through his shoulder. Bloodspray fans over the concrete wall behind him as he drops his weapon and a second bullet that did you did not fire drops him permanently as it passes through his skull. You duck back behind your cover as a bullet whizzes over your head, smashing through the glass of the control room behind you. Angry and confused bellowing almost drowns out the sound of the gunshots, and you move to aim again to take advantage of their confusion.

“Scatter,” comes the screaming command from their leader below, and the remaining four that you can see do just that, scrambling away from the door they have been protecting and hiding themselves out of sight somewhere under your feet. Your bullet misses, hurtling through the air to plant itself harmlessly somewhere in the wall. If the raiders are moving, you need to too before they stumble upon you, so you grab Joel's arm and tug at him to follow you, hurriedly moving along the exposed parts of the gantry before you can be discovered.

“Am I glad to see you,” Maria whispers fervently as you join her. “Is Tommy-“

“He’s fine,” Joel assures her. “And now those assholes have left that door unprotected I’d say its about time to let our people outta there to take care of 'em.”

For all the initial element of surprise that the invaders had, the battle is short lived. Maria takes out another of their number when you move down to the lower level of the engine room and despite their attempts to snipe at you from behind the turbines, once you release your people from their confinement it’s close to being all over. Tommy’s face is as coldly furious as you have ever seen it as he steps through the door. He claps Joel on the shoulder in thanks and drags Maria into what looks like a bone-crushing hug before moving away with her through the dam, the sound of rapid gunfire following shortly afterward.

As Joel moves to follow them you stop him, grabbing his wrist so he turns to face you instead. The fact that you’re feeling more yourself after your near-death experience in combination with the adrenaline rushing through your body means that your head is much clearer than it was twenty minutes ago. And you have finally noticed the large, red, shiny stain on the sleeve of Joel’s shirt. In the brief breath of space you have in this moment, you need to make sure he’s not seriously injured.

“One sec. You sure you’re okay? That’s a lot of blood.”

“I’m okay. I promise. Nothin’ a bandage won’t fix.”

“Looks like more than a bandage job,” you say dubiously. “Might-“

The shot rings out almost at the exact same moment that you feel yourself savagely shoved aside. A searing, painful heat erupts along your ribs as a second, louder bang comes from alongside you. The wall stops you from falling to the ground as you as you stagger against it, still on your feet but with your knees trembling and your ears ringing madly. A hand on your arm and Joel’s anxious face appears in your line of vision. His mouth is moving but the noise in your ears is still too loud for you to hear him. His hands come to cup your face, his eyes searching yours for something you can’t quite understand. Slowly, so slowly, his voice percolates through.

“-heart, please. Tell me you’re okay.”

“Yeah…yeah. Just…loud.” You feel dazed again and realise you’re not making much sense. Joel’s hands leave your face to come to your side and you bite back a whimper as his palms rub over something which feels raw and tender.

“S’okay,” he says smoothly, and you recognise the tone he uses to calm the horses when they’re skittish. “You’re okay. Bullet grazed you. We’ll get you fixed up.”

“Fix you first,” you counter and he gives a tiny half smile, the first you’ve seen from him since the previous evening.

“We’ll patch each other up,” he promises, “but first we gotta get to the others. C’mon, lemmie help you.” He links your arm through his uninjured one and ensures you’re steady on your feet before walking through the engine room, following the trail of bodies left in the wake of the residents of Jackson.

By the time you reach the sleeping area it appears to already be all over. Dozens of people are standing in the space, their chattering voices raised excitedly over the heavy rain that is now lashing the windows. Tommy is in the midst of it all looking slightly harassed and when he spots Joel he comes over to hug him before releasing him swiftly upon hearing Joel’s noise of pain, much as you had.

“Come on,” he says decisively. “We got medical supplies back here. No one’s too badly hurt thank goodness, but the doc’s still gonna have her hands full when we get back.”

“We got ‘em all?” Joel asks, his voice sounding a little breathless.

“Damn fuckin’ right,” Tommy growls, his eyes flashing menacingly. “And we’ll make sure no one’ll fuckin’ dare try to pull this shit again.”

At his confirmation that the dam was indeed secure once more, Joel sags more heavily against you and you suddenly realise just how badly in pain he must be. You reach the triage area where people are being cleaned, bandaged and generally cared for, and deposit Joel gently on to a chair before fetching some supplies of your own to help him. He tries to faintly protest, vaguely muttering something about taking care of you first, but falls silent again at the stern look you give him.

“Can I say hello to you now?” he asks after a moment of watching you unwrap gauze and bandages, his voice hoarse with pain. Those big brown eyes are looking up at you and how can you ever resist? You lean down to brush your nose over his and place a tender, gentle kiss on his lips.

“Properly once I’ve patched you up,” you say gently, trying very hard not to let him hear how worried you are. You’re not sure if it works because he begins to undo his shirt without another word. The upper sleeve is slashed wide open, revealing his ripped t shirt underneath, and a large bloodstain covers most of the fabric from shoulder to elbow. He peels it away from his skin with a pained grunt and a horrible sticky sound and now you can see the large, jagged gash that runs the length of his tricep. It’s a nasty wound, but not life threatening and you feel the anxiety in your stomach begin to recede again.

“So…what happened, Miller? One of them cut you? Stray bullet?”

Joel looks sheepish. “Actually it was glass from a broken window. I had to dive in to a room in a hurry before one of ‘em could see me.”

“Hurts just the same,” you say matter of factly as you unpack the medkit. “And this is gonna be a bitch too. Sorry.”

“You do what you gotta do. But don’t forget, I’m returnin’ the favour in a minute.”

“I’ll try to be gentle,” you smile.

You quickly but thoroughly wash the wound out with iodine. Joel grunts and grimaces, his teeth bared, but he doesn’t make any kind of fuss. Once you’re done you cover the worst part of the gash with gauze and finally you wrap it up in clean bandages.

“That’ll do till the doc can see you. I think you might need stitches.”

“Lucky me,” he mutters sarcastically as he stands and guides you gently to sit where he has just vacated. “Let’s hope you don’t. Come on, let’s get that shirt off.” He gives you a muted half smile along with his flirting, but you can see the worry in his eyes.

The graze is just that, and you thank the heavens that Joel had spotted your assailant and pushed you out of the path of certain death. It still hurts, more so when he too cleans it out, but you manage to keep your discomfort to some vague grunting noises as he works on you with gentle, deft hands.

“Some first trip back out, huh?” he smiles up at you, his big dark eyes now full of relief now that he too knew you weren’t in any danger.

“Could have gone better,” you agree, absent-mindedly touching over your bruised and sore neck. “But could have gone a hell of a lot worse.”

“True,” he murmurs, leaning forward to capture your lips in a gentle, tender kiss. “I’m just glad you’re here with me.”

Unsurprisingly, Maria decides it would be best to leave additional bodies at the dam for the foreseeable future, and she isn’t short of volunteers. Though the immediate threat has been vanquished and there is a celebratory mood in the air, it is underpinned by a grim determination to not be caught short again, to bear in mind how precious and precarious all that Jackson is. You choose to remain, and are surprised when Joel volunteers too, having been certain he would want to get back to Ellie.

“Are you sure, Joel? You should get that arm seen to-“ you begin, but he cuts through you.

“I’m stayin’,” he says firmly. “The doc can look me over tomorrow. Jus’ check in with Ellie for me will ya?” he requests of Tommy, who nods his acceptance of the task.

While Joel showers you take a patrol with Chloe, who has opted to stay in order to check out the electrics and make sure that no unseen sabotage had occurred during the attack. She gives you a basic crash course in how everything works, her enthusiasm for her profession clear in how eagerly she talks about the subject and not dampened even a little by the pattering rain and thunder that punctuate her explanations. Thankfully, the dam is pretty intact, aside from some damage to doors and windows. While she assists to get everything back online, you help to drag the bodies of the interlopers to a relatively dry and sheltered spot outside of its walls where they are doused with oil and burned to nothing but ash and bone. Afterward you feel even more grimy and sweaty than before and decide that you could do with a shower as well.

When you return to the sleeping quarters Joel is lying on one of the bunks, his fists bunched on his chest, fast asleep and snoring softly. You look down at him for a while, his skin looking more tanned than usual in the stormy evening’s half light, some of his worry lines smoothed away in his relaxed state, his hair once more damp and slicked away from his face. You want to kiss him, stroke his face but you know he can’t have got much, if any, sleep last night and must be exhausted. Instead you take a blessedly lukewarm shower, allowing the tepid water to cool your overheated body and rinsing the grime and sweat and blood from you. As you allow the water to cascade over your skin, you utter words of silent gratitude in your mind. For Joel’s safety. For Jackson. For the continued presence of the dam and those who would protect it. Your mind turns to Chris and you have an odd sense of sad gratitude there too – that her loss enabled you to have all of this, and the tears of relief and sorrow you shed mix with the shower water and flow away.

The bunk next to the one Joel is occupying is vacant, and you begin to prepare it for your own rest. You don’t want to wake him, so you’re as quiet as you can be, but he stirs anyway as you shuffle the bedding and pillows around, cracking one eye open and humming sleepily.

“C’mere,” he husks, his voice low and sleep laden.

“You need rest,” you say softly as you go to him and stroke your hand softly over the greying scruff at his cheek.

“Sleep better with you. C’mere,” he insists again, and when you hesitate for a second longer he takes you by the wrist and drags you in to the tiny space, shuffling backward so his back is against the wall to give you more room in the bed.

You settle in, facing him and he laces his fingers with yours as he rests his hand on your leg. All you can see of him is the darkness of his facial hair standing stark against the relative paleness of his face, and his eyes glittering in the dim light.

“Thought I’d lost you,” he murmurs. “Didn’t even realise it was you at first, only that he wasn’t one of ours. Then when I saw your face…”

He trails off and you move your face closer to his to kiss his nose gently, the warmth of your bodies mingling now in the cool, damp night air.

“Thank you,” you say gratefully. “I didn’t have a chance to say it before.”

“I just wish I’d gotten there sooner,” he replies, his hand now coming to trace over the bruises on your neck again. “I should-“

You cut him off with another kiss. Bruises and cuts would heal. All that mattered was that you were here together, alive and uninfected.

“You should rest,” you repeat softly when you draw back from him again.

“Probably. But havin’ you here after what happened…I just wanna keep talkin’, you know?”

You understood. To have him back when it was entirely possible you could have lost him. You’d forgotten that feeling. You’d been away from the outside too long, even though it had only been a few months. And it was worse now. Far worse that you had something, someone to lose. But now wasn’t the time to talk about that. It was time for him to sleep so that you could ride out as early as possible to Jackson and get him to Doctor Graham. It seemed he was going to be stubborn about it, however. A wicked thought strikes you and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face.

“What?” he asks suspiciously. “I know that look. You’re up to somethin’.”

“Damn right,” you confirm as you reach up to pull the privacy sheet down over the side of the bunk. “If you won’t sleep, I’m gonna have to make you.”

The sheet has made everything in the tiny space pitch black now and the air suddenly seems a little more stifling. You disentangle your hand from his and stroke your fingers upward until you find the whiskery hair at his cheek again.

“Lie on your back,” you murmur before kissing him tenderly.

“What-“

“Just do it.”

He does, shuffling in an ungainly way until he is supine. You kiss him again before running your hand down his body, this time more firmly and with intent. When you reach his jeans you flip the button open and lower his fly quickly.

“Naughty,” he admonishes softly in the dark, his tone in no way actually disapproving of what you were doing.

“You want me to stop?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he replies and you can hear the smile on his face.

“Good,” you say smoothly before beginning to shuffle yourself down in the bed. Your positioning is not elegant – the tiny space doesn’t allow for much manoeuvring and the graze at your side throbs in protest at your movements – but you manage to wriggle down so you’re kneeling between his legs, your hands wandering up from his thighs to torso, an unseen smirk on your face at the prospect of what you’re about to do.

His t shirt is rucked up, fabric turning to skin just above his belly and you kiss the warmth expanse of flesh on show, feeling the softness of the hair there slowly turn coarser the lower you go. He smells amazing – the harsh chemical tang of the soap he had used softened by his own beautifully warm and masculine scent. You trail your hand down, stroking softly over the growing shape in his boxer briefs, and when you drag your lips down over the fabric he hisses softly in the darkness. You cup him, softly massaging while kissing his clothed cock from root to tip, a few drops of precum making a wet patch that you give a dainty lick to before you begin to free him.

“Wait-“ he whispers urgently.

“Hmmm?”

“You…I mean you’re gonna…”

“If you’ll let me.”

“But there’s…people. Around.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet, Miller.”

“Fuck” he hisses softly and you feel his hand stroke over your hair. “You sure?”

“Are you?” His cock is finally free and you kiss his tip, the warm stickiness already coating him smearing over your lips, and the stuttering breath he releases tells you all you need to know. You trail down the underside, barely touching him with your lips, Your breath is hot against his skin and you flatten your tongue to lick a wide strip from root to tip, feeling more than hearing his shuddering exhalation as you run it up the prominent vein there. You’d felt him in your hand before, but he seems so much bigger now as you take him in hand and swirl your tongue strongly over his head, savouring the sticky warmth that coats him.

“Been…a long…time,” he breathes raggedly. “I don’t know if I’ll-“

His words abruptly turn to a muted gasp as you slide your mouth down over his length, slowly bobbing lower and lower, testing how far you could take him. It had been a long time for you too and you hope you can make him feel as good as you wanted to. Give him a moment of bliss and relaxation, make his worries ebb away in the pleasure. His head reaches the back of your throat and you force yourself to still, to accept and to swallow around him. His breath comes like it’s been punched out of him, but his hands are still gentle as they stroke softly over your shoulders. You feel his thighs tremble beneath you, can feel the effort it’s taking for him not to buck up to seek more of the warm, wet heat of your mouth. As you begin to pull off him you hollow your cheeks, sucking firmly as you move back to his tip to lap there a little more.

“Good?” you murmur as you plant soft kisses upon him.

“F-fuck,” he breathes. “So good, sweetheart.”

Encouraged by his praise you begin to take him in your mouth again. He is thickening more already, and your hand pumps what you cannot easily take. You don’t know if it’s your own technique, that it’s been a long time for him, or the fact that he’s enjoying the prospect of doing this when there are other people so close, but he’s already starting to lose some of his self-control. His hands are gripping your shoulders a little more tightly and you gaze up at him in the darkness, not able to see much except the hollows of his eyes as they look upon you and of his mouth where it has fallen open.

You slide your unoccupied hand up his torso, brushing your fingers across the soft hair at his belly and his soft skin, now covered by a sheen of perspiration. As you run your nails down he releases a quiet moan and then covers your hand with his, pressing you more firmly against him. You take the hint and rake your nails more insistently and his hips begin to move, setting his desired rhythm that you fall into as you swallow him more deeply. He’s close - his cock swelling in your hand and mouth, his breath now with an edge of dampened moans as he attempts to keep himself quiet, and suddenly all softness is gone as he moves more forcefully, fucking himself into your fist and throat as he pulsates into you. Bitten off curses and half whispers of your name accompany the salty tang of his release as it coats your tongue, and you swallow the beautiful warmth of him down as his body slowly relaxes under you. You hear his head thump back against the pillow above you and take the time to gently suck his softening length, cleaning him of every last drop before kissing your way up his belly again and coming to rest with your head on his chest, his heart pounding wildly against your ear.

“Christ,” he mutters as he kisses the top of your head. “Fuck.”

“You sleepy enough to actually get some rest now?” you tease, your wide smile very evident in your voice.

“Mmmmm,” he rumbles, relaxing further back into the thin mattress and wrapping his arms around you. “I really am.”

“Then rest, Joel,” you whisper tenderly, sliding your hand under his t-shirt to feel his bare skin against yours.

“So good t’me,” he mumbles, his voice slack with impending sleep. “Luh you.”

Your eyes had been closing too, your body overwhelmed by the departure of so much adrenaline from the events of the day and the warm strength and comforting scent of Joel all around you, but at that they shoot open and your body stiffens.

“What did you say?” you whisper into the dark, but your only reply is a soft snoring.

Taglist - @thisshipwillsail316 @prostitute-robot-from-the-future @elegantduckturtle @dihra-vesa @midwesternwitchery @just-here-for-the-moment @eri16 @readsalot73 @littlemisspascal @princessxkenobi @harriedandharassed @pagannightwitch @tentacruels @kirsteng42 @shirks-all-responsibilities @deadhumourist @pedrostories @abbyhaslongshorts @celebrtyskinz @majahu @sanscas @myloveistoolittle @ohthemisssery @harperdoodle @hummelmi @casssiopeia @midgetpottermills @rivierasunsetdiner @starkleila @nunya7394 @mumma-moonchild @thereaperisabitch

[snackhobi]

More ‘Straight Shooter’ lore yesssss I love that fic so much!!!!!!! Things I like to imagine after the ending: 1) JK about to go on his first mission and y/n cooing over him and fully kitting him out whilst Yoongi pouts 2) a rooftop date where Yoongi is like “sorry I’ve sniped here before but the view is beautiful” and y/n is like “you thought of me?? 🥺” 3) general domestic scenes in the Hobi/Yoongi/JK Household

I wrote this in like 20 minutes, thank you to @morndas for looking at this and assuring me it wasn't terrible (I haven't written anything in the straight shooter verse for literal years now)

a rooftop date where Yoongi is like “sorry I’ve sniped here before but the view is beautiful” and y/n is like “you thought of me?? 🥺”

straight shooter snippet ; 1

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say.

Yoongi doesn’t think so.

Then again, Yoongi’s found he doesn’t always agree with what everyone else says - what they say, what they think, what they do. Maybe it’s because he’s always hyperaware of his surroundings. He has to be in his line of work, after all. Contempt is a luxury he doesn’t allow himself to foster. A single slip-up and he could be dead.

The lower levels are looked down upon by those who live above. In the upper levels they turn up their noses, turn away from the grime and the filth, the decaying foundations that have been neglected for far too long. Dirty, ugly, abandoned, they say, even as they continue to build atop them, profit from them. There’s nothing beautiful down there.

But they don’t know the city like he does.

They don’t know about this secret perch, hidden atop a darkened skyscraper, dilapidated and hollow.

They don’t know that the lower city shines.

All the strata rise from here, a graduated terrace that ascends upwards and upwards. Each level sparkles and glitters, glowing even in the darkness, a kaleidoscope of neon colour that would be a riotous clamour if one were too close. Instead, from this distance it all blurs into one, a shimmering gradient that softens all the sharp edges of this place into something beautiful. Being at the bottom of this cascading array means that an onlooker can tilt their head back and never find an end to it all, almost, like they could lean further and further back and never fall. That they would be caught in this neverending ouroboros of light and life.

There’s nothing beautiful down there, they say, but Yoongi knows that’s not true.

Because, after all, you’re here.

You’re here in the lower city, and you’re here beside him. You’re here, staring up at all of these lights with eyes wide open, drinking in this view, the endless constellations that make up a city of man-made stars.

“It’s hardly easy to get up here,” you say. “Not exactly a great place for a tourist attraction, if that’s what you were planning.”

Yoongi lets himself smile. He’s been doing that a lot more recently. Smiling. Usually when you’re around.

(Who would have thought?)

“I was using it as a sniper’s nest,” Yoongi says. “I thought you’d like the view.”

You turn towards him. As far away as you are from all those lights, those shooting stars, you still shine brighter still. (Bold, brilliant, bright. Beautiful.)

“You thought of me?”

(Sniper rifle of your making braced against his body, staring down a scope that you’d built, weapon loaded with bullets that you’d designed. The remembered press of your lips on his temple, his mouth, his neck. The lights of the city haloed around his view even as he focused in on his target below.)

“Yes,” he says.

(It’s just you, and him, and the endless lights below you. In your own hidden world away from everything else.)

And - with no bite behind it, no hidden laughter, nothing but a rare moment of unguarded fondness - you smile.

–

Familiarity breeds contempt, they say, but there are some things that Yoongi grows more familiar with day by day and will never grow tired of.

(Even if he’d never say it out loud.)

[pascaloverx]

DANGEROUS

CHAPTER TWO

Summary: You are a retired spy trying to live a normal life. Some time ago, a hired assassin named Tangerine tried to kill you. In response, you sought the help of an old acquaintance who could fake any death, August Walker. However, now your false identity is in jeopardy, along with your life.

Warnings: For now, the fanfic will not contain explicit content, but it will be flagged if it does in the future. However, there will be the use of strong language and moderate violence. Readers are advised. The characters August Walker and Tangerine do not belong to me but to their respective creators. Some other characters that belong to both Mission: Impossible (2018) and Bullet Train (2022) may appear in this fanfic. Other characters who are not part of these movies will be of my own creation. I hope you enjoy the reading

chapter one chapter three

Tangerine is holding onto your arm tightly, causing some discomfort. He's making you lead him to your house. You just want to get rid of him as soon as possible, but it seems almost impossible. That's because he has a gun, almost too visibly strapped to his waist. And he took the gun you stole from Walker. Son of a bitch.

"You should know that my neighbor is a bit nosy, but she's nothing more than that. So if you try to shoot her or any other shit like that, I'll kill you. She'll probably ask who you are. Please don't say anything that makes you sound like a murderer." You tell Tangerine, who seems to be bothered by something. But after hearing you speak, he lets out a weird little laugh. Okay, not so weird; maybe even sexy.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I don't intend to cause any extra harm. But rest assured, if you try to play smart, I won't spare any efforts to..." He speaks as he walks alongside you, but you abruptly turn to face him. He seems intrigued but not surprised.

"Why cling to threats? If you want to settle this, settle it with me. Without involving innocent people. Understood?" You speak, a little enraged, looking Tangerine straight in the eyes. The eye contact between you almost feels like a competition of staring each other down. You want to show that you're not afraid because, in truth, you're not. What scares you is that this seems to excite Tangerine.

"You look extremely sexy trying to act brave. I can see why you and Walker built a relationship." Tangerine says, moving even closer to you, as if he's provoking you. You bite your lower lip lightly, thinking that sleeping with the enemy might not be a bad idea and then escaping death. But before you can think of something to reply, your neighbor, Mrs. Johnson, appears on her balcony. She asks who's there, looking in your direction, and Tangerine doesn't seem pleased by this.

"Good evening, Mrs. Johnson. It's me, your neighbor. I brought my late husband's brother for a visit. I hope I didn't disturb you." You say, positioning yourself in front of Tangerine in case Mrs. Johnson sees his weapon. Unfortunately, his body is so close to yours that you can feel his penis lightly pressing against your buttocks. Oops.

"My dear, it's good to see you're taking care of your late husband's family. Just come inside." Mrs. Johnson says kindly. You relax a bit when you notice Mrs. Johnson quickly retreating into her house. What's even more interesting is that Tangerine hasn't moved an inch away from you. He's simply clinging too close to your body.

"Does your neighbor usually meddle, or is it because you never have any company in this fake life you've created?" Tangerine speaks near your ear, his mustache lightly brushing against the corner of your neck.

"She cares about me. And for your information, this life is more real than any other I've had. I grew into espionage. I wasn't a person; I was a product. Now I have a neighbor who cares about me." You reply, knowing deep down he must understand you. Whether he likes it or not, your jobs are alike.

"Oh, my dear, I apologize if I gave the impression that I care about your personal life, my bad. But if you want to tell me your sad story while we're both in the horizontal position, I promise to pretend to care." Tangerine says as he rests his chin on your neck. You turn to face him, wanting so much to slap him in the face.

"Are you suggesting that sleeping with me might make you care about me on a personal level? If so, we can make a deal. You're decent enough." You say, objectifying him. The proposition itself is just an exchange of unnecessary comments, but if he agrees, maybe you'll consider it.

"You know what's the funniest thing about all this? I actually think I would accept your proposition." He says, moving closer to you as if challenging you. But you meet his gaze without flinching.

"Too bad, but now you're going to try to end me. And I'll find a way out of this and kill Walker. Maybe in another life, you'll have better luck." You say, getting very close to Tangerine. His lips look pink up close. In moments, you notice his approach, and even though you fear what he might do, you don't back away. Then Tangerine tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear and lightly holds your face, pulling you towards him. His lips are quickly on yours. Your tongues are once again finding each other. While you run your hands through Tangerine's hair, he firmly grips your waist, almost reaching your butt.

"I don't like to leave anything for later. Which reminds me..." Tangerine grabs your two hands and restrains you with handcuffs. You're surprised but not shocked. But in the end, he even helped you. You hold on to your handcuffed hands and throw everything in his face. Without thinking much you run to your house which is not far away. You barely saw if your blow had any real effect on Tangerine. You just locked yourself in the house. Unfortunately you are not alone.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You ask, almost shouting. Obviously seeing Walker inside your house didn't make you happy. This damn hot traitor.

"I'm the one who should react like that, you left me in a bad way on that fucking train." Walker says, sitting on your couch. As if he were a damn husband waiting for his wife.

"So, let me get this straight. You hand me over to Tangerine, set a trap for me, and you're just upset because I decided, I don't know, to create a distraction to escape?" You would like to show more anger, but you're too busy figuring out how to escape this situation. Walker seems to have noticed that you're nervous, standing up from the couch and effortlessly throwing the couch against the front door.

"What did you do?" He asks as he grabs other heavy items and piles them against the door to make it difficult for Tangerine to enter.

"He kissed me and handcuffed me, so I used the handcuffs to hit him in the face. Just a reminder, I'm only in this mess because of you." You say, heading to a compartment in your living room that contains some weapons. Walker follows you, making sure to block the back door as well.

"So now it's my fault that you use your lips and then hit the people you were kissing?" Obviously, he would use that against you. You roll your eyes at him as you reach for one of your guns and hand it to him. With the time spent in espionage came the experience of doing things while handcuffed. But Walker grabbed some tool from the kitchen and broke the handcuffs. You didn't even know that was possible.

"You two are starting to look like a boring married couple. Now that you've stopped, let's have an adult conversation." Tangerine says, appearing as someone who must have invaded your house through one of the damn windows. You and Walker automatically look at each other, knowing that this conversation is going to be interesting.

[circularsidewalks]

I have mixed feelings about whether Jodi premeditated the murder or not, I feel like everything else is just circumstance, like her dyeing her hair, rental car, the gas cans, but the missing gun from her grandparents is the only thing that could be premeditated. Do you think Jodi stole the gun? It would be a little coincidental that Travis had the same gun but anything’s possible

I do agree that it's possible Travis had the same gun, as the gun used in the murder is somewhere in the Arizona desert right now, so who knows? What we do know is a loaded .25 caliber gun was stolen from Jodi's grandparent's house (along with a handful of other items, around the same time as a rash of burglaries in the area), and a .25 caliber gun was used to kill Travis. The gun stolen from Jodi's grandparent's home was loaded with hollow-point bullets. Travis was not killed with hollow-point bullets, according to the casing found in his cheek at the crime scene. Where did Jodi get regular, pointed bullets? Who knows, maybe the same place she could've gotten a less pathetic gun to kill her useless boyfriend with. If Jodi was to go out of her way to change the bullets in the gun she stole, why would she choose bullets which are less accurate and harder to control over short distances? If she was confident enough to buy bullets (but not a gun?), and confident enough to choose the .25 caliber out of all the other firearms in her grandparent's home, I find it odd she would make such a choice. Especially for a girl with the level of dedication to, according to the state, stage a burglary in her grandparents' home to obtain a firearm for a premeditated murder. Also, if Jodi bought bullets, I am positive beyond a doubt we would've seen the receipts just as prosecution insisted with the gas cans.

Long story short, the state asserts that Jodi...

Planned to shoot her boyfriend to death, but did not have a gun

Chose to obtain a gun by burglarizing her grandparents

Chose a .25 caliber fucking pocket pistol out of all the firearms in that home (and in her father's home, for the sake of saying) to commit a murder

Discarded the more accurate, more effective hollow point bullets in exchange for shittier regular pointed bullets

Obtained these bullets from some place other than her grandparent's, with zero trace

What makes more sense to me, is that Jodi...

Went to visit Travis on invitation. After a day together, Jodi accidentally dropped his expensive camera in a wet, tiled bathroom, setting him off, forcing her to defend herself.

Ran to his closet, looking for the firearm she knew Travis owned.

Shot Travis with his little bitch .25 caliber pistol, hardly making a dent in his forehead, provoking him further

Fought him off with a knife (wounds on Travis's hands and back indicate he was positioned atop Jodi at some point, and repeatedly tried to grab the knife from her), before finally slitting his neck, killing him

This is very, very simplified retelling of the murder but I hope it clarifies some of the prosecution's mistakes (perjury and lies) in selling this 'premeditated murder' to a stupid ass jury and about all of America.

[minniepetals]

cry me a river | the abuser and the bystander

— summary: it hurts just as much knowing someone could have stopped it all but chose to stand by and watch instead

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, mafia!au

— word count: 7.4k

— warnings: violence, mentions of physical abuse, use of poison, mentions of child labor and child abuse, manipulation, gaslighting

— PART 10 / previous part / masterpost

He levels a glare your way but even still, furrows his brows with confusion by your words. “What?”

“It’s alright, Hoseok, let him go,” you tell the man beside you with a soft pat against his arm. Hoseok hesitates to do so, a glare leveled at Jummy but he gives in to your words nonetheless, letting go but not without force and causing Jummy to go into a fit of coughs.

You grin with amusement. “Hey, Jummy,” with a hand trailing onto his shoulder to wrap itself around and hold the nape of his neck, you lean forward so close to his ears in order to fall out of earshot from everyone but Jummy. “You know what’s funny?” Hoseok’s brows furrow at the sight, not liking how close you are to the man and the fact that he can’t hear a thing you’re saying. “My father never once laid his hands on me.”

“That’s because that bastard always had others do the job for him.”

“That’s right, and you were one of those people, weren’t you? So don’t you think it would be right for me to do the same?” You take a step back, a smirk held his way.

“...What?”

“Yuna.”

The second you speak the name, Yuna is at your side in an instant. No one knows where she came from but here she is without falter, dressed in complete black from head to toe. 

“For all the times you were stood on the side, unable to do anything as Jummy did what he wanted to do with me, you can seek your revenge now.” If Yuna had eyes, you’re sure they would have darkened at your commands, or perhaps they would have filled with thrill and excitement. She grabs ahold of her two sai blades which lied on each side of her belt, spinning them well along her fingers before holding onto them with a tight grip, and even without eyes, Jummy feels his body running cold upon Yuna’s attention.

“Y-you really think you can come here and take over my party? All the guests here are—”

“No one’s on your side, Jummy, haven’t you realized that?” Upon your words, he looks around frantically for help but no one steps up. “If they were to come after me, it’d be their revenge for me taking Daejung’s head but in your case, only you can protect yourself now.”

“I-I have my own people to—”

A bullet from a high distance shoots a man down when he tries to come to his boss’s aid and you send the man a smile as the party falls into an uproar upon Dasom’s signal.

“Well then, good luck, Jummy.”

With that, you turn your back on him and begin to walk away as your people take over.

“He wasn’t the one you were after was he?” Hoseok asks, his feet carrying him to walk along your side.

You shrug. “Hey Hoseok, could I perhaps give you the honor to get rid of a man for me? I think you’d quite enjoy the job.”

“Who?” He doesn’t ask why, just ready at your command and you take ahold of your gun amidst the chaos, pointing it at a man from afar and without hesitation, shoot right upon the thigh of his leg.

“That man,” you say. “Looks familiar, doesn’t he?”

A limp in his foot, the other leg now taken from you once more, and Hoseok gets his gun ready. “What about you?” He asks, wondering what your plans were.

“Don’t worry about that, I can take care of myself.” With that, you’re taking off on your feet, disappearing into the crowd with your long black dress and heels clicking away.

Hoseok stands there watching you for some time before he takes off in the opposite direction, trusting you in your plans. “Jimin, Yoongi,” he calls into the intercom.

In just a split second, the younger man’s voice comes in. “Hyung.”

“Get to Y/N,” he orders as he catches sight of the limping man trying to escape. “Something tells me this is bigger than it seems.”

There’s no way you just put on a show just for the fun of it. Jummy wasn’t your target. Perhaps he was indeed someone who did you wrong but you’re letting one of your members kill him off for you, telling him that perhaps all of this was just to divert the crowds’ attention from somewhere else.

Somewhere you’re heading towards.

“She’s heading for her real target.”

.

.

.

“Hello there, Ying.”

You slide in through the window like a slithering snake and situate yourself against the windowsill with a leg crossed over the over, revealing more of your bare legs.

Ying pauses in his tracks as he looks over at the call of his name, his expression appearing calm as he turns to face you and gives you his full attention. Adjusting the collars on his sleeves, two of his men who fall on each side of him stands tall and intimidating, while he observes you.

“Missed me?” You chirp with an easy-going grin.

“Y/N,” he says, voice low and calm, unlike his hot-headed younger brother. “You seem to be doing well.”

“Well, taking over the throne has certainly given me much more freedom than my father would ever have,” you say, shrugging lightly. From the corner of your eyes, you notice two familiar silhouettes just outside your viewpoint, blind to the men before you.

“You have my brother cornered, who knew you were such a smart woman behind that silent gaze. Are you upset at him for what he’s done to you?”

“Oh Ying, if I was that upset, I would have taken care of him myself, no? Jummy’s just a waste of my time.”

His brows crease slightly. “Then why are you here? To sign an alliance with me?”

You laugh aloud. “Men are so, so foolish, aren’t they?” You jump from the windowsill, approaching him, and even as his two men step up on guard against you, you ignore them to continue your way towards Ying who remains standing still with no will to move away. “Did you know that the abuser and the ones who simply decide to just watch the abuser and do nothing about it are just as bad?”

“So what? You’re upset I never stepped in to help you?”

“If I was really that weakhearted, would I have survived for this long?” You ask him, a raise in your brow. “You pretend to be the good brother, the knight in shining armor, and if I wasn’t such a smart little girl, I would have totally fallen for your charms and believed you were on my side all along. But in reality, there’s something much darker about you, isn’t there?”

“What are you saying?” He looks down at you with furrowed brows as you play with his tie. “Was my kindness to you not enough?”

“Kindness?” You snicker. “You don’t actually believe offering me a few sweet words and tending to my wounds after your brother’s abuse would have been enough to swoon me, did you?”

“Just clench your teeth and the next time it happens, it’ll all be over before you know it.” You remain silent as he speaks those words, head lowered while he sits before you, carefully looking over your body and tending to the wounds himself. Even though he has his own men in the room, Ying always offered to do the treating himself.

But this isn’t kindness.

Not when he’s always there to watch Jummy hurt you and do nothing about it, simply letting his younger brother do his thing, and then deciding to step in once it seems the ignorant brat is done taking his anger out.

This isn’t kindness. He’s just trying to sweeten you up, have you believing he’s on your side when he’s really not.

You’re just a puppet to his eyes, someone who can help him in the future, someone who can give him power and authority. He wants to use you, to pretend to be a good man, and perhaps even make you fall in love with him in order to claim the Reaper’s seat.

You’re much too scarred to ever trust a man that easily again but if he wants to pretend then you’ll pretend as well.

“Why don’t you do anything, Ying?” You ask him in a small voice, pretending to slowly break. “You’re the older brother, can’t you…can’t you stop Jummy? It hurts, Ying.”

“I know, but it won’t be too long until all of this is over, alright? Just hold on a little longer.”

Just hold on a little longer. It’ll be over soon.

That’s what he always tells you. How long has it been since the first time he’s spoken those words? Perhaps a year now. Yet he still thinks he can sway you with such words.

“I’ll be right back. I’m going to talk to Jummy, alright?” When you don’t give him an answer, you feel his large palm touch you on the top of your head. And then, he leaves along with his men, leaving you all to yourself once more.

When you look up to stare at his back, the glare that levels his way, even after the door closes, doesn’t ever leave.

You rip the bandage he wrapped around you, calling unto your boys. “Mingyu. Yeonjun.”

They come in a split second.

“Be a good girl and head back home, Y/N. You’ve already gotten Jummy.”

He takes you to be a fool, he always had from the very moment he laid eyes on you. The Reaper had always been quite a force and because of that, you were a tool used by your father who wished to exploit you in all the ways possible.

When Ying found that out, he decided to fake his way into your heart and pretend to care when no one else did, having no idea of your own loyal members who were already doing their jobs well.

Yet unlike him who only stood by to watch willingly and feign his kindness afterward, your Reapers always had a hard time holding themselves back when watching you get hurt by your father’s men. Unlike him who had the power to stop them at any time, your Reapers were forced to stand back, knowing that one wrong move would have your secrets all spilled out and everyone would end up dead while you suffer the consequences.

There is a difference between being a willing bystander while knowing you have the power to do something, and being a bystander who has no power and no choice but to stand and watch, knowing that if they were to do something, it would result in serious consequence.

Ying is different from your people.

He feigns his kindness and you hate fake people.

“If you want me to go home, get these men out of the way.”

“No.”

“Why not?” You feign a pout. “Do you see me as a threat, Ying? Aren’t I just a hopeless little girl who needs a knight in shining armor in your eyes? What can a small girl like me do to you? Look,” you slither your hands up and around his neck, causing his men to quickly act but are immediately held back by Jimin and Yoongi. You ignore them to remain staring into Ying’s eyes. “My hands can barely wrap themselves around you. If I were to choke you, you’d have me dead in a split second.”

Ying remains still as he meets your cunning gaze, face only deciding to inch closer to him.

“Ah but my sweet Ying wouldn’t ever hurt me, would he? You promised after all.” You laugh at the memories before looking over to the side when more of his men seem to gather around. Jimin and Yoongi step up to deal with them while you keep yourself busy with the boss at hand. “Hey Ying, maybe you could call off your men, yeah?”

“You’re here to kill me, aren’t you?”

“Hm…am I?”

“Do you want an apology? For all the times I stood by and didn’t stop my brother from hurting you? Is that what you want?”

How foolish. “No, I just want you dead,” you admit casually as if speaking about the weather. “You have to realize, Ying, that it hurts just as much knowing someone could have stopped it all but chose to stand by and watch instead.”

Namjoon was the sole reason the relationship fell and when you needed the rest of them to step up, they did absolutely nothing. He was in power, sure, a man in a position higher than any of you, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have done anything for you.

You wonder what was going on in their heads when Namjoon spoke insults at you, when you were so desperate to save the relationship, pretending everything was okay while trying your best to keep everything stable with everyone else. You wonder what they were thinking when you fell silent upon their ignorance, upon your desperation.

You wonder why they never did anything to stop Namjoon. You wonder why they never tried to help you.

You wonder why they just stood there, doing nothing.

“You’re just as bad as the abuser.”

As you speak those words, something so small yet so sharp stabs against the nape of his neck. Ying’s face crumbles with pain, his body lurching forward, falling to his knees, but his struggle doesn’t last long because just seconds later, his heavy body has dropped to the floor, left lifeless.

You’ve learned from Daejung that simple poison won’t work on the men you’re trying to rid of. They’ll put up a fight, hurt you, and cause you more damage than you’ve already gotten from them. So you had Yeonjun look into creating a much more lethal poison that wouldn’t give you any trouble.

It worked.

“Y/N—” You ignore Yoongi to throw a dagger at the man who ran up from behind him.

“Come on, Yoongi, you know better than to get distracted during a battle.” With that, the three of you come together to deal with the rest of the men who’re too stubborn to leave you be, especially after their boss had just fallen.

They should know when to retreat, especially when you give them no mercy and claw away at them, stabbing blades after blades, shooting each of them down with your gun. You don’t care for the messes you’re making, you welcome it.

After all, disorder is much better than perfection.

And soon enough, everyone’s body has fallen dead on the floor with you standing right in the middle.

When the two men look at you, they see nothing but a blank stare, emotionless and filled with an empty void. You don’t cower before the blood, you don’t even attempt to rid of the stench and stain which now decorates your body and dress.

Instead, you stand there almost as lifeless as the bodies on the floor.

When you look up at them, there is nothing but silence.

You’re just as bad as the abuser, they remember you say and for a moment it almost seems to be directed at them.

They still remember those days as clear as the sun. How could they not? They once loved you so dearly and now a part of you will always doubt that love.

“Feel better, alright?” Those were the words Jimin remembers saying to you at the beginning of it all, as if it was that simple, as if it was that easy.

But it wasn’t and when you needed them the most, they left you all alone.

It’s a long silence but eventually, you’re the first to break the stillness of the room, stepping towards Ying’s body to search for something in his pockets.

“We’re not done yet,” you say.

“We aren’t?”

“I didn’t come here just to kill a few people.” A black card flashes in your hand from Ying’s pocket and you begin to walk off. “Follow me,” you say, and after sharing a glance at one another, the two of them follow along.

You lead them to the end of the hallway where an old elevator resides and step right on in. Once there, you scan the black card upon an empty space, causing a small beeping sound to then resound and the ground floor button appears.

Jimin’s brows furrow. “What is this?”

“Ying had a secret he kept from everyone. Something I found out a year into knowing him so I had my team investigate his suspicious act and low and behold,” the doors open to show a dark underground, “there was something quite dark and disgusting about the man.”

“What’d you find out?”

You fall silent without an answer to Yoongi’s question, simply stepping forward to walk into the darkness. They follow without a word, knowing they’d find out the truth themselves. It grows colder and colder by the second the further the three of you walk through the undergrounds, until eventually you make a right and a few guards that have been posted are seen.

They’re on the floor for some reason, however, lifeless, and you guess someone must have already gotten here before you.

Your brows furrow at the sight until the dungeon of cages appears and a man stands in the middle of the hallway, holding onto a child while more surround him at his feet.

“Children…?” Yoongi whispers in disbelief at the sight of frail little children who’re now out of the cages, clothes shriveled up and ragged, their bodies dirty, faces heavy with fatigue as if they’ve been forced to do harsh labor.

You don’t pay attention to them even as a few gasps upon your entrance, your eyes are simply trained at the man in the middle, feet quickening until you’re up kicking the dirt from the ground and jumping right in to land a forceful kick on his stomach, causing him to fly backward and hit the wall behind him.

You walk forward to grab the little boy out of his hand, a glare leveled his way.

“What are you doing hanging around him willingly?” You ask the boy in your arms, brows furrowed with anger.

“B-but he—”

Before he can say another word, you inject a needle poison into the man’s neck and the children gasp at the sight of a man killed right before their eyes.

“Y/N what the hell?” There’s no way you just did that in front of the children.

You ignore the two men to turn back to the children as you set the boy down and crouch to their level, eyes stern and hard while they lower their heads, cowering in fear.

“Well?” You prompt, demanding an answer out of them.

Sunoo, the little boy, speaks up. “He…he was nice, milady.”

“So what? Are you going to trust every nice adult out there?” You accuse, voice hard and scary despite the fact that you aren’t yelling. You never yell, not once have they ever heard you yell, but when you’re like this, you’re much more scary than all the other adults that have laid their hands on them.

“Tell me, Poya,” you turn to the little girl closest to you and she straightens up upon your call, “when has that man ever helped you?”

“He…” She hesitates. “He would give us extra food when we behaved well and..and he would treat our wounds when we got hurt.”

“And did he ever do anything else?”

“Huh?” She looks up, confused.

“When Ying would come in, yell at you, accuse you all of something you hadn’t done, criticize you for your lack of your strength, your lack of worth, and when the others would harm you when you did one small thing wrong, tell me, did he ever step up then?”

“W-well…”

“That’s because he couldn’t!”

“Yeah! He couldn’t.”

Your eyes harden and they quickly fall silent once more. “That man may not have authority over Ying but he had enough authority to stop the rest of the guards from hurting you, didn’t he? Look at you.” You take one of their hands, turning the palm over to find it swollen. “Pain.” You point to a little boy’s knee. “Cuts.” You shove the sleeves of a little girl to reveal her arm. “Wounds and bruises. You see this? Did he ever stop them from hurting you? And who are you to know the medicine he treated you with will help you rather than cause you more pain? He only stepped in when there were no eyes on him, only smiled at you and gave you sweet words when everyone else was gone or asleep. Do you really believe this to be kindness?”

They don’t say a thing but you know your words are getting to them.

They’re understanding.

“He didn’t abuse you but he stood there doing nothing and only faked his kindness after you were hurt,” you point out with a hard stare. “There is a difference between not being able to do anything out of your control and doing nothing at all when you know you could’ve helped. This isn’t kindness.”

You see the way their shoulders tense up, how their bodies begin to tremble, a teardrop falling to the floor from a lowered head, how they’re completely silent and still, knowing that showing you any form of weakness or tears will only cause you to push them away.

Because Sir Mingyu said crying in front of you will only burden you. You hate tears, you hate weaknesses, you hate love. So they have to be careful around you.

They have to be careful if they want to remain by your side.

“Why were you late?” Sunoo asks, his voice cracking a bit but he clears his throat afterward, looking up to feign bravery and strength. When he looks at you, there is no ounce of hatred in his eyes, no level of accusatory leveled your way. Just the burden of a child who should not have lived through the things he did. Yet he puts you first and foremost. “Are you okay now?”

“Do not concern yourself with me,” you deadpan in an emotionless tone. “Worry about your own well-being first if anything.”

“You got hurt,” Vinni says, tugging at the blood stains on your dress.

“Was it difficult coming here?” Lily asks, her hand coming up to take your hand as she stares at the cut you grazed on your arm.

“Who do you think I am?”

“Right, of course. My lady fought well,” she says, her brows furrowing slightly when her little hands come up to gently stroke around the blood of the cut, making sure she doesn’t accidentally touch the cut.

You notice her concern. “Seems blood doesn’t scare you anymore.”

“I’ve gotten braver!” She declares proudly when she looks up at you with a bright smile.

“Have you now.”

“Mmh!” She nods happily. “It’s because we knew you were coming soon, milady. We were right to believe in you.”

You frown. “What did I say about believing in people so easily? Even I can betray you one day. What would happen if I were to never show up? Would you still believe in me until the day of your death?”

“Well…” She hesitates, unsure of what to say upon your interrogation. Even in front of the children, you remain hard-headed, unwavering, but even then they were never afraid of you. You’re not like the rest of the adults, after all. Even behind that cold gaze, you’re kind. “I just knew,” she whispers, “I knew you wouldn’t abandon us.”

Because just like them, you were once a lost little child who had no one to rely on, hating the evils of the adults, not knowing who to trust and who to keep your guard up against.

Just like them, you were hurt plenty by the people around you.

Seeing the small little tears in their eyes which they do so well to hold in for your sake, you know just how strong they’ve been.

“You did well,” you speak into the silence, “all of you.”

The way their eyes brighten, the way their lips curl up upon such simple words are almost enough to let the tears flow but they keep strong, blinking them away, hiding them into their arms when some of them can’t keep it in.

“Where will we go now, milady? What will happen to us now?” Sunoo asks, his eyes filled with worry as he looks up at you with his big rounded eyes.

When you stand back up, their eyes follow you like you’re the alpha of the wolf pack, looking at you for guidance, for instructions. “You said you believe me, right? So heed by those words and just worry about yourself. I will take care of everything.”

.

.

.

“Mingyu! Sir Mingyu!”

“Miss Somi!”

Dasom’s face cringes with discomfort as she eyes the second in command with disgust. “Why the hell are they calling me that? They picked it up from you, you bastard.”

“Hey, mind your language,” he whispers to her ear. “Also it’ll do you well to look more kindly in front of the children.”

She tsks while Mingyu turns his attention back to the children, crouching before them with a friendly smile.

“Looks like you haven’t eaten in some time,” he observes as he stares at their skinny little bodies. “Did you get your shots from Yeonjun yet? Have you gotten treated?”

“Yep! That’s why we’re here otherwise Lady Y/N will get angry.”

Seeing their apprehensive expression upon that, Mingyu narrows his gaze as he tilts his head to the side. “Hm, looks like you’ve already made her angry though.”

They pout upon the reminder, head lowered with shame. “She scolded us,” Poya admits and Mingyu laughs aloud.

“Of course she did. She wouldn’t be Y/N if she doesn’t get angry that easily. She’s a real demon, you know. One time I—”

Dasom hits the back of his head without hesitation. “If boss hears you, I wouldn’t hesitate to volunteer to kill you myself.”

“Why’re you always so mean to me?” He cries.

.

.

.

“What are you planning to do with the kids now that you’ve rescued them?” You look up at the sound of Hoseok’s voice as he takes a seat beside you where you sit on the stairs of the building, eyes staring mindlessly at the empty streets before you. “You’re not thinking of sending them away to some orphanage, are you?”

You scoff a little at the question. “I’m not that cruel, Hoseok. Anyone who came into this business because of the orphanages is proof they don’t treat kids well.” He’s a living proof of it and he knows you understand that. “I’ve built an academy for them about two years ago, before the plan to rescue them took place today,” you say, eyes returning to stare at the street. “A few of my people outside the mafia will be in charge of it, making sure they get their education, their meals, and live in a safe environment.”

“For a moment there I almost thought you’d take them in yourself.”

“Ha, and bring them in deeper with what this world has to offer?” You laugh at the thought before your expression hardens. “They don’t deserve this kind of life, they’ve already been through enough.”

Almost everyone who’s joined the mafia has gone through the process at a young age, the rest of them an exception. After all, it’s always been a wiser decision to train their people when they’re still young and striving with ambition. It’s easier to instill loyalty into them, easier to break them.

Hoseok can still remember his time so vividly as if he was living it yesterday. He’ll never forget it.

When he looks your way, the sight of your hand touching the cheek where Jummy had hit you catches his attention.

“Looks like it does hurt after all,” he observes, a slight furrow in his brows. He remembers the slap well, how it echoed into the silence of the room, how you just simply let him do that. You provoked him on purpose, wanting a reaction out of him, and received a slap in return. You let him slap you.

“Well,” you say with a shrug, “whether I like to admit it or not, a slap will always hurt.”

“You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

“What?”

“You knew that provoking him would give you a slap in return,” he says. “Being as you had history with him, he’s probably laid his hands on you multiple times before.”

“Probably.”

Feeling a rush of ire running through his veins, Hoseok just can’t seem to read you. “Why do you say that so calmly? Shouldn’t you be more upset?”

You laugh a little at his question, not taking this seriously at all and it makes him mad. “Hoseok, if I got upset and let every little thing get to me, do you really think I’d be where I am now?”

“Still—”

“My goal wasn’t him in the first place, it was Ying. Yuna was the one who wanted to hurt him. She carries my emotions.”

He looks at you for a moment, thinking, wondering, and when you turn your head towards him upon his silence, you feel Hoseok’s hand placed against your cheek. The stinging sensation is still there, you can feel it, and when Hoseok touches your cheek, the coldness from the night breeze begins to warm.

You frown. “What are you doing?”

“Do you not feel anything anymore?” When you try to run away, Hoseok doesn’t let you and instead asks a question, softly, and something that had been hidden in your memories surfaces.

“Why aren’t you getting angry? He did something to you, Y/N, so don’t you feel anything?” Hoseok was so angry, so upset, and for a second you remember almost seeing his eyes watery with tears. He was feeling all these emotions for you, all for you.

“Hoseok…I..I-I’m okay, so—”

“You’re not okay and you know it,” he emphasizes, brows furrowed heavily as he runs his hands through his hair, frustrated. You watch him for some time, unable to say anything, not sure of what it is that you should say, so you stand there, silent, while he paces through the room back and forth, staring at the watch on his wrist as if trying to see when the rest of them would return.

“Hoseok…”

He lets out a heavy sigh and turns back to you, shoulders falling with defeat. “Were you scared?” He asks, softly. “You were scared, weren’t you?”

You don’t give him a reply but Hoseok knows. Hoseok always knows. And when he opens his arms out for you, you don’t hesitate to run into them, engulfing yourself in his warm embrace.

“I’m sorry,” he says against your hair. “I’m not upset at you, it’s just…I wish you’d get upset too.”

“But…what if you don’t like me because of that?”

“Why would I not like you because of that?” He asks, sincerely confused. “It’s human emotions, it’s natural. Just like I don’t like getting sad but you still welcome me either way.”

“It’s…similar to that?”

“Mmn.” He leans away just enough to see your face as he brings himself forward, forehead resting against yours. “I’ll love you despite everything so get mad, get upset, throw a tantrum, and I’ll still love you even then.”

“I do feel, Hoseok,” you tell him, hating the memories that have walked into your head. “I feel anger for all the people that have done me wrong, that’s why I’m going after them for revenge.”

“I feel like I should be proud but…that’s all you feel now, don’t you? Other than anger…there’s nothing but a void in your heart.”

You turn away from his hand, eyes stripping away from him to avoid those eyes that may become a weakness to you. “It’s better to not feel. In this way, I can go about my plans much more successfully. If I let my emotions get the best of me, I’ll just give myself weaknesses to shoulder and we can’t have that if I’m trying to get rid of all my enemies.”

“You’re doing risky business, Y/N.”

“From the minute we were associated with the mafia, everything became risky. In your case, at age nine.” You lost your only love and protection at age nine, Hoseok lost his innocence at age nine.

What a time to be alive.

“And you?”

You look over at him when he asks the question, a chuckle running through your throat. “I was born into this life, remember? Being a mafia heir isn’t an easy task, Hoseok. Whether you were someone who was loved dearly by your parents or not, this business will always serve dangerous for anyone that lives in it. Only ten years ago did I finally find the courage to embrace it. After all, you can’t ever escape the shadows once you step foot into it. That fantasy I lived in only proved to me that living a false life of freedom isn’t something that’s meant for me.”

That fantasy.

The false life of freedom.

You mean to say the three years you spent with them, don’t you? He knows it well and remembers how happy you were in spite of the fear and danger that surrounded your life. You had let them take care of you, trusted their words to never make you fall, to always be there to love and protect you. You gave them your trust and they destroyed that.

The person that you are now doesn’t strive to seek for that happiness anymore. It’s almost as if you’ve truly come to understand all it is that exists in this world of greed, power, and imprisonment. He lived like that for a long, long time, until he found his sanctuary.

You did too but it was forcefully taken away from you unlike him who still has the honor to keep it for his life.

When he looks at you, a burning ache shoots at his heart because he knows he could have saved you. He could have prevented so many things if he knew. 

If only he knew.

The boys were too cowardly to let him in on the knowing while you grew afraid, forcing you to a point where you had to leave. You were afraid to destroy his relationship with them, afraid to hold him back. You left for yourself and you left for him.

“Don’t look like that.” Your voice brings him back from his daze and he looks up, blinking. 

“Huh?”

“You’re blaming yourself again,” you say, head turning back to look at the streets before you. “It’ll do you no good to always put yourself in the blame. On the bright side, I’m much stronger than I was then.” The dagger in your hand spins effortlessly without falter, a skill that probably took years to master. He notices you’re more comfortable with the blade. Was it the first thing you touched when you decided to train?

It makes sense. After all, during your years of living with them, you were always afraid of going near a gun, the incident with the two bodyguards that died before you always made you tremble in your wake. So the question lies in how long it took you to find the courage to hold a gun.

“Who trained you?” He asks and you pause in your flickering. He wonders why. But before he can even speak up on it, your head turns his way again, a light smile on your face.

“A great master whom I also choose to go up against one day.”

Hoseok’s brows furrow. “It wasn’t your father?”

“Ah, father tried for a good time but then decided to hand me off to someone else. Someone stronger than him.” Someone who could break you down much easier than him. You laugh a little at that. “When it’s time to take him down, it’ll definitely be a fight. I might even die.”

“How can you joke around like that?”

“It’s not a joke, it’s the truth.” You say that but you’re still laughing, as if going up against danger is all that you seek, as if your life means nothing to you.

“So you don’t care if you die?” He asks, not liking the sound of that.

“So as long as I live, I’ll keep going after the people that have wronged me in the course of my lifetime.”

He wonders if those people include Bangtan; the other six. Namjoon. But something tells him in their case, you won’t be going after them with the intent to kill. After all, so far the people that have wronged you have all done something unforgivable — not that what Namjoon and the others did to you isn’t unforgivable but deep down, Hoseok still believes you to be someone who still holds kindness in her heart.

“I won’t go after Namjoon,” you assure as if reading his contemplating thoughts. “That’ll be an easy way to die, after all. And you might even hate me for that.”

So you care if he hates you?

“So you’re willing to die by anyone else’s hands?”

“Of course not. I’m just saying, if I die, I die. Who cares by who and who cares how.”

“But what about your Reapers?”

“What about them?”

“They hold a strong sense of loyalty to you,” he states. “At the split call of their names, they’re right next to you, heeding at your every word. Whatever you say is law. Whatever you do, they follow with no question. You don’t see that just anywhere, Y/N, not even in Bangtan. So don’t you think it’d affect them quite a bit were you to carelessly die by a nobody?”

You fall silent to that, hand continuing to play with the dagger at hand. The light reflects from it ever so often, whiffing sounds leaving as you flick about, spinning it, throwing it, catching it.

“I’ve trained them to not care about those sort of things,” you say after a moment. “They all know to prepare themselves if I were to die. Mingyu will take up the throne and things will go about as if I never existed in the first place.”

You let out an exaggerated yawn after speaking those careless words, arms stretching out before you. “Anyways, if I don’t wake up in ten minutes, call Mingyu for me, yeah?”

With that, you rest your head against the cold, hard railing of the stairs, eyes quick to close.

As Hoseok sits there watching you, he can only think of how wrong you are.

.

.

.

“Sir Mingyu, um…”

“Hey, what did I tell you about calling me a sir? Say hyung. Hyung. You’re making me feel old here, little man.”

“You are old.”

He glares up at Dasom’s retort. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?”

She brings her hands up in defeat. “Ah, you’re right. Anywhere without you is a much better place to be.”

“That Somi,” he mutters under his breath as she walks away casually, knowing not to put up a fight otherwise she will literally try to obliterate him. 

Learned that the hard way. 

“Anyways,” he turns to the little boy who had walked away from his friends to approach him, “what was it wanted to say, Sunoo?” 

Sunoo stands on his toes, eyes hesitant as he brings his hands forward, fiddling with them while his mouth opens and closes ever so often, as if what he wants to say is something he shouldn’t be saying but something he wants to say. 

Mingyu crouches down to his level, a gentle hand placed on his shoulder. “Come on now, it’s not like you to be so hesitant. You want to ask me something, don’t you?”

“I…”

“Boss always says in all the seconds that pass through hesitation, it could be spent in being killed. That’s why you must never hesitate, no matter what it is. The seconds are always ticking after all. Time never slows down for anyone.”

Hearing those words, Sunoo is quick to straighten up as his head picks up, eyes a bit more strong than they were when he had initially approached the older man. Mingyu chuckles silently to himself, knowing anything that has to do with you, anyone will listen well.

You have everyone wrapped around your fingers, whether you know it or not.

“I..I want to become a Reaper, Mingyu hyung!”

For the first time in his life, Sunoo watches as the amused and easygoing expression on Mingyu’s face washes over in a second, replaced by something much colder and much more intimidating.

He physically shivers in fear.

“Sunoo…” 

Sunoo’s back straightens even more upon the call of his name as he feels the hand on his shoulder tighten. An unexplainable fear washes over him and he feels pricks of needles pinning through all of his back, legs, and feet. 

He can’t move.

“Never utter such words again, you got that?” He stands from his spot and turns around, quick to dismiss the conversation before it can continue any further but Sunoo stops him, not understanding.

“Why?” He asks, a tug on Mingyu’s blazer. “I want to protect Lady Y/N and the only way I can do that is—”

“If you really want to protect her, you’re better off staying away from us.”

“What…?” He stares at the older man in confusion, dreams and hopes ready to shatter but Sunoo holds on, not wanting to go down without a fight. You’ve protected him from so much and now that he wants to pay you back, he can’t do it in the way he knows how to?

Mingyu lets out a sigh when the kid doesn’t let go and turns back around, his expression still firm and grave, different from the man everyone knows him to be. “It’s a good thing you came to me first, otherwise boss would have killed you herself if she ever heard you say such words.”

“But—”

“Until you learn how to manipulate your emotions and hide them well, until you understand what it means to restrain yourself, to stand by and be a good bystander, only until then will you ever be worthy enough to serve along Y/N’s side.”

“A good…bystander?” What is that supposed to mean?

A kid will never understand, Mingyu knows, because kids who care for someone will always stand against the unjust and recklessly put their lives and everyone else’s lives in danger just for that person. Whether it’s their mother, their father, a friend, a lover, whoever it may be, they will not hesitate to scream and shout, begging and pleading, standing in the way of the unjust, stepping up and defending that one person.

He will be killed in an instant if he doesn’t understand control, if he doesn’t understand his role, and it will break him in more than one way.

“When you learn how to play that role, and know how to play it well, only then will I deem you worthy enough to stay by boss’s side.”

“Yo idiot, boss fell asleep on the stairs.”

Upon hearing Dasom come back with a finger pointed towards the outside, Mingyu looks up, face returning to his usual easygoing expression as he takes a stand.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going. Honestly, why can’t she ever sleep during appropriate times and at appropriate places?”

While Mingyu complains under his breath as he’s walking away, Sunoo remains standing still in the place Mingyu left him, eyes shaking with a waver, his heart aching when he realizes he’s just gotten rejected.

He’s not worthy enough to protect you, to even stay by your side. He’s not worthy enough.

And whatever Mingyu meant, if he never figures that out, if he never learns how to be a good bystander, he will never be worthy enough to ever even approach you.

“Hey kid.” He slowly turns at Dasom’s call, head still in the clouds, hurt by what Mingyu had told him. Dasom lets out a heavy sigh as she pats his head. “The idiot’s right. The only way you can protect boss now is by staying away. She’ll never let you serve her otherwise.”

[staticnight]

Target Practice - Chris Redfield x GN!BSAA!Reader

Sorry if this is terrible, I haven't written fics in a hot minute, and I also haven't written many x-readers. This was intended to be a male!reader, but I realised I hadn't used any gendered terms for the reader anyway.

pairing: Chris Redfield x Gender-Neutral Reader genre: fluff, one-shot word count: 615

   “Hey, Captain,” you greet the man, pulling off the ear muffs and setting down the gun. As Chris sets a hand gently on your shoulder. “Your aim’s getting better,” he says, inspecting the silhouette. Bullet holes sprinkled around the body, a few in the head and in the surrounding wall.

   “Can I show you how to hit headshots more accurately?” He asks, leaning close to you to hover his hand over the gun, shoulders almost touching. You inhale shakily, Chris’ gaze locked onto yours. “Yeah,” you say casually - well, tried to.

   Chris picks up the gun, and places it into your hands. “Got it?” He asks. You nod, and Chris moves behind you, hands sliding slightly downwards to rest over your hands as you hold the gun. “Hands still…”

   He teaches you how to land better headshots, and you try your best to listen to him despite the feeling of him pressed against your back, his arms resting on the sides of your own. You’d always found Chris attractive, the big strong captain of Alpha Team, Chris Redfield, but you’d never thought of acting on your feelings. No chance.

   “Okay, shoot,” Chris moves his hands away from yours. You pull the trigger and hit the silhouette clear in the head. You shoot a few more times, a clean headshot each time. You remove the now empty clip and put down the gun. Chris moves his hands to rest lightly on your arms, craning his head forward over your shoulder. Your breath hitches, Chris’s face once again close to yours. 

   “[Name],” Chris says softly, his eyes once again looking into yours.

   “Redfield,” you respond, matching his tone.

   “I’m not making you… uncomfortable? Am I?” He asks in a worried sort of voice, his eyebrows slightly furrowed. You shake your head; you’d never imagined him acting this way, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

   “Okay, good,” he says, taking a breath. He lifts his arms away and moves to stand in front of you. You have to look up slightly to look him in the eyes, but you find your eyes shifting to his lips. He notices.

   “[Name],” He says your name again. You look up at his eyes again, and Chris takes another breath. “I want to confess something,” you say, before Chris can say whatever he was going to say. He nods, and it’s your turn to breathe.

   “I’ve…” you pause, thinking of how to word this. “I’ve found you attractive for a… a while now. I wasn’t going to say anything, but then all of this happened just now, and,” you look at the ground. “I like you, and I ignored it because you’re my captain and all that, but I can’t take it anymore, I need to let you know,” you say in one breath, speaking fast. 

   Chris stares blankly for a moment, and you get worried. Did he not feel the same? Was he pulling some kind of fucked up joke just now? 

   Chris puts a hand on your shoulder, right next to your neck. He puts his other hand on your lower back, and in an instant, your worries were gone. He presses his lips softly on yours. You respond, putting your hands on each of his shoulders and kissing gently back. It’s a short kiss, pulling away from each other after a few seconds. Chris checks his watch.

   “Text me in the morning, if you want,” he says, smiling. “Will do,” you respond, smiling back at him.