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shujilovedive · 1 year

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'Under The Bleachers'

Shuji Hanma x College Cheerleader Reader

part I / part II

description: After years of bullying and harrasment at the hands of Shuji Hanma, he finally get's what he's wanted out of you all a long. Just don't fight back too much and maybe it'll be enjoyable.

cw: sexual assault (not Hanma) , cumplay, creampie, unprotected sex, Hanma's toxic and twisted, trauma, reader is treated shitty, blood, murder.

notes: inspired by Gwi-nam from all of us are dead.

Twelve Years Ago

“Stop! Get it away from me!” Tears spurted from your eyes as you backed up, tripping over the grass and your pretty afternoon dress that your mother had warned you not to play in.

“Oh, come on! It’s not gonna hurt you!” Hanma laughed, advancing towards you, hands clasped over something you could only imagine was some kind of disgusting bug. Even at nine years old, Hanma was still tall for his age, standing a good four to five inches above you. You wanted to call out for your mom or dad, but you knew Hanma would just laugh at you even more.

“Hanma! Stop!”. Some adult should have heard your cries. Some adult should have stopped Hanma Shuji, either back then when he was just a little kid or now. But they didn’t and they won’t.

Hanma opened his hands and made a tossing motion at you, watching as you screamed and fell onto the ground, shaking your limbs and crying out of fear. Tears blurred your vision as you shook your dress and tried to find whatever he had thrown at you.

“Hay- It was just a joke…Calm down.” Hanma stared down at your shaking form, opening his hands. “I didn’t even have anything.” He looked amused by your state of fear, looking down at you as if you were inferior to him.

Your cries softened as he spoke, body still trembling, heart attempting to slow down inside of your chest. “I hate you! Leave me alone!”

Suddenly he knelt down, rolling his eyes in amusement as he watched you shake in fear. “You’re such a big baby. Stop cryin’ come here.” He opened up his arm’s to invite you into a hug with a sheepish grin.

You stared at him with teary, blurred eyes, not completely trusting of him. Crawling forward, you hugged the young boy, crying into his shoulder.

“Don’t do that ever again!”

:readmore:

Present

“Shit, baby…”, Hanma groaned, thrusting his cock up into your warm cunt, leaning his head back in response to the way your walls sucked him in. You leaned forward, using the handlebars of his motorbike to steady yourself, head hanging low as you panted, condensation causing your breath to be visible in the harsh cold air. Yet your body was still hot, due to your prior cheerleading performance and the way Hanma was working your pretty body.

Hanma just couldn’t help himself, seeing you bounce around in your cute skirt with that adorable, pride filled smile that he loved so much. He hated football, so he deserved a reward for coming to these dumb games anyway. And he took that reward in form of fucking you behind the stadium on his motorcycle bike, dim sky obscuring the two of you from sight.

He had pulled the side of your under shorts and panties to the side without problem, allowing you to melt on his cock like usual. He leaned down, his torso leaning over yours as he began to kiss the back of your neck, nudging your soft skin with his nose. “Shh…you don’t wanna attract attention do you? I’m starting to think you like the idea of getting caught.” He taunted you as you moaned, still pressing his lips against your neck. You might have hated Hanma Shuji, but you couldn’t lie, he knew just how to work your body. You had been told sex wasn’t all it was made out to be by others, but you had a hard time agreeing when Hanma was so fucking good at it.

“Hanma…”, You moaned under your breathe, closing your eyes as an orgasm rolled over your body, filling you with serotonin. Hanma continued to fuck in and out of you, rhythm becoming messy and disgruntled as he reached his own orgasm, cumming inside of you. Everytime he did this, it made you anxious, fear of pregnancy haunting you for the next few days. But Hanma assured you it was okay because of your birth control, and after morning pills. Even then though, your boyfriend would go to the store and buy pills, a pregnancy test and whatever else you wanted to make you feel better.

“Why, Hanma…”,You sounded stressed and scared as you rested your head on the handle bars of his motorcycle. “Shhh…it’ll be okay, baby.” He kissed your neck over and over, letting go of your panties and shorts, allowing his cum to seep out of you into your panties. “I’ll go to the store tomorrow morning, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He squeezed your waist, kissing the skin of your neck one more time before slowly climbing off his motorcycle. “Let’s go home, okay?” you knew he didn’t actually mean your own home but you felt gross and longed to take a long warm shower.

Things had changed. You told yourself that they had changed for the better. They had to have changed for the better. No longer were you and your friends harassed or stalked, no longer were you forced into compromising positions against your will….well, kind of. You had traded years of torture and misery at the tattooed hands of Shuji Hanma away, in exchange for some sorry toxic excuse of a relationship.

Your friends were of course shocked when you told them you were dating your own tormenter. They didn’t understand and you continued to brush off their questions, trying to pretend it was your decision.

You wrapped your arms tight around his waist, pressing your cold cheek to his back as he lit the engine up on his motorcycle and drifted onto the road.You had become used to being a passenger on Hanma’s motorcycle, even though at first you had practically begged him not to make you ride it. Not only did you not trust motorcycles, but you didn’t trust Hanma. Yet, here you were now, face flushed against his jacket as your hair waved around wildly in the wind and the fabric of your clothes caught the breeze. Hanma had pointed out your habit of squeezing him as tight as you could as if he was going to fly away and that was true, even now your arms were locked around him in a death grip.

The bright neon lights of the city were something you weren’t very accustomed to, being more of a country girl. But ever since you had begun to date Hanma, he often brought you into the different districts of Tokyo. Filled with people, vendors, traffic and shops, you could never run out of things to do there. And maybe you could have found some enjoyment in it, if the person you were with wasn’t Shuji Hanma, who lived in the crappiest part of the city.

He drifted between cars, making you close your eyes in an effort to not see just how close you got to the passing vehicles, fingering gripping tightly into the front of Hanma’s jacket.

Hanma loved taking you out on motorcycle rides and this was one of the main reasons, you had no choice but to put all your trust in him. The feeling of your body pressed flush against him, squirming and adjusting yourself when he stopped at a stop light. He liked to turn his head to look back at you, seeing the uncertain and doe-like look you would give him. Your eyebrows would furrow up at him, arms loosening until the switch of the light to green, uncomfortable with the stickiness between your legs, then your arms would once again tighten around his waist.

Of course, Hanma has always loved motorcycle rides, but you made it all the more enjoyable.

He turned down a now familiar, grungie alleyway, coming to a stop behind the huge trash bin and kicking the lock into place. You waited for him to get off , arms falling away from his waist before following, lifting your leg over the seat and onto the ground. Hanma chained the bike up quietly,leaning it against the concrete wall before sticking his hands in his pockets and leading the way farther down the alley.

The two of you approached a rickety looking door and Hanma pulled a dull key out of his pocket, clicking open the door and pushing it forward. You could barely call the place an apartment since the man who owned it was supposedly dead. When Hanma told you that, you had chosen not to ask anymore questions. But now the place was Hanma’s, decorated with posters and records, an ashtray or two, some empty cans of beer and energy drinks. The first time Hanma had brought you here, you remember being uncomfortable, fearful of the shady area it was in. Hanma had almost been the only source of comfort you had at that time and unlike how you were quick to avoid his advances, that night you were grateful for the way he wrapped his arm around you, settling you into his side. But you learned quickly that when you were with Hanma, no one who knew him would mess with you, or even speak to you. And the few poor guys who had, didn’t leave without permanent injury.

You dropped your bag in the corner like usual, kicking your shoes off and eyeing a pair of your panties that were hanging over his sofa chair. It probably needed a wash…and maybe some holy water at this point. Hanma went straight to the bathroom and you pulled off the jacket he had put on you, slinging it over the jacket hanger before crawling onto his bed. The bed was a double, comfy enough for a convict with fluffy enough sheets. You had brought one or two of your own blankets to remind you of home when you slept over but they smelt of him now.

“I’m going to run the shower for us.” Hanma’s head poked out from the bathroom, landing on your huddled form on the bed. You couldn’t help the soft sigh under your breathe, having hoped you’d get a bit of alone time without Shuji hovering over you. “Sounds good.”

But Hanma knew you better and he stepped out of the bathroom and leaned against the door frame, eyeing you. “Would you rather wash up by yourself? With the leftover cold water that I leave for you? Go ahead. You can stay out here and wait for me to finish. Listen to the neighbors fuck each other shitless through those paper thin walls. And the stray’s scratchin’ at the door.”

If Hanma was good at anything, it was forcing you to do things you didn’t want, either by manipulation or threats. You didn’t want to shower in cold water, obviously. And you definitely didn’t wanna sit alone in his dingy apartment, paranoid and uncomfortable. As much as you disliked your ‘boyfriend’, he made you feel secure. And you hated it.

“No, I don’t want that. I’m just tired, that's all- I wanna shower with you.” You insisted, climbing off the bed and grabbing at the bottom of your cheer top and pulling it up.

Hanma pretended to ponder, tapping on the frame of the doorway before nodding. “Thought so.” Then he disappeared back into the bathroom and the sound of rushing water echoed into the apartment.

You repeated your soft sigh before stripping your skirt off and tossing them on his bed. Being naked in front of Hanma was always hard, sometimes you had no reaction, he had seen you like this many times. Then other times, your mind would fill with the memories of him forcing your clothes off before and after you started dating. And you found yourself freezing up like you had done so long ago. Hanma had become a bit more accepting of these moments, he knew he had probably broken you a bit. So he tried to be patient, soothing you the best he could with hushed encouragement and praise. But if you needed it, he had helped you out of your clothes before.

Cum filled panties and your bra came off next and soon you were stark naked and walking towards the bathroom. One thing you always felt ashamed about was the way you had begun to ogle Hanma. His muscular form, his long hands, his sharp jawline. You hated him, but there was no denying that he was a sight for sore eyes. You watched as he lifted his shirt off and his back muscles flexed, the way he rolled his shoulders had you breathless for a moment. Thankfully, he was too busy undoing his pants to notice your stares and you shook yourself out of it before slipping past him, visible in the mirror to him, to get in the shower.

The water was always too hot when you showered with Hanma, he would turn the temperature almost to the max and treated it like it was a cool stream of water. Meanwhile, you cowered to the side of the shower, water splashing on you and burning your skin. Luckily, Hanma’s tall form slipped into the shower and the water began to bounce off of his back as he sheltered you from the burning spray of the shower.

The two of you were silent for a while, Hanma’s hair flattening against his head as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the steamy water running down his skin. You just watched him, leaning against the wall of the shower, slowly getting used to the heat and the steam that swam around the room. After a little bit, Hanma opened his eyes, sharp golden orbs lowering down to your wet form, watching how quick you were to cover your chest. He could only snort, already used to the way you hid yourself from him, no matter how many times he would strip you naked and fuck you until the only word you could say, was ‘Hanma’. He knew he should feel bad for continuously forcing you to expose yourself to him, even if you didn’t want to, either by manipulation or force. But to him, the way you seemed to forget how much you despised him and clung onto him during and after sex, was worth it to him.

But he didn’t know just how insecure you were when he did this to you, like a reminder of the other times he had traumatized you, humiliating you in front of his friends. It might have not been the same situation, but you experienced that same emotion from those memories every time he pressured you.

“Come here.” He motioned towards himself before taking a step forward, knowing you weren’t going to listen. You remained tense with your lower arms crossed over your chest as your boyfriend grabbed onto your upper arms and pulled you closer to him, under the steaming water. He grabbed a rag and began to clean up between your legs, your own arms holding onto him for balance as he leaned over to do so. He then stood up and one hand began to repeat a circular rubbing motion on your skin as the other grabbed a bottle of shampoo from the shower rack.

You rubbed a new soapy rag into his bicep, eyes glancing up between his arm and the way he was watching you with warm eyes, obviously pleased with your show of ‘affection’. Meanwhile he continued to rub shampoo into your scalp, watching how your eyes became hazy.

“Tomorrow you are gonna come out with me, I got a few things to do and we are going to spend some time downtown.” You hated the idea, knowing how dangerous downtown was, even if you were with Hanma. You wanted to go home and pretend he didn’t exist for a while. But what Hanma said, usually went, so you just agreed with him.

“Okay..”, You mumbled, rubbing the soap across his chest now, lightly ogling him again. He rolled his shoulders slightly, watching the way your eyes trailed along his body. He had a few scars here and there from fights, but he was absolutely toned, all his defined muscles flexed every time he moved and he knew you had a slight staring problem. “You’re my girlfriend, ya know. You can touch me if you want.” He leaned down, voice resembling a purr as he bent slightly over you. You pulled the rag away and cowered away from his form slightly, “No! Stop teasing me.” You snapped, feeling ashamed as he cackled above you.

Hanma washed your hair out then his own before insisting on scrubbing you down. Once you were both finished, the two of you climbed out of the showers, drying yourself off and preparing for bed. The football game had drained you, you hadn’t been getting enough practice lately which made the routines even harder and the ‘routine’ you had to perform for Hanma after left you exhausted.

You collapsed into Hanma’s bed after pulling one of his shirts on, the smell of him engulfing your every sense as you began to fix his blanket on top of you. Hanma himself pulled on a pair of sweatpants before climbing into bed behind you, his arms immediately pulling you flush into him. The two of your sleeping habits had become entwined, the usual spooning routine would take place every night. You had always cuddled with your stuffed animals, imagining you had someone to cuddle with and even if it was Hanma…you couldn’t make yourself hate it. He was warm and would usually rest his knee between your legs and bury his face in the back of your neck.

You were absolutely beat at this point and had begun to let drift off in his muscular arms, when suddenly Hanma squeezed your waist, “I have a question.”

You didn’t bother opening your eyes, instead making a small humming sound to indicate you were listening. Hoping it would be a simple question that you could answer, then he would leave you alone and let you sleep.

“Would you care if I cheated on you?” You could practically hear the way he was grinning, lips brushing against your ear. Your eyes opened up in reaction to the question, furrowing your eyebrows, hand still resting over his.“Well..ya? Cheating is wrong, I’d be pissed.” you murmured, staring off at the wall near your side of the bed.

“But you hate me, don’t you? So why would you care?”

Your eyes furrowed even deeper, realizing what he was saying. “Because! It would….are you thinking about cheating on me?”

He chuckled softly in your ear, “Of course not, I was just wondering…Would you cheat on me?”

“No.” Was your immediate answer and this pleased Hanma who kissed the side of your neck softly, squeezing you close

“What would you do if I cheated on you?” You said after a while, even though you knew you probably wouldn’t be fond of how he answered.

Hanma hummed softly, thinking. “I’d probably kill the guy.”

“Hanma!”

“What? You wanted to know. I don’t care who he is, if he’s my friend or even my best friend.” He laughed, “Hell, even if it’s Kisaki.” Hanma had talked about Kisaki before and you had realized just how highly he thought of him. If he wasn’t with you, forcing you to follow him around and stick by his side, he was with Kisaki.

“I’d rip him limb from limb.”

You didn’t doubt Hanma would kill someone for you, you knew enough about your boyfriend to know that violence was commonplace for him and he treated all the dangerous activities he partook in like an afternoon picnic. You were just hoping you’d never have to be involved in any of Hanma’s gang related affairs, you’d rather stay slightly oblivious to it. Though it was hard to ignore the blood that would stain his clothes on occasion.

“..Can we sleep now?” Your voice sounded slightly aggravated and Hanma grinned, kissing the back of your head. He took pride in how easily it was for him to annoy you, poking all your buttons. It was just too easy for him. Especially when you acted like you had no feelings for him, when he knew you did.

“Ya, Ya. Goodnight, doll.”

“Goodnight Hanma.”

When you awoke, Hanma wasn’t in bed anymore, his keys, phone and usual choice of jacket gone from their usual spots. You rolled over to his side of the bed, sighing and grabbing his pillow, holding it to your chest. Maybe you did despise Hanma Shuji as a human being, but your fight and passion had dwindled, leaving a dormant spot inside of you waiting to be filled up. He was all you had left, wasn’t he? Your family rarely spoke to you, you had been missing practices after practice because of your boyfriend. He had consumed your life. So was it that crazy that when he was gone, it felt wrong? You buried your face in his pillow, sighing softly. You hated when he left you alone in this dirty ‘apartment’.

The doorknob clicked after a few minutes and Hanma stepped back inside, his hair now dry and styled into his normal look, plastic shopping bags in his hands. He shut the door behind him and looked at you as you let go of his pillow, sitting up to meet his gaze. “Cuddling with my pillow?” He teased, setting the bags on his bed before pulling his jacket off and tossing it on a nearby chair.

Ignoring his teasing, you crawled towards the bags and began to sift through them, grabbing the box of morning after pills and prying them open. Hanma began to sift through the bags as well as you climbed off the bed and over to his tiny little kitchen area, pouring yourself a cup of water and downing one of the pills.

Hanma grinned as he stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing one hand flush to your stomach. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you accidentally got pregnant, I’d kill to see you all pretty and round with my kid.”

‘You’re the worst, stop it.” You snapped, pushing his hand away and moving away from him back to the bed, the idea of getting pregnant with Hanma’s kid making you feel ill.

“You feelin’ sick? You don’t look too good. You know what that’s a symptom of.”

“Hanma, stop!” You suddenly snapped at him, anger clear in your eyes as you crawled back into the bed. “I hate when you cum in me, it’s scary!” You shouted.

Hanma stared at you for a moment, seeming to consider what you were saying, remaining calm like he always seemed to when you got upset. After a second, he walked over to the bed and sat down, looking at you with a bit of a mocking look. “I’ll stop doin’ it if it upsets you that much.”

“It does.”

“Then I won’t do it anymore.” He tossed his hands up a bit before crawling towards you and pulling you close to him, ignoring the way you huffed and tried to wiggle out of his grasp. “I won’t do it anymore, okay? I’ll pull out, I’ll use protection, if it’ll make you feel better. Shit.”

“It would..’ You stopped fighting him, muttering your words as you laid on your side, his arms around your waist.

“Then that settles it, come on. Don’t be so crabby, I just like teasing you.” The two of you remained quiet after this exchange, Hanma holding you in his arms as you slowly felt your irritation and anxiety begin to fade, placing your hands over his and laying your head on the bed. “You promise?”

You don’t know why you asked this since Hanma had never broken a promise to you before, when he said he was going to do something, he always did it. It was one of his only redeeming qualities.

“Ya, I promise.” He murmured, kissing the top of your head before sitting up a bit and leaning over you to grab one of the plastic bags. “I bought something for you that I thought you could wear today.”

You watched him lift up the shirt, still laying slightly under him as he leaned over you. It was a cropped t-shirt that showed a bit of cleavage, bright pink with a pretty y2k like gemstone design on the front. Hanma had a certain taste that you had come to realize over time, always a bit slutty, always a bit cute. He liked showing you off, knowing no one else could have you. You can’t say it was your favorite design ever but you nodded, considering he had bought it for you. “Sure.”

He grinned and dropped the shirt, running his fingers through your hair for a moment.

“Let’s get ready.”

You walked hand in hand with your convict boyfriend down the grubby streets of downtown. You stuck out like a sore thumb with that pretty skirt of yours and the crop top that Hanma had picked out for you. Hanma’s hands were sizeable compared to yours, hiding your hands inside of his. The stares you received from passing men made you uncomfortable but Hanma barely seemed to react as he led you along. You almost prayed for their sake that they didn’t try anything, knowing Hanma would beat them shitless and be in a shitty mood for the next few hours.

“Let’s go in here.” Hanma spoke after a while of walking, stopping at what looked like a small convenience store with glowing red bead lights and a flashing open sign.

The two of you had been out for awhile now and it was starting to get slightly dark outside, stopping at little shops and even taking a moment for Hanma to socialize with a friend or two. He held the door open and allowed you to walk in before following, hand still clasped in yours. The store was full of the normal types of snacks you’d find around Tokyo, but there were also a few other things from different countries around the world.

“I’m gonna look around.” You said, looking at your tall boyfriend who nodded, letting go of your hand. “Go ahead.”

The store only had two isles and was relatively small, so Hanma didn’t mind allowing you to wander off. He approached the cash register and began to motion towards the cigarettes he wanted at the cashier as he fished into his pockets. You walked along the small aisle, looking at all the small snacks and drinks from different cultures. You were pretty hesitant to try anything, not being able to read some of the titles or ingredients inside of them.

“Grab whatever you want.” Hanma spoke without looking at you, pulling yen out of his wallet and beginning to sort through it. You bit your lip and made your last minute decision, walking back to the cash register and setting down some kind of Taiwanese jelly cup onto the table. Hanma looked down at it before nodding, “Grab me one too.”

The two of you exited the shop and you began to peel open the lid of your jelly cup, while Hanma wrapped an arm around your waist since he couldn’t hold your hand. You had noticed this about Hanma, he seemed fond of always having a hand on you at all times. It was very uncomfortable in the beginning of the relationship, the way his hand would linger on your thigh or back, but you had gotten used to it over time. You unwrapped the spoon you had grabbed from the store, dipping it inside the cup and bringing it to your lips, while Hanma watched you out of the corner of his eye. It tasted sweet, with that hint of coconut you had expected. After you swallowed the first two bites, you noticed the way Hanma was watching you. “What..?” You looked confused before sticking your spoon into the cup and bringing a bite of jelly up to his face.

He looked amused, laughing and giving you a gentle squeeze. “I was just admirin’ my girl.” That didn’t stop him from taking the bite of jelly off the spoon, not wanting to let such an opportunity go to waste. “You should feed me more often, it’s cute. Unless you want me to feed you.”

“No.” You replied quickly, stuffing your spoon back inside your jelly cup and looking down as the two of you approached a crosswalk. “Whatever.” He shrugged, rolling his eyes as the two of you waited for your turn to cross the road. “You did it pretty naturally though, so you don’t have to act like you didn’t want to.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion, stabbing at your jelly a bit.

The light turned green and Hanma led you across the street towards a bar that he frequented, one that you had shown a dislike to more than once. Everytime you had gone inside, you could smell the alcohol in the air and felt the eyes of the grubby men watching you inside of the cramped space. You especially didn’t want to have to go in today considering what you were wearing. One hand holding your jelly cup with the spoon in it, you grabbed Hanma’s arm, stopping him in his place. He looked back at you, seemingly annoyed, knowing you were gonna complain about going inside.

“I don’t want to go in, it makes me uncomfortable.” You pleaded, fingers gripping around the fabric of his jacket. He sighed, eyes rolling into the back of his head again as he looked down at his beloved girlfriend. “You kiddin’ me? Never once has anything happened to you in there, I’ve kept you safe every time. I just want some lunch and a drink, why do you have to be such a big baby about this every time.” He insulted, looking down at you with what seemed like disdain. It hurt. It shouldn’t have since you expected this kind of treatment from Hanma, but he usually wasn’t this sour with you.

“I know..but it still makes me really uncomfortable, they all stare at me.” You murmured, glancing into the dim window where tables and tables of men, drinking and laughing sat in a very tight space. “Damnit…”, Hanma rolled his shoulders slightly, jaw clenching as he pulled his arm away from your waist, grabbing your wrist.

“Please just let me wait outside!”, You pleaded, feeling the way he began to drag you towards the door. He glanced back at you, looking at the way your eyes began to water. It wasn’t him making you cry either, it was your fear of the men inside. That annoyed him even more. “Fine, don’t move an inch. Got it? I’ll be back in a minute.” He let go of your wrist, tossing his hand lazily into the air before pushing open the door and going inside. And just like that, an afternoon out with Hanma that had seemed to be going okay, was ruined.

You stood outside the door, watching his shadowy figure through the window disappear into the clumps of people. You felt an anxiety similar to being a little kid, your mother leaving you in the waiting room at the dentist for the first time, or getting lost in the store away from your parents. A sinking dread that you fought, knowing it would escalate into panic if you didn’t control it. You gripped your jelly cup in your hand, watching your breathe in the cold air and wishing Hanma had left you his jacket.

Men and women passed in front of you down the sidewalk, some glancing your way while others ignored you completely. What was really two minutes felt like an eternity and you kept glancing inside, hoping you’d see the tall figure of Hanma approaching the door.

“Hay, look at you.” A voice came from your right and you turned your head to look at a group of three men exiting the sketchy alleyway next to the store. They looked sufficiently drunk, cigarettes in their dirty hands, eyes glued to your figure. “What a pretty face, you out here by yourself, sweetheart?” The man who had first spoken stepped closer to you, scruff lining his jaw, seemingly uncut and unwashed for what looked like awhile. Behind him stood a skinnier guy with down turned eyes while the third wore a beanie pulled over his head. Your heart began racing in your chest, this being exactly what you had feared would happen if you came down town.

They all wore the same jackets that looked to be some kind of gang apparel, script written down the sides. A blatant sign of danger, that would tell the normal person to avoid someone like these men at all times. “No- my boyfriends inside. I’m sorry.” You lifted your hands, backing up towards the door and getting ready to grab the handle when the man who spoke to you first, grabbed your wrist and tugged you away from it.

“That’s stupid of him, leaving a pretty thing like you out here. But lucky for us, huh?” The scent of whiskey filled your nostrils and you quickly began trying to pull away, shrieks escaping your parted lips. “Shut up.” His hand clasped over your lips and with the help of his friends, he began to drag you away from the bar and down the alleyway.

The man with the stubble shoved you against the dirty brick walk of the back of the store, having dragged you a fair good way away from the entrance to the building. “Isn’t very often we get a cute girl like you wandering around here, easy to snatch off the streets. Your boyfriend must be real fuckin’ stupid.” He pressed your cheek hard against the wall, dragging your skin against the hard brick. You cried out loudly, too filled with fear and shock to even think of calling out for help. “Shut up, bitch.” One of the men from behind you slapped your rear hard before grabbing the fabric of your skirt and tearing it down your legs. You felt sick, the familiar feeling of your first time with Hanma and all the times he had taken advantage of you before coming back, but seemingly ten times worse. Cries of pain left your lips, another hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your voice from echoing down the alleyway.

“Let’s make this shit quick before someone comes, get her on the ground.” The first man instructed and the man with the beanie complied, shoving you into the concrete. You immediately felt someone climb on top of your, harsh hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head, not bothering to cover up your cries anymore as one of the other men got on his knees and tugged your panties down.

You began to hyperventilate as the sound of unzipping pants informed you of what was about to come, tears dripping onto the concrete as you squeezed your eyes closed, hoping it would all end quickly.

“I’ll fucking kill you.” Hanma’s familiar voice brought you back to reality, your eyes shooting open to watch your delinquent boyfriend stalk down the alleyway towards the three men, you still struggling under the first one. You had never seen him look so terrifying before, his face was dark, unspeakable anger written across it. His voice sounded unusually deep and filled with malice, yet it never sounded more comforting. You squirmed forward as the man on top of you began to stand up, seemingly rushed and panicked. You looked back in confusion, watching the faces of the gangsters contort into looks of absolute horror.

“It’s the fuckin reaper..”, The tall man spurt out, his voice cracking as he backed up. You couldn’t even begin to understand what was happening as these men who had seconds ago been so confident and brutal, were now cowering away from your boyfriend.

“Shit, dude. We didn’t know she was your girl. Fuck!” The first guy pleaded. Hanma didn’t seem to even hear them as he stepped past your trembling form towards them. He was going to kill them.

Suddenly the man in the beanie grabbed onto what seemed to be an empty beer bottle on the floor of the alley and slung it in your direction while yelling, “Run!”

Hanma spun around in an almost frantic movement as the bottle slammed on the ground next to you, shattering into pieces. Within seconds he was on the ground, kneeling in the glass next to your trembling form as the three men took off out of the alleyway, quick footsteps echoing out in the distance.

“Hanma!”, Your sobs were broken and so was your breathing, hands over your head as your arms stung, one of two pieces of glass having found your skin. “Fuckin’ stupid!”, Hanma bellowed, causing you to flinch away in fear, his arms flying down to grab your trembling form and pull you into his arms. You sobbed loudly, face halfway pressed into his chest as he struggled to pull your skirt and panties back up. “Not you, you’re not fuckin’ stupid.” He said quickly, hand bringing your face to his chest. You couldn’t properly speak, words coming out in blubbers and stammers. The only word you could clearly get out was Hanma’s name, which you took to repeating. He stroked your hair shakily as he stood up, clutching you to his body. “I’m sorry.” Was his replies to your cries, holding you tightly against him as he began to make his way out of the alleyway with your trembling form in his arms.

Your halfway empty jelly cup sat on the floor of the alleyway, nearly being stepped on by Hanma as he carried you away.

By the time the two of you arrived back at his apartment, Hanma was deadly silent. He didn’t speak a word as he used tweezers to pull the glass from your skin, ignoring your cries as he pressed alcohol into the wounds. You still couldn’t speak, now that things were semi calm, you were having a hard time registering what had happened in your mind. He grabbed some bandaids from his cabinet, holding you still as he pressed them onto your cuts, grip on your firm and unnecessarily tight.

“Hanma.” You repeated, throat clenching in emotion.

“Stop.” Hanma finally spoke, seemingly being driven crazy by you repeating his name over and over. He felt absolutely furious, at himself, at those men, and somewhat at your for not listening to him. He couldn’t take listening to you say his name over and over, to him it sounded like you were blaming him, repeating his name like he was the only one who could protect you. He was and he should have. He had failed and he didn’t know how to cope with it.

You whimpered in response, a heavy sob leaving your mouth as he scooped you up into his arms again. “Stay here, don’t move a inch. Don’t call anyone, don’t even look outside.” Hanma muttered, laying you onto his bed. That’s what he had told you before, not to move and inch, it made him all the more angry.

“But-.”

“Don’t fucking go anywhere, you just be quiet. Got it?” He snapped at you as he grabbed his motorcycle keys from their hanger, throwing open the door and slamming it behind him, locking it in place. The sound of a motorcycle revving up followed not much later.

Then you were alone. That was the last thing you wanted to be right now. Hanma had left you, again. You began to sob even harder, burying your face into the blankets of the bed and screaming into them. Fear couldn’t even describe how you felt, you were desperate. You needed Hanma, why couldn’t he understand that? You had done nothing but repeated his name for over an hour now and yet he had abandoned you inside of his crummy apartment.

Minutes turned into hours and your hope that told you Hanma would be back soon began to dwindle. It was three hours later when you finally heard the door to the apartment open and your boyfriend stepped inside.

“Hanma?...” You whispered, crawling towards the side of the bed, eyes widening in fear as the color of his clothes was revealed in the light. Hanma was covered in blood, his shirt, knuckles, and face. Everywhere. He looked tired, walking towards the bathroom for a moment and leaning on the doorway.

You went to say his name again but you instead bit your lip, not wanting to anger him again. He sauntered into the bathroom and at the same time, you slowly got off the bed and approached the open bathroom door. Hanma was leaning on the bathroom counter, blood coated his clothing and knuckles, the look on his face was disgruntled and unfocused as he stared down at the sink. You stood there quietly for a moment, waiting for him to move or give you some kind of acknowledgment. But he didn’t. And so you slowly walked behind him and pried open one of the bathroom cabinets, doing your best to sort through the unorganized products lining the shelves. You grabbed onto some bandages, a slightly used bottle of antibiotic ointment, alcohol, anything that you thought could be used.

Hanma still wasn’t looking at you, he was staring at the sink like before, eyes focused on what seemed to be nothing at all.

“Shuji…please sit down.” You spoke softly, aware of how your voice seemed to tremble. Who could blame you, you had been through a horrifying ideal today and Hanma was acting uncharacteristically quiet. He slowly looked up from the sink, turning his head to look at you with dark, cold eyes. “You afraid of me?”

You clutched the bottle of rubbing alcohol tightly in your hand, hands trembling at your sides. “Ya…”, You murmured, eyes drawn to red liquid drying on his clothes. His jaw clenched and he tossed his head to the side before turning towards you completely, “You should be.” He said simply before brushing past your shaking form and sitting down on the lid of the toilet, sighing and clasping his hands between his legs.You slowly turned around to look at him, feeling relieved now that he was sitting down.

You got down onto your knees, looking up at him with shaky hands. “Can I wash your hands?”

You continued to run the bloody rag through the sink before kneeling next to his quiet form again, gently brushing and dabbing the rag over his bruised and cut knuckles. Everyonce in a while he would flinch in pain, but remained quiet as he watched you with emotionless eyes. You didn’t know what to say to him. Part of you didn’t wanna know what he had done while he was gone, and part of you was now upset with him for leaving you the way he had. Then you were also scared, scared of him and how he was acting. He never acted like this with you, it was unusual and terrifying to say the least.

You chewed on your bottom lip as you started unwrapping the roll of bandages, pulling your skin from the fabric every time it got stuck. Hanma’s hands, despite the traumatizing evening, we’re completely still now. You took one in your hand and slowly began to wrap the bandage around his knuckles.

“What happened?” You broke the long lasting silence, glancing up at your boyfriend who was still looking down at you. He shrugged his tense shoulders, looking away from you as he rolled his neck. “I killed them.”

Your hands came to a stop around his, holding the end of the bandage you were wrapping around him in a shaky hand. You could have assumed that was what had happened, especially after what he had told you the night before. He seemed to be willing to do anything for you, even if you didn’t want it. And you certainly didn’t want the death of three men in your conscience, even if they were monsters.

“I recognized the gang they were in so I paid them a visit.” Hanma grabbed the last bit of bandage in your now frozen hand, finishing on his first hand treatment. “They got what they deserved.”

You wanted to disagree, to say you didn’t want him killing someone because of you, but Hanma was territorial. And men who took advantage of women like that….they probably would have done it again if not to you. So maybe they did deserve it..but hadn’t Hanma done the same to you? How was it any different? Because he had coerced you into it?

You stayed silent for a second, before speaking your mind. “You’re a hypocrite Hanma.”

You don’t know where you got the bravery to say something like that to him, especially when he had been acting so off all night. You sounded kind of like your old self, full of pride and resistance when it came to Hanma’s harassment and advances on you. But you were angry with Hanma, despite the way you were nursing his wounds and taking care of him. Not only had he left you alone when you needed him to fulfill his own selfish needs, but he was guilty of the exact thing he had killed those men for.

You didn’t wanna look up at Hanma’s face after confronting him, scared of the way he would be staring down at you with anger and disdain. But Hanma didn't react that way at all. Instead, he began to laugh. You glared up at him, watching that stone cold expression turn into one of uncontrolled amusement. His lips turned upwards in a bursting grin as he cackled, reaching out with his bandaged hand to rub your head. You pulled away, anger clear on your face. “It’s not funny! You are just as bad as them! You took advantage of me!” You shouted at him, yet it didn’t change the expression on his face.

“You think I’m not aware of that? Of course I am! But it doesn’t matter, they don’t deserve it because of what they did. They deserve it because they did it to you. And no one touches or hurts what's mine, except me.” He continued to laugh, almost mocking you as you began to tear up, disgusted and hurt by Hanma’s delusional thinking.

“You’re crazy!”You sounded unbelievably distressed as you shakely stood up, tears ready to burst from your eyes. “You don’t even care about how much distress it causes me! You don’t even care about me! You just see me as a possession! They tried to rape me and you act like some territorial dog. This is why I hate you!”. Hanma’s laughter ceased and he went deadly quiet once again. Your heart began to pace wildly as he stood up, quickly backing away from his tall form.

“You don’t know anything about how I feel for you. You think I don’t care about your distress? You're dead wrong. I only care about your distress, that’s the thing. I don’t care about anyone else's suffering, they can kill themselves for all I care. Doesn’t matter to me, gorgeous.” You tried to avoid the bandaged hand that flew towards your wrist, but you failed to move quick enough. His fingers gripped your wrist, pulling you back to him.

“You aren’t a possession to me, but you are mine. Maybe you are right, I do act like a dog and maybe I am a hypocrite. Think of me how you want, hate me if you want. But we both know you can’t survive without me at this point. You’re dependent on me and in return I’ll take care of you.”

It felt like he was just spouting words at this point. Tears burst from your eyes as you began to cry. He was right, you were dependent on him. You couldn’t stand being away from him for too long and deep inside you had begun to crave his affection and adoration. No one had ever shown you the type of romantic love he had, everyone else avoided you because of him. But you couldn't stand being alone, not anymore.. You hated him, but yet you wanted him so bad.

“You know I’ve loved you since we were kids, right? Can you blame me for being so protective of you? I look at you, crying and terrified and I see that little girl I used to pick on. I’d rip out someone's heart if they hurt her.”

“But you hurt me! Hanma! You're twisted!”, You cried, pulling on your wrist.

He stared down at you, jaw clenching. You could tell your words were having somewhat of an effect on him. As much as he said he didn’t care about you disliking him, it truly bothered him. Ever since he was young he’d imagined you and him being together, joking around together and truly loving each other. But he had burnt that bridge, yet he refused to admit it or let it go.

“You can love me, it’ll make it easier. No one will love you the way I do. No one has ever loved you the way I do.”

Your throat tightened and you began to cry even harder, you hated fighting like this with Hanma. It took everything in you to stand up for yourself like this, it was exhausting. You had given up on arguing and pushing him away for a reason, even if it broke your spirit, it was so much easier to just let him have his way.

“Hanma..”, You sobbed, stepping forward and burying your face into his chest. He took no time in wrapping his arms around you, letting go of your wrist and cradling you close to him. Pleased with the way you had given up on fighting with him.

“I’m sorry, okay? Will that make you feel better? I feel bad for making you cry.” He muttered into your ear as wet tears slid down your cheeks, the scent of iron filling your nose due to the crusted blood on his clothes. But that didn’t stop you from clinging tightly to him.

“Why’d you leave me here alone after-,” You gasped, breathing quickening as you looked up at him, tears and snot running down your face. “I needed you, I needed you and you weren't there.”

Hanma’s face dropped completely as he looked away from you, eyes drifting up above your head. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking or if he was thinking at all. Did he care? You had a hard time imagining that, Hanma rarely showed any type of deep, genuine emotion other than affection towards you. Never had you seen him cry or ever get sad over something. Anger or disdain was his go to emotion.

One of Hanma’s hands came up to hold the back of your head, he was being very unusually gentle, fingers slowly slipping into your hair and massaging your scalp.

“Shit….” He pursed his lips, a look of regret and slight guilt washing over his face. It was a look you had never seen before, he didn’t seem to know how to react. Hanma wasn’t great at taking care of others, at least not emotionally. He was trying his best with you though, trying his best for you. But he was selfish, he had always been selfish, that’s what it had taken for him to survive his whole life. He had never considered anyone else’s feelings, he couldn’t help the way he would sometimes return to his old ways.

“I didn’t think about it…”, He muttered, slowly looking back down at your quivering bottom lip and red eyes. “I was just angry- I thought that maybe giving them what they deserved would make you feel better.” he muttered, frowning as you shook your head back and forth.

“I just wanted you to hold me-“. Your breath began to quicken and Hanma tightened his hold on you, squeezing you close. You gagged slightly against the dried blood on his fabric but he didn’t seem to notice. “I will, I’m here. Okay? I’m sorry.” he clenched his jaw as his words did nothing to calm your breathing.

“Lets just shower and get in bed, okay? We both need to clean up. Then I’ll take care of you in return for you taking care of me.”

The two of you took a quick, silent shower, and Hanma finished bandaging up his other hand while you sat on the lid of the toilet nearby, not wanting to go far from him, even if it was just the other room. Hanma helped slip you into your pajamas, grimacing at the forming bruises on your wrists, ass and knees. He didn’t regret murdering those men, he’d do it ten times over. He didn’t understand why it didn’t make you feel better.

You crawled in bed as he put on a pair of sweatpants, watching him with tired and somber eyes. You were trying not to think of what had happened to you and the way Hanma had reacted to all of it. How he had left you outside the bar and afterwards when he brought you home. It was all so wrong, he had reacted so inappropriately. Yet, that didn’t stop you from crawling into his arms as he got in bed, deciding to cuddle up to him this time instead of the usual spooning routine. You needed some kind of comfort, even if the one providing it was Hanma.

It didn’t take long for the soft cries to return as you hid yourself in his body, he stroked your hair softly in response, not knowing what else to do. He felt like he had failed slightly, in protecting you. But what if you had just listened to him in the first place, like he had told you to. Was it his fault? If you had just stayed by his side…instead of waiting outside, you wouldn’t have been grabbed by those men.

He would never let that happen ever again.

Neither of you fell asleep for the next few hours.Your cries eventually quieted down as you stayed unmoving in his warm embrace. Mind replaying what had happened to you no matter how hard you tried to fight the thoughts. They bullied their way into your mind, filling you with dread and sorrow and you began to blame yourself. T had just gone inside with Hanma like he had told you to in the first place, if you had just listened to him, you’d probably be eating some of his shitty take out with him right now in bed. He’d tease you until your face was red with anger then joke around with you till you couldn’t hold in your laughs anymore. Lips turning into a slight smile when he pointed out the way the corners of them were trembling. You’d do anything for those semi normal nights now, you felt like you had taken them for granted. Because this night was hell and sleep seemed impossible.

The only thing that kept you from falling apart completely was your hypocritical boyfriend.

Shuji Hanma. You hated him. Yet, you loved him. The saying ‘two sides of the same coin’ was beginning to sound more and more true in your mind.

#hanma x reader #hanma x you #hanma shuji #hanma shuji x reader #hanmashuji #hanma smut #hanma shuuji x reader #shuji hanma x reader #tokyo revengers fanfic #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #under.the.bleachers

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slashers-and-rats · 7 months

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micheal myers x gn!reader | nsfw |

kintober day 4: con-noncon

rat chat: not all of the days are gonna be this long, as you’ve noticed. but i’ll try to make full fics when i can. i think this one is really good, so i hope you guys like it.

you could hear footsteps echoing your own as you walked through the windy neighbourhood. the street lamps did little to light your path, only seeming to add to the unease that had settled deep into your stomach.

your heartbeat had picked up drastically, and despite the chill in the air, your hands were sweaty. you were surprised at how quickly the fear had set in. right as the moon centred in the sky, and you began your little stroll through down your usual path, anxiety had crept in. something was about to happen, you could feel it. the anticipation came from paranoia, you knew that. but you couldn’t shake it.

you glanced at the houses around you, eyes darting over the darkened windows. people were already in bed, unaware of your presence completely. no one would know you were there.

you slipped your hands down into your pockets, patting around for your phone as a way to distract yourself. oh right, you had left it at home, it had been dead when you decided you wanted to go out.

you sighed through your teeth, cursing yourself quietly as you scanned the area again. this time you dared to look behind you.

there, a good few metres behind you, was a man. the figure was obscured by shadows, but some details broke through thanks to the flickering lights around you. he wore a jumpsuit, almost akin to something a mechanic might wear. his face seemed to hold no features, almost scarily pale, and messy hair draped over bits of his forehead. his hands were stark at his side, and he walked with such purpose.

when you saw him, you hesitated, stopping for a moment to study him. when you saw him stop too, the air escaped from your lungs. you sucked in a deep breath, taking a few steps backwards, and watching as he stayed in rhythm with you.

you turned back around, starting to hurry now back to your home. you were never much of a runner, but the adrenaline coursing through you allowed you to at least go faster than you had expected. you knew the neighbourhood well, you knew your path well. with luck, maybe you could get to your house. maybe you were misunderstanding this all, maybe he was just some man fucking with you, maybe, maybe-

his presence hit you first. it felt as though two mismatched magnets had met- the force hit your back and seemed to repel you forward. for a minute, despite knowing he was right there, right behind you, he didn’t act. it’s like he was teasing you. he knew you couldn’t run, he knew you couldn’t get away, and so he played with you. you could hear his breathing behind you, you his footsteps faltered as he tried to keep himself close but not right against you.

you examined the area again, this time not daring to catch the eye of the being behind you. you were a block away from your house. maybe he didn’t know that, maybe you could lead him there and get inside before he even realized you had made it to home base? you could call someone then, and this sick game would be over. maybe you could run for it, maybe you could make it, maybe you would win?

you rounded a corner, and it allowed you to see your destination. at the end of the road, you could see the warm glow of your living room through your curtained windows. there it was. you picked up your pace yet again, fuelled by the flight response pumping adrenaline into your bloodstream. much to your surprise, he didn’t pick up his own steps, allowing you to create distance.

maybe he was finished? maybe he was done with messing with you? maybe he just wanted to scare you? whatever it was, for a moment there was relief. you nearly jogged up to the fence of your house, looping around to the backdoor. the front had been dead bolted before you left, the only way in was from there.

you rounded the first corner of your house, and that’s when you heard it. sprinting. the heavy boots of the man from before was hitting the pavement hard, and out of the corner of your eye you saw his quick, deliberate strides. your eyes widened, and you finally began to run. he was nearly a block away, he couldn’t get there. he couldn’t, he couldn’t. you kept telling yourself this as you turned into your backyard, running up to your backdoor. you dug around in your jacket pockets for your keys, whipping them out right as the sound of pavement turned to the sound of lawn. your hands, slippery with sweat, struggled to find the right key. you pressed the wrong one into the lock, making you curse hard. you fumbled to finally find your saving grace, and when you did you sighed heavily.

just as you pressed it into the doorknob, he got you.

his chest pressed hard into your back, trapping you up against the door. all of your air escaped you, barely anything left was there to make the small squeal that came out of you. you squirmed against his body, pushing back against him, but his arms boxed in around you. you were trapped.

you could hear your pulse in your ears. you went to scream, but a free hand already came up to cover your mouth. it muffled your cry, and you squeezed your arm down to try and get at the key in the doorknob. it felt as though he allowed you to, letting you turn it and fall into the doorway of your kitchen.

you stumbled up to your feet, turning around to see the man stepping up into the room with you. he loomed over you, walking in enough that he could lazily kick the door behind him closed. this wasn’t thought through. now it was you and him, alone in the house, with nowhere to escape to.

you darted to one of the drawers in the kitchen, searching for something to defend yourself, but all you did was allow him to press his body up against yours once again. this time he didn’t have to cover your mouth, he didn’t have to trap you. you did it all yourself.

you turned around, pushing your hands against his chest. he grabbed your wrists, pinning them down by your sides while he leaned down and rubbed his face into your neck. it was a mask. through the holes in it, you saw his real eyes, peering up at you with a sharp, somewhat cold gaze. deep inside them, somewhere, there was also a burning. lust? you could see it. it sent a fire into your own core. you wiggled against him still as his hips slotted against yours, rubbing his bulge up and down your own warmth.

this must’ve excited him. the way he panted behind the plastic of his mask, the way he ground against you, the way he shoved himself as hard against you as possible. something about it was restrained, controlled, but the need he felt seeped through. maybe it was the chase? the feeling of catching his prey and taking his prize? you were his prize.

he let go of your wrists, deeming them little threat as his hands moved to your pants. they were loose things, a pair you didn’t care about. he ripped them with ease, revealing your lower half with little effort. you felt embarrassed, hands once again finding purchase against his broad chest. he pushed his fingers against his own clothes, finding a zipper at the top of his neck, and ripping it down his body. out fell his naked torso, defined and scarred. your eyes trailed down each and every line, looking at all the details. they trailed lower and lower, over his stomach and down his happy trail, resting on the cock that had fallen out of the front of his jumpsuit.

part of you was surprised he didn’t wear underwear, and the other part of you didn’t really care what he wore, because that wasn’t really the point right now.

your eyes widened, and he caught this, catching you when you turned away and began trying to run for the door again. he grabbed you easily, pinning your front down against the counter below you. your face pressed to the cool surface, and you whimpered at the sensation.

you felt him rut against your butt at that, enjoying the sounds of surprise you made every time his cock slid between your cheeks. you tried to wiggle your hips away, but it only added to his pleasure, the movements pressing you more into him. he was thick, pulsing against your behind. one of his hands held your hips, the other pressing flat against your back to keep you down.

suddenly, he stopped, pulling his cock away from your flesh. you breathed deep, anticipation wracking your brain. what was he doing? where did he go? his hands were still on you, but…

you listened to him huff, the hand from your hips being removed. you knew what he was doing when you felt his head pressing against your hole. you gasped, once again beginning to writhe, but he held you down. the second he was aligned, he pushed into you all the way.

the sudden intrusion pushed a sob from your chest. your mouth hung open, your hands moving back to meet the hips that were flush against yours. the sting of pain from the stretch you were feeling set you on fire. much to your dismay, it felt good. the flames licked at your insides, warming your core and filling you with pleasure. the sob that had escaped lowered into a small moan.

he sat for a moment, feeling you twitch. the second you had managed to relax against the counter, he seemed to take it as an invitation, and pulled himself back out to the head, before slamming back in. he began a steady rhythm, not too fast, while getting as deep as possible every time he moved. he filled you out so well, his cock pushing up against your g-spot with every movement without him even trying. it’s as if he knew your body perfectly, playing it like an instrument with ease. it was embarrassing. you were coming undone just from a few strokes inside of you. maybe it wasn’t just that? maybe it was all of it? the chase, the adrenaline, the anticipation, the excitement.

he felt it too. you could tell. he was groaning behind you, breathing heavy. his free hand found your hip again, gripping hard into your soft flesh, while the one on your back moved to the back of your neck. he squeezed his grip there, making you gasp, and you could feel him twitch inside you as response. he was desperate, you could feel it. he wasn’t here to play anymore. he wanted what he wanted, and it was only a bonus that you also felt good.

he pressed himself all the way inside of you, holding himself there in your walls for a moment. you relaxed against the counter, enjoying the way he filled you out. you weren’t supposed to be, but you couldn’t help it. it was a bit heavenly.

you could hear him gathering his senses, shifting his foot placement. both hands left your body, moving to grip at the counter on both sides of you. he then began moving, this time with more purpose. this wasn’t for you anymore, this time all thoughts of your pleasure had gone out the window. this time, he pumped into you hard and fast, hips barely pulling out before snapping back into you. despite the aggression in his movements, despite the way he seemed to forget you were even there, you moaned.

he was massaging your sweet spot, and with these shorter movements, he never let up on the area inside of you. it was constant stimulation. you felt overwhelmed, trying to push away, and escape this intense feeling, but you couldn’t. it only caused you to rock against him, shoving him deeper into your walls. he seemed to like the way you struggled, because he growled low underneath his breath, hips stuttering slightly, slowing for a moment, before hitting even harder into your fragile body. it made you thump against the counter with every movement.

a hand reached up, finding the back of your shirt, and pulling you into his body. you straightened, his chest pressed against your back, your elbows coming to rest against the counter to support the new position. his cock was barely moving inside you, barely thrusting, and yet you both were flooded with pleasure. you could feel him twitching inside you, which was just a response to your walls squeezing hard around him.

your orgasm was sudden. the build rushed up on you, having you scrambling to find stability. you were too late though, and it hit you like a truck, leaving you slack and trembling against the counter in front of you. you spasmed around his cock, your sounds sinful and slutty, all being poured out into the air of your kitchen.

it was enough for him. all of the sensations of the night had lead up to this, and within a few more strokes, he was coming hard inside of you. you could feel his cum flooding your insides, spilling out around his cock. behind you, he shook, his own moans near broken and choked. you both sat for a moment in the after, coming down from such intense climaxes.

“micheal…? micheal, you good back there…?” you rasped out after a moment. you felt your boyfriend shift, his arms coming to wrap around your torso as he laid his entire body over your own. you giggled, wiggling your butt against him, making him groan at the stimulation. “c’mon, get off… this counter isn’t really comfy, y’know.”

he grumbled something, before pushing himself up, and pulling himself out of you. you felt his cum spilling down your thigh, and he gathered some up on his finger, lazily pushing it back up against your hole. it made you sigh, and you straightened and turned around to face him. his arms immediately wrapped around your middle yet again, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“that was good. really good, actually, I’m surprised.” you stroked through his hair. “we should get cleaned up, though, I’m spent… i need sleep,” you whined the last part, before chuckling. he nodded, though didn’t move away from you. “you can take a shower with me?” he looked up out of your neck at this offer, and nodded, before beginning to pull you towards the bathroom.

you’d have to do this again, you thought. but maybe next time, you could be the big bad slasher. you wondered if micheal would even let you wear the suit and mask. you hoped.

either way, for now, you were content just taking a shower. you had won this little game, and this was your prize.

#slasher x reader #slashers #micheal myers x reader #micheal myers #kinktober

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dropoff99 · 1 year

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Reminder for those in their first read through:

Jordan is a firm believer in an unreliable narrator. I’ve been seeing some absolutely WILD takes on on certain characters that I can only assume are from people that haven’t hit later books yet. Most characters have a number of things they won’t admit to themselves, even within their POVs. Some are thinly veiled so you identify them early, others are not and are often a product of that character not knowing themselves or others very well yet. Also when Jordan felt a character had a wrong impression of someone, he felt that it shouldn’t be corrected unless they saw direct evidence to contradict their views on other characters. And while characters certainly miscommunicate It’s not always because Jordan wanted to stall the plot, he just legitimately wanted flaws in the way they thought and understood what was going on in the world.

My POV reliability ranking is below (yes there are spoilers in regards to large character beats but no plot) ranking on how intellectually honest/reliable WoT characters are within their POVs. Note it doesn’t mean I think the people at the top are always right, just that you can trust their internal narrative as being consistent with how they really feel and their read on others is somewhat accurate. Additionally I only ranked the EF5 and some other big characters. If they aren’t on here it has nothing to do with how reliable I believe they are, just that I didn’t rank them.

One last thing: I legitimately love the tool of an unreliable POV character. It allows you to adds depth, intrigue, and unpredictability. It is not a coincidence that the bottom 3 of this list are my favorite characters of the series.

1 Egwene - controversial I know but her time with Gawyn/Wise Ones reveal this the most. Additionally she has a self-awareness about her dynamic with the rest of the cast. Rand and Nynaeve really stick out in this regard. she figures out their dynamic with her a lot quicker than they do. She is generally a step ahead of others and accurately portrays what she sees and experiences IMO.

2 Thom/Lan - their POVs reveal their motivations pretty clearly and they also are very consistent across the series. Additionally their analysis of other characters is really helpful due to general knowledge of the world. I put them behind Egwene because Jordan is very stingy with their POVs.

3 Min - she is the most openly conflicted of the main cast (especially regarding Rand). But I can’t put her reliability as high as the others because Jordan intentionally obscured her interpretations of her visions for obvious reasons and that is such a big part of her character that it drops her.

4 Perrin - as internally honest as they come (especially his guilt) outside of his love interests but this is a HUGE blind spot for him.

5 Rand - despite what some would say on this topic, it’s not so much that he lies to himself, but there are specific and intentional inconsistencies that are plot related. Additionally, the pressure Rand is under definitely clouds his judgement throughout the story but this is usually apparent to the reader.

6 Moiraine - her internal conflict about her schemes/plans as well as her habit of obscuring the truth places her outside of the top 5 but I generally think her POVs are incredibly revealing about what she thinks/feels when you do get them.

7 Elayne - I know you might be thinking… how is she this low? But I believe she lies to herself (even if thinly veiled) on many occasions, especially how she feels regarding her family and close relationships.

8 Mat - the guy is genuinely just a compulsive liar. He lies to himself and others routinely throughout the story. The amount of times he says “this is the last time I (insert any particular thing he does regularly)” even within his POV is astounding. But he does this in such a predictable rhythm that you get used to it very quickly. Also his read on other people within the story is at times so outlandish that you can’t believe he really thinks what his internal dialogue is saying.

9 Aviendha - absolute lunatic internally. I love her to death but what she truly believes is often hidden early on in her POVs and because she comes from such a unique culture Jordan intentionally makes her evaluation of any given circumstance a little confusing. The only reason I would rank her above Nynaeve is because there are legitimate plot mysteries that Jordan did not want to unveil with her early on making her less reliable, which isn’t the same thing as what happens with Nynaeve.

10 Nynaeve - I really don’t want to say much about this because I believe her POV is actually done brilliantly in a lot of ways, it just makes for a frustrating read before you understand her. But to put it simply she is not honest with herself generally and you have to rely on Jordan’s prose and her literal actions to know how she truly feels.

#the wheel of time #robert jordan #mat cauthon #egwene al'vere #rand al'thor #moiraine damodred #perrin aybara #fantasy #aviendha #elayne trakand #nynaeve al'meara #lan mandragoran #thom merrilin #min farshaw

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korpuskat · 8 months

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Auto-Trigger

[Ao3 Mirror] Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (Gender Neutral) Rating: Explicit WC: 996 Warnings: Prompt is "Stalking", using cameras to spy.

On the screen, you move through your quarters. Gathering your data pad before settling onto your bed, you have no idea you’re being watched.

You should, Ramattra reasons. He did not ask for a Talon liaison to observe his progress, to live in his omnium while production continued. You’re here to observe him, it’s only fair he observes you in turn. He doesn’t trust Talon, no matter how much funding they’re funneling into his cause- your observations are just as useful to your superiors as guarantees of progress as they are intel for how to destroy him.

So, he watches. Usually he’s too busy to have only the feed from your room pulled up on his screens, but as it would happen, for once every production line is running smoothly. So it leaves him in his own quarters- not that he uses them much, so little time for rest- with the feed of you.

He’ll close it soon; whatever report you’re typing will be filtered through his firewalls, he’ll read it later. But then- you sigh and stop typing. A tap and it’s sent, a notification appearing in his own HUD. And on the screen you stretch, arching your back outwards, arms extending above your head, twisting to release the muscles there. One hand comes down to cover a silent yawn.

Out of curiosity Ramattra checks his logs; you’ve appeared in key areas and spoken with him several times in the last twenty hours. Yes, it would make sense you’d be fatigued. Living underground with no source of natural light, your circadian rhythms must be altered.

In truth it wouldn’t be so hard to find a way to adapt that aspect of his omnium for you. A timer on the overhead lights, dimming them every twelve hours or so, would be trivial. He won’t, however. He doesn’t need you here, does not need your reports to be accurate or legible. Even if you have… held his attention.

As much as he dislikes the reasons for your presence… it has been some time since he’s been forced to work so closely with someone else, much less a human. Your conversations, when not Talon-related, have been… almost enjoyable. A pleasant distraction from the all-consuming work before him.

It does not mean he trusts you, however.

Hence, he watches as you shift on the bed, sliding down a little further. He does not pay it too much attention, until you shift the datapad to your other hand- and that is odd, isn’t it? Humans avoid their non-dominant hand- while the other…

Ramattra grabs the screen and pulls it closer, pinging the feed to zoom. Your other hand slides over your chest, pausing here and there to caress yourself over your uniform. Is this…? Ramattra’s circuits race, chase any answer but the obvious. Fortunately you provide an even clearer explanation: the hand that roams your chest slips under the cloth of your pants.

Your mouth drops open, eyes fluttering shut, and very quickly Ramatta has realized he’s made a terrible mistake. His arousal subroutine auto-triggers, and Ramattra curses himself to ever leaving it engaged, curses more that it’s you that’s brought it out of its dormancy. A warmth floods his sensors, makes his out plating feel like they’re itching and Ramattra wrestles with it, even as it supplies fairly sound logic: it’ll feel nice, he was going to rest anyway, you’ll never know.

He’s about to kill switch it- when the mic on the camera automatically toggles on, a volume threshold is exceeded and a soft, airy moan rumbles from his display’s speakers.

Behind the last section of his paneling, his cock throbs. Ramattra’s fingers ache to take it in hand, but he resists. You, he fights the haze that clouds his thinking, you might still receive a call about that report. Yes, he can handle himself later, but now… he should be watching-

Your hand moves beneath the cloth, exact movements obscured. With the other hand, you hold up the data pad for a minute more, then drop it on the bed beside you. What were you looking at? The fact he could find it- you’re connected to his network- does not escape him. But it’ll be disappointing, he’s sure, less entertaining than- than you shimmying out of your clothes and delving between your legs again and-

The mic toggles on again.

”Ramattra,”

He- he misheard you. He must've. But his audials replay your voice for him, begging, pleading for something- something from him. He’s burning up, vents popping in a futile attempt to calm his racing circuits.

He nearly rips one of the joints of his panels off. The antarctic air is freezing on his cock, but his moans just at the feeling of his own palm finally surrounding himself. Now- now that he can see you, he doesn’t bother with shame. Instantly he matches your rhythm, his hand keeping pace with yours. You- this is your fault, you should know better, should know he’d be watching you and, oh, when you twist like that you look so-

“Yes, yes,” You pant, just loud enough for the camera to hear it. What was he doing to you in your mind, what did you want him to do? Don’t you know he could’ve heard you, even if he wasn’t watching?

“Ra- Rama-ah,” You cry out, tensing and twitching and-

A quarter of his systems are offline before he even registers the overload has hit, He shudders, makes some distorted noise and surrenders to the wave of pleasure that follows.

He wakes some ten minutes later, if his chronometer is correct. The camera feed to your quarters is still displayed- and his optics fight to refocus into a viable image. It seems you’ve fared about the same, splayed out on your bed, blanket haphazardly drawn over half your body. And you’re fully asleep, if the soft snores are to be believed. At least he can finally get some rest.

#Ramattra #ramattra x reader #ramattra x you #overwatch #overwatch x reader #overwatch x you #selfshiptember

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ctrsbookshelf · 11 days

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The Beemer

There are very few sounds in the world that manage to calm Eddie Munson. With a brain that moves a million miles an hour, his head often feels like a radio turned up to the highest frequency. Steve’s 1983 BMW seems to be one of them. He can hear it coming, with the way Steve drives, a sound that he can place anywhere. The sound almost feels physical, like it moves through his body as he climbs in, settles all his nerve endings.

He knows the timing of it, hears the engine shut off, exactly thirty seconds later the car door slams. Steve’s always been awful at waiting, especially when he thinks they’ll be late for something. Even when there is nothing to be late for.

Eddie can hear Steve’s shoes crunching on the gravel. He can almost count his footsteps, a quick twelve if no one’s in the drive, an even twenty if his van sits out front, when he gets too impatient to park it properly. Most of his steps are obscured by grass, but he knows Steve well enough now to be able to anticipate the cadence of his movement. Besides, he’s always been good with rhythm.

A knock at his door, and Eddie can picture his frustrated look, hands on his hips.

Sometimes Steve doesn’t get out of the car when he picks him up, doesn’t even turn the car off. It’s common, when his eyes are bad and his head hurts, for there to be no knock. No request to be let in. For some reason, the vibration when he leans his forehead against the seat, or the door helps. Eddie is just glad he can find comfort in something.

They have their first kiss in that car. A clash of teeth and Steve’s warm hands on his cheekbones. It’s so unplanned on either one of their parts, that Eddie doesn’t have enough time to push his hair out of the way, and a strand of it gets caught in his own mouth, causing a hum of laughter from Steve.

It’s also where Robin cries over girls, mostly Vickie, and asks Steve nervously if it’s alright that she desperately wants to kiss Nancy, and its where Nancy hems and haws and agonizes over wanting to kiss Robin. The mirror that Dustin nervously checks his reflection in before Steve drops him off at the Snowball.

It’s the car that drives Max to the hospital.

In hindsight, he should have waited for the ambulance. But the Beemer is his, something he can rely on, and Max is relying on him. She’s so pale against the backseat and he drives faster than he’s ever driven before, Lucas holding her head. Blood on both their hands, smeared on the steering wheel.

The car also drives her home again four months later, to a collection of bright welcome home signs, and an air horn that Eddie got a hold of.

It’s where El laughs when Max spills her ice cream that they aren’t even supposed to have back there.

“The Beemer is a food free zone guys!”

“We know!” They chorus, Dustin’s voice cracking, causing them to dissolve into laughter.

“I’m blind now, Steve. Cut me some slack.” Max says, barely concealing a smirk. She’s really been laying it on thick with the blind jokes lately.

So they eat ice cream in the backseat, and it inevitably gets everywhere, but Steve is just happy they’re all here, yelling and shouting, fighting, and laughing.

He thinks about it one night while he waits for the usual suspects to spill from the school after a campaign, this car is more of a home than the house he grew up in. It keeps him warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. It somehow shelters them from the horrors of the world only they know of, and isn’t that really all he can ask for?

#stwgdailyprompt #the beemer #I can't believe I wrote a character study of a car #steve harrington #the party #max mayfield #eddie munson #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #lucas sinclair #jane hopper #stranger things

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yanban-san · 7 months

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Obscurity - AU-Tober #1

Going to try to do the Au-tober thingy by @marchy-emmet. :) Here's the first one! Not beta read at all. 🥲

(Tags: implied x-reader, Submas, SFW)

Gear Station runs like finely tuned machinery. Like the perfect rhythm of a well wound clock, everything moves in pace to it's beat and purpose- Never too far, never late, never early, but precise and exact- Though the passengers and customers of the station and it's network may forever be in disarray, the station itself, and all of it's trains and rail lines, were never found in any state other than perfection, it seemed.

The trains ran all across Unova- Everywhere. Anywhere. Always bustling, almost always packed full of busy people and young pokemon trainers- Except a few lines.

The Battle lines.

The Battle Subway was a bit of a novelty, a tourist attraction. "But isn't that rather dangerous?" People would say, envisioning a harsh, intense pokemon battle taking place on a train-

And yet, that's what happened. Multiple times. And the Battle Subway was no more worse for wear.

"It was a fine experience," A trainer would remark. "That last battle was tough, though."

And the last battles were tough. Impossibly so.

"The last trainer…. was kind of strange, though." "Oh, the name? I can't remember that-" "It was just some guy, right?"

But the two who held the last battles of the Battle Subway were far from just 'some guys'.

They were the Subway Bosses.

Emmet hummed as he flipped through one of his social pages on pidget. No notifications, not that that bothered him. It was normal- In person, and online, he and his brother blurred into the background of existence it seemed- And no one paid them any heed to an almost alarming degree.

But still, he thought- And his hand hovered over an app on his X-transceiver. Applink. Applin-link. A dating app.

He hesitated, and clicked it open.

No messages.

Sighing heavily, he sat down at his desk and continued to write, hand combing through his thin, wiry silver hair. Was it too much to ask that he and his brother find someone? Surely there was someone out there who would find them charming, and, more importantly, remember them. Notice them.

Though they did have one further problem, Emmet continued to think on as he walked to the break room. It was lunch time- And he was at least looking forward to the sandwiches he and his brother had made this morning.

"Good afternoon!" He called out, entering the break room. None of the Depot Agents acknowledged him, many already chatting among each other or going to grab snacks and drinks from the vending machines or the large fridges-

Emmet sighed.

"They usually take notice of us when we're together, brother."

Emmet turned his head. Ingo. His fellow in suffering this stupid, stupid curse.

"…Good afternoon, Brother."

Ingo patted his younger twin on the shoulder, and the two of them grabbed their sandwiches, sat down, and waited. They weren't hidden- Sitting in the middle of the lunch room, and they certainly should have been noticed- Their coats were certainly noticeable- Their whole affect was striking…

But no one did.

No one ever did.

It really was like a supernatural curse, it seemed- Though it'd gone on as long as the two had been alive, it seemed.

Emmet's sandwich was gone quickly- As was Ingo's. They normally didn't socialize or particularly interact with the staff of Gear Station- They did their work, rode the train back to Anville Town, and-

Woke up for the next day.

No notifications on the X-Transceivers as they readied themselves, and headed down to the station.

"Good morning," Ingo greeted. The ticket master of the Anville stop yawned, turning to his coffee.

"Good Morning!" Ingo called out again, raising his voice. The poor worker jumped in his chair, before taking note of the two imposing men in front of him.

"O-Oh dear, uh… Good… Morning?" He blinked, looking at the two- Wearing Gear Station emblems on their hats-

"I am Emmet, and we need to get on the train."

"O-Oh right, the- Subway Bosses- Sorry Sir, didn't notice you there."

As always. "No worries." Ingo replied. No use admonishing the poor young man- He'd forget it by the following day, anyway.

At least in the confines of a subway cart they were more noticeable. It was difficult not to notice them there, given that the two of them standing side-by-side practically created a visual wall that couldn't be seen through. Something about them was particularly intimidating in this setting- Perhaps that was how they became bosses here, after all.

How did they, though? Ingo sometimes wondered- He couldn't quite remember himself, either. Perhaps an artifact of whatever caused them to be ignored, forgotten, and obscured was causing them to forget themselves. He couldn't remember how long he and Emmet had worked at Gear Station- Nor how they'd risen to the position that they'd found themselves in.

Were they ghosts? Ingo wondered- No, they seemed corporeal enough. There weren't any reports or news articles of two conductors dying either, that they could point to for evidence. Though the thought made his heart sink and his stomach grow cold. If ever he did find out what happened- Why they were like this- he hoped it wouldn't be something so… macabre. The thought made him quite melancholy.

It was in silent moments like this, riding to Gear Station, that Emmet usually found his voice- And his voice was often on the subject of their predicament, or, often enough, his pokemon- Battling took his mind off their problems, and strategizing was something he and his brother greatly enjoyed.

"Do you think Chandelure cursed us?"

Ingo scoffed. "Absolutely not. Chandelure is good, she wouldn't have done something like this-"

And Ingo's beloved companion let herself out of her pokeball, floating in front of the two.

"Maybe she did something on accident?"

The lantern-light shook itself, a sad look on it's face. Emmet felt a little guilty for his words- And apologized. The singing, glassy ghost pokemon floated in front of the two, swinging contentedly from side to side- If she could fix what ailed her trainer, she would, but she did not know- The fires of human souls were all the same to her, and Ingo and his brother looked no different to her than the multitudes of trainers she did battle against, or the commuters on the twin's beloved trains. There wasn't much to be done, it seemed- Perhaps this was just their fate.

Ingo sighed, and it wasn't long before the train pulled into Gear Station. The familiar sound of the announcer over the tanoy heralded the end of their ride, and the two stepped out and off, and to work that day.

Ignored, as always.

Luckily, the agents seemed to remember their existence, at least as their "bosses", when things needed to be done. And so, they rarely had trouble with getting their actual, bureaucratic work done for the day. Ingo couldn't complain- The office work they were used to was boring, yes, but the work of Gear Station made him and Emmet happy. That was one thing he could remember- He loved trains, and Emmet did too- But Emmet did love his pokemon and getting to battle with them every day.

Their existence at least, was peaceful, if lonely. Ingo remembered when the Gym Leader of Nimbasa had come to their line once upon a time- And they'd actually managed to hold a conversation with her. They even exchanged numbers, with the intent to train together on occasion.

She never answered- And Ingo was inclined now to think it a product of their curse, rather than her just ghosting them. He looked up from his work, feeling his neck crick as he did so. Ah, he'd been far too focused on the documents he'd been filling out and signing. Emmet groaned, and Ingo could see his leg bouncing in rapid annoyance at whatever he was focusing on.

"Emmet, why don't we take lunch early today?"

"I verrry much agree." He answered shortly, immediately standing up. Well then, there was his answer.

"I don't want to sit in the cafeteria today though. Depressing. Verry much so."

Ingo shrugged. They could eat in the common area, under the glass roof of the gallery off the atrium and amid the indoor garden of Gear Station. Yes, that sounded nice. Watch pokemon and their trainers pass by, enjoy their meals- They did do that on occasion, when the reality of sitting alone in the cafeteria, ignored by their own employees and coworkers hit a little too hard.

The two made their way over to the pretty side station- The glass roof letting in sunlight, sparkling and casting gridded shadows of the great iron beams holding the glass above them- Broken up only by the dappling of leaves of great bushes and trees. The seating wasn't too full, so the two went off to order their meals from one of the eateries in the market adjacent to Gear Station- That connected through this very gallery. The heavenly smell of stir fries and curries and grease and sweets was lesser over here, but the twins could still smell it, and the aroma only became more and more intense as they approached the market- Making both of their stomachs growl.

"I want curry." Emmet announced, and off he marched to go and acquire the food- Ingo following after him. The two moved around people, rather than anyone moving around them, in spite of their height and rather foreboding appearance. And soon they stood in line, though that did not stop someone behind them from bumping into them- "Oh sorry, I didn't quite… see you there," They would hastily answer, suddenly feeling strange they didn't notice the two striking individuals in front of them- Only for the same thing to happen again. And again. And a few more times for good measure.

Up until the twins got up to finally place their order- And waited. The staff were busy- Waiting for someone to come up to the counter to order at their stall within the market.

"Excuse me!" Ingo yelled, rather loudly. It was the only way to get anyone's attention, it seemed-

But this time, no one noticed.

"Excuse us," Emmet also attempted to grab the poor cashier's attention, but they still didn't notice- Focusing instead on fiddling with something under the counter, as if blind not only to the twins but to the few people waiting behind them as well.

And you were getting impatient yourself- The two in front of you were certainly… intimidating, you thought- But- Had they offended the cashier? Could the Cashier not hear them? You weren't one to normally intervene, but… Well, you were hungry yourself.

"Excuse me," You interjected.

The twins ignored you. "Ahem, Excuse me," You interjected a bit more forcefully, and tapped the shoulder of the one in black. The market was quite loud- Perhaps they just couldn't hear you. But the way the one in black jumped- The obstinate frown on his face made him looked downright horrified. You hadn't meant to frighten him-

"Are you talking to me?" He asked, almost incredulously. Your own face matched his- Confusion and a sharp frown. "Well, yes. Is there something the matter? I'd like to order my lunch."

The two looked at each other. The one in white, a pleasant smile on his face, answered you first. "That's what we're trying to do. You seem good at getting people's attention. Here. Speak to them, please."

Your curiosity stopped you from rebuking the request- This was certainly strange. You'd seen a few people run into the pair, but you'd chalked it up to people not paying attention in the bustle of the market and just getting pushed around- Which happened.

"Alright, what did you two want to order?" You asked, as the cashier cheerfully turned to you, smile on her face, and suddenly jumped in shock as you addressed the two men flanking you- And a minute later, you had three order tickets, and a few more minutes later, you had your lunch- And they had theirs. "Let us pay for you. It's the least we can do," The one in black offered- And before you could really utter out any objection, he offered you a bill of money that more than covered your meal.

"Glad I could uh, be of help-" I guess, you thought. What a strange pair- Twins, evidently, and to you, at least, they were the most striking pair in the entire market- And all of Gear Station. Well, no matter. You should really be getting home, and so you went to bid them farewell.

"Actually, would you- I'm terribly sorry to inconvenience you, but would you take your stop with us?" The one in black asked.

The one in white stood at your other side. "Yes! Please. We would like to talk to you, a little bit."

You considered it a moment. Their silver eyes sparkled at you, filled with a strange emotion- An almost hopeful look.

"Okay, sure. Who are you two, anyway? I feel like I've seen you… on the trains before. Aren't you two trainers?"

"I am Emmet, and this is my brother, Ingo."

Ingo bowed lightly. "We're quite glad to hear you've heard of us before, too."

"Yup! Verrry glad!"

It was going to be the first of many lunches shared with the strange bosses of Gear Station.

#Submas #Submas au #Submas AUber #x Reader #Emmet #Ingo #Obscurity #Submas x Reader #Ingo x reader #Emmet x Reader #emmet/reader #ingo/reader

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polarisbibliotheque · 6 months

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Devil May Halloween - The Samhain Ritual

Devil May Halloween 2023 - The Samhain Ritual, Prologue (Reader and the crew on Halloween's eve)

Pairing: During the Prologue, none. You can pair the reader with anyone you want ;)

Summary: It's finally Halloween and, even if the demons are a lot more active this time of the year, that doesn't stop you from going on hunts - the partying can be done later. Or... At least that was what you thought. Maybe Nero had pretty good reasons to worry about that job after all.

Author's Notes: YEEEEES 'TIS TIME!!!! Ok, a little bit earlier, but I just finished writing the Prologue - if everything goes as planned, I'll write and post Dante's and Vergil's parts on Halloween day/night.

And yes, I know the summary is a little foggy on the theme this year but... I'm really counting on the plot twist at the end, so bear with me please HAHAHAHA

It's based on an ask sent by the amazing @furyeclipse with an awesome idea that I was thinking about for a while and figured it would be a good Halloween theme. I'll answer the ask as soon as I post the two parts on the 31st as not to spoil the fun :3 but thanks so much dear! It sparkled my writing again and I'll be always grateful for that ^^

Happy Halloween, demons, devil hunters and lil' critters!!

Prologue

Contrary to what everyone at the Devil May Cry would believe, it took a lot to get on the Sparda twins’ nerves.

One would never say Dante and Vergil were particularly patient – but, after living with them for a while, they did seem to have an above the average tolerance regarding many matters. Maybe it was because of all the things they had lived, or maybe just because actually sitting and listening to what demons had to say in order to have a smart clap back required an insurmountable amount of patience: no one would ever be able to pinpoint why, but the Sparda twins were able to put up with a lot.

When the last strands of that patience grew thin and finally torn apart, though, it was usually followed by all hells breaking lose. In that department, Dante and Vergil had very different ways to react: while the red devil burnt in an explosion of controlled fiery anger, the blue devil lost control under his usually carefully measured icy rage.

Two sides of the same coin, as you would say.

That day, it took a lot of time before they started getting annoyed by Nero constantly tapping his feet on the ground at the shop.

Dante was lazily thrown at his desk, sitting on his big chair and trying to enjoy some random magazine from years prior that he never seemed to fully end reading. Vergil was immobile, a little too stiff on the couch, having one of his many obscure poetry books in one hand while the other lightly rested over Yamato – always at arm’s length. Nero sat on the very same couch, with enough distance between him and his father, slouching while looking at different points in the shop and tapping his feet on the ground as if he was the drummer of a metal band.

Incessantly.

That had been going for hours. At first, it wasn’t annoying – both twins thought the kid would eventually calm down and stop. But after a while, Nero didn’t stop… And it only seemed to get worse.

Of course, neither Dante nor Vergil would notice both of them lightly frowning at the same time when the tapping noise started to get on their nerves. Still absorbed by their reads, the Spardas didn’t move their signature blue eyes from the pages, but the annoyed expression was the very same.

Indeed, twins. Even if they would die before admitting they were more similar than they realized.

A good half hour passed before they started getting really annoyed – probably around the same time Nero started using his hands to lightly tap on his thighs, using the same rhythm of his feet.

That exasperation started to bubble inside their chests, like a volcano that would soon explode in harsh feelings – and Dante was the first one to actually do something about it.

“Hey, kid.” He moved his sky-blue eyes towards Nero, making his nephew immediately look back at him. Without halting the tapping. “Everything alright? You’re gonna start a one-man band soon enough.”

“Yeah, yeah. I have restless leg syndrome, ya know?” Nero answered in his nonchalant tone as always – the very same punk Dante met at Fortuna. Years could go by, but that big-mouthed angry kid he met in that stuck-up cult city would never change in his eyes.

Something Dante was very fond of, if he had to be honest.

Not a single second passed before the sheath of the Yamato lightly – but sternly – hit Nero’s thighs; with enough pressure to hold them down, almost with no effort from the man wielding it.

“Enough.” Vergil’s words were crowned by the side look from his frozen silver eyes, moving just the muscles he needed to make his son stop that madness.

“C’mon…” Nero let out a huff, rolling his eyes and throwing his head back at the same time, finally stopping the tapping. It was enough to make Vergil put the Yamato back on its place and go back to his reading. “Am I supposed to just stay here waitin’ with ya the whole day?”

“They’re gonna be alright, kid.” Dante closed his magazine, tossing it on the desk and moving his feet down to the floor. Leaning towards the couch, he rested one of his elbows on his knee. “Y/n is one hell of a hunter and your lil’ angel is more than great at helpin’. They’ll be back in no time.”

“Yeah, but what if somethin’ goes wrong? What if Kyrie gets hurt?” Nero got up and started using his accumulated energy to walk around the shop while tapping on his thighs. He had to move.

“Don’t you trust your own training…?” Vergil once again raised his silvery eyes from the book, staring at his son fumbling around and not knowing what to do with himself – the very opposite of his immovable force.

Nero stared back at his own father, aquamarine eyes burning with anger. Dante had to smile and stifle a laugh: he knew his brother quite well to know Vergil wasn’t saying that just to be insufferable, he was actually playfully teasing his own son. Just like he used to do with Dante whenever their never-ending bantering started.

It was good to see Vergil was finally getting comfortable with his own kid to allow himself that kind of behavior. Dante saw that as a good sign.

“Well, last time Kyrie got caught up in the middle of somethin’, crazy-ass Sanctus and Nico’s dad kidnapped her to be slurped into a huge semi-organic-marble statue of world’s greatest grandpa Sparda while your ass was crumblin’ in Hell.” Now Nero was as red as a bell pepper, making Dante raise his eyebrows and side-eye his twin brother. Sometimes, Vergil deserved the burn. “Had to use Yamato to beat that old creep to pieces to get my girl back, so excuse me if I’m worried about lettin’ her go on a mission without me on Halloween of all days!”

Feeling Dante’s not-at-all discreet stare, Vergil’s eyes turned back to his brother right after.

“Kid’s got a point.” That’s all the red devil would say, crowned by a shrug. He loved to see Vergil being more comfortable around his son to allow more of his personality to show through – but he also had to admit Vergil needed a scolding from time to time after all the things he had done.

And his list of sins was actually huge, so there would be a lot of scolding.

“Kyrie is a very competent healer.” Vergil sighed and decided it was time to close his book and rest it on his legs – it was not like he would be able to go back to read anyway. “And y/n is a remarkable hunter. You taught Kyrie how to handle guns and swords. Even if things turn out not like they are expecting, demons would require a remarkable force to subdue them.” His silvery eyes had nothing but calculated calm, making Nero finally stop on his tracks and actually listen. “When you think about things logically, you realize the chance of them coming back safely is greater than whatever worry stirring in your heart.”

Nero rested his hands on his hips, his mouth pursed in a slit while his aquamarine eyes narrowed in their mission of glaring his father. He didn’t want to admit, but that was one hell of an advice. Vergil’s strength relied on his mind seeing things logically and counting all odds without his heart interfering in the matter – which probably was the reason why he survived so long in Hell.

Nero hated when Vergil was right – and specially when his advices were so sound. It reminded him of the father he never had, of the advices he never got to receive to help his life be a little bit less miserable – and it reminded him that even if he was mad Vergil was never there for him, it was because his father was locked in Hell as a puppet in Mundus’ hands, not even knowing he had a son, suffering innumerous tortures until Dante rid him of all that by killing his own brother… Only to survive somehow and drag himself out of all that shit.

It would be easier for Nero to hate Vergil if he only had left in pursue of power and never cared if he had a child. It would be a lot easier for Nero to deal with his feelings if that was the case.

“Verge’s right, kid. I’m not one to respond logically to things…” Dante raised his hands as if he was being held at gunpoint as soon as those fuming aquamarine eyes stared at him. “But hey, you gotta have some sense sometimes. They’re good at what they do. It wasn’t such a difficult job and your lil’ angel has an opportunity to take care of the people who were injured. It’s gonna be fine.”

Differently from Vergil, Dante wasn’t being held hostage while Nero had to learn to survive on his own – at least not like his twin brother in Hell. Even if Nero wanted to say Dante could have done something, could have been a blood bond he so desperately needed, the man in front of him could hide under so many masks but couldn’t stop his sky-blue eyes of showing all the sadness he carried inside.

Vergil could have been locked down in Hell, but Dante was being held hostage in his own mind. Carrying the grief of being the only survivor on that fateful night, and then the heart-wrenching sorrow of killing his own twin brother in order to rid him of the suffering he had been forced to endure during all that time in Hell. The guilt Dante carried in his soul weighted in his eyes and showed in how much he didn’t care about himself. He didn’t even know Nero existed until he saw him for the first time.

How could any of them care for Nero when all of them were lost in the first place?

“Kyrie’s gonna be so happy being able to help other people…” Nero finally sighed and murmured to himself, closing his eyes as if to remind himself why you both left for a job on your own in the first place. “She can handle herself. Y/n can protect them if they need it. I don’t need to stalk ‘em like a vulture all the time.”

“That’s the spirit, kid.” Dante smiled, resting his heavy boots on his desk once again. “They’ll be back soon and we’ll even have time for a lil’ Halloween party.”

“Hmmm. I refuse to wear those ridiculous clothes.” Vergil left his book on the couch, getting up to warm some water. The day was coming to an end and they could use some tea – specially Nero.

“Ooooh, c’mon, Verge! It’s the twins from The Shining! We have to make that happen someday!” Dante looked so offended Nero couldn’t help himself but to smile – even if a little bit. “It’s perfect!”

“You would never find a dress that fits you.” Vergil’s answer was but a murmur, but all of them could hear it very well.

“Ya know…” Nero sighed, finally giving in his family antics. They would never be much normal… And it made no sense for Nero to cry over the suffering Mundus had doomed all his family to just because his grandfather decided to stand by the side of the ones that needed him. In the end, Sparda did the right thing and his blood was paying for it – could Nero really be mad at him about it…? “Vergil would make a great Wednesday Addams.”

Both men stared at him: Vergil with only frozen death in his silvery eyes, dark aura already starting to loom around him, while Dante had the brightest stars in his sky-blue stare, mouth slightly open.

“You’re a genius, kid.”

Chaos would’ve ensued if Trish and Lady hadn’t opened the doors of the Devil May Cry at that very same moment.

“Hey, what’s up, babes? Nero’s got the best idea for Halloween this year…!”

“Well, those ideas will have to wait. We got a bit of a… Problem.” And something was wrong in Trish’s voice: she usually carried that nonchalant, devilish honey tone in every word she said, always with a ghost of a smile on her perfectly crafted reddish lips – but not this time. Her lilac blue eyes were fidgeting, a tinge of distraught in her voice. Dante immediately furrowed his brows and took his feet of the desk.

“Y/n and Kyrie need our help.” Lady announced with a nervous tremble in her tone, closing the heavy door behind her.

The Devil May Cry fell in silence – the eyes of the blood of Sparda locked on Lady and Trish. They had now their undivided attention.

“I’m really impressed we’re not finding any of them stalking us at the corner of our eyes every now and then.” You had your arms crossed, leaning to a building while Kyrie stabilized a man who was caught by a demon earlier – his family waiting anxiously around you, ready to run to safety while you both only promised to go deeper and deeper into the root of all the problem. “I thought they’d be looming around us like vultures.”

“Oh, Nero is probably worried sick.” Kyrie answered in a giggle, carefully wrapping the man’s arm with a clean set of bandages she packed before leaving with you. “But I think they trust us enough to do our job.”

“Hmmm. Nevertheless, I lost the bet.” You smiled in return, slightly sighing. “Guess you got me for an entire day to help you at the orphanage when we’re back.”

“Any help is always welcome.” She was quickly done, smiling at you while the family approached to carry the man to safety. “Go straight to a hospital. We’ll keep on working on this.”

“Thank you! May the gods bless you!”

As the family ran out of the building with the injured man, Kyrie couldn’t help but smile. For years she had unwavering faith in the Order of the Sword, and she thought after all that happened in Fortuna – specially regarding Credo – she would turn bitter towards all religion. But it had the opposite effect: it only made her happier when people blessed her with their faith, knowing it was one of the best things they could offer as a thankful gesture.

Her church might have been destroyed, her beliefs turned to dust – but her faith in something good would never be broken.

“Ok, my dear Cleric, onwards we go.” You got your sword back in your hands, pointing the way so Kyrie could get ready. “It’s quite impressive that a few demons were able to make such a mess in so little time actually. If they hadn’t evacuated the factory as soon as the first bodies appeared, we would probably be here with the whole crew.”

“Hmmm… It’s very interesting really…” Kyrie furrowed her brows, reloading the Blue Rose. Nero wanted her to use it on that hunt – as if having a piece of him with her could ward away any evil. He was always very bitter and rebellious towards any faith, but Kyrie always smiled whenever she saw the little superstitions Nero carried with him. “You said we’re dealing with three demons, right?”

“Could be more.”

“Oh, I believe it’s three. If I’m a Cleric, then you’re a Ranger. And a very good one.” Kyrie let out a quiet laugh alongside yours. “Three demons attacking a factory in town at random, causing so many deaths and such mayhem in less than an hour… It’s really… Hmmm…”

“Weird…?” You tried and she agreed, even if both of you didn’t really agree that was the right word to describe it. Since you first stepped inside that old building, it seemed something wasn’t right – but neither of you could quite point out what it was. “Yeah, I have to agree with you… If it was just a bunch of bloodthirsty demons, they would be spreading out to the city already and there would be so much more than just three.”

“And if there were more, the body count would be higher.” Her answer was somber: Kyrie never enjoyed thinking about human casualties, and that’s why her job was always to heal and help the injured. “So…”

“What gives?” You complimented her phrase, making Kyrie agree with her head – slowly, still thinking about it. “Also, we have many hunters in our party. Dante is one hell of a tracker as well, even if he tries to pretend he’s always winging it.”

“Oh, but Dante would definitely be a hunter Bard.” She laughed in response, making you snort right after. You could see that. Dante was a depressed Bard, hunting demons and going into fire fueled demon rage, but a Bard nonetheless. “And Vergil would be our very own Necromancer.”

“Scaring everyone who came in contact with us, be with his eyes or the spirit of the dead.” You answered as if you were narrating an advertisement of Necromancers on the TV – Kyrie giggled more than she thought she would. “It’s very fitting though. And Nero…”

You both exchanged looks, as if you could read each other’s minds – already laughing upon knowing what the answer would be.

“Rebel Paladin.” As you said in unison, your laughs echoed slightly through the factory. Imagining what each one of you would be in a Dungeons and Dragons game was something you and Kyrie would discuss quite often since you found out she was interested in it, but never really had the chance to play it. You wanted to start a campaign together, but whenever she had time, you were out on a hunt, and whenever you had time, she was busy with the orphanage.

Suddenly, you raised your hand so your laughs would come to a halt. Kyrie paid attention to your surroundings, only to hear what it seemed to be distorted voices coming from the patio outside the factory. Taking one of your fingers to your lips, you signaled her to be silent as you slowly walked towards the noise.

Reaching one of the big windows inside the building, you had a good view of the patio. Three humanoid demons – but still a lot taller than normal people, with leathery skin, distorted proportions, horned heads and sharp teeth – licked the blood from their fingers, tossing dismembered human bodies in the distance. You and Kyrie remained silent, crouching by the window, only the very top of your heads visible: enough so you could see what was going on.

“Master will probably have to wait for another Samhain.” One of them scoffed the words, voice drenching in disdain.

“We have our orders. They will show up.” The tallest demon, a little different and more menacing, had only anger in his tone. That discussion probably had been going for some time. “And when they do, our job is over.”

“Perhaps we didn’t kill enough…” The third demon had a wide smile on its hundred rows of sharp teeth. “Perhaps if we spill more blood, they will be here quicker.”

“You fool.” The leader of the group almost growled in response. “Humans aren’t summoned by spells and blood like us. They are weak little creatures that take forever to do at least one thing.”

“Then why Master needs them so much?! Two even!” The first demon rolled its eerily white eyes, clearly bored with the waiting stage of their mission. “They are meek things, the only thing they are good for is food.”

“Because those are different.” The leader now let a roar tear trough its words. “And they are exactly what Master needs for the ritual. No more, no less.”

“If Mundus wasn’t so stupid, he would have succeeded in it.” The second demon scoffed once again, shaking its head. You and Kyrie exchanged quick looks. “But he always wanted to bite more than he could chew.”

“He thought he could bend the rules.” The leader crossed its deformed arms, spiky skin scratching against each other. “No one can. Not even the strongest of us. He ignored the rituals that could’ve made him stronger before trying to subdue all into his rule.”

“He underestimated the blood of Sparda. That was the reason for his demise.” You walked into the patio, silver sword bright in your hand. You had heard enough – and maybe Dante or probably Vergil would know what kind of Samhain ritual they were talking about. It was time to send them back to Hell; Kyrie could watch it safely from inside the factory.

“Oh… A hunter.” The leader smiled devilishly, receiving an approving look from the other two. That already made your heart a little suspicious: it wasn’t a normal reaction. “And a Sparda defender, nonetheless.”

“I defend the ones who carry his legacy. Your power could never get even close to what they carry.” You raised your head with pride, a ghost of a smile coloring your lips. “And neither did Mundus.”

“My, my, so you know the blood of Sparda…?” The third demon approached with its hundred rows of sharp fangs dripping blood, ready to attack. You tried not to react to its phrase, even if you wanted to furrow your brows in confusion. Why did that matter…? “It’s true, then? That they fell for human whores like that filthy traitor before them?”

“You know, I wouldn’t mind you talking about me like that…” You sighed, crossing your arms, trying to retain a little control over the conversation – even if something inside you screamed the odds were not in your favor. “But no one refers to my Cleric with such dirty words.”

She didn’t want to, but Kyrie had to muffle a little giggle. She would always be impressed how all of you hunters – including Lady and Trish, not only Nero’s family and you – could banter and give demons smart answers, seemingly fearlessly.

“You have someone else with you, then…? A non-hunter…?” The first demon approached slowly, spreading its claws in the same rhythm as its steps.

That was almost like a red light appearing inside your mind. They didn’t know. They saw you – and only you – but they didn’t know about Kyrie. And now, it seemed like they were even more interested on the fact you were there together.

Two humans for their Master. They could have taken anyone in that factory, but they were waiting. At first, you and Kyrie thought they were waiting for anyone in the crew outside Trish, but now… You had your doubts. Many doubts.

Without words, you plunged in a surprise attack that managed to cut the side of the third demon’s mouth, making it even wider while it screeched in pain. That was enough to put an end to that conversation – and, as soon as you could, you would turn around to Kyrie and signal her to run.

As she watched you from inside the building, Kyrie tried to think what to do. She knew you were more than capable of killing those three demons in a moderately quick fight, but that conversation was enough to spark restlessness in her heart.

And before she could do anything and you could tell her to go, Kyrie felt a leathery clawed hand tightly covering her mouth, squeezing her soft skin until it hurt.

“Don’t even try to run, or we will gut you and your friend right here, right now.”

Her hazelnut eyes turned to the patio in despair, trying to find yours while you viciously fought to slay all those demons.

As soon as you saw her being carried towards the patio by another menacing demon, you immediately did what they commanded you to do: stop resisting and drop your weapons or else they would drop Kyrie’s blood.

She closed her eyes in regret as she heard the metallic sound of your silver sword hitting the floor.

“When the people in town told us they were there, we figured to drop by and say hello.” Lady had her hands resting on her waist, standing in front of the shop’s desk while the Spardas surrounded her and Trish. “Our job was fast and easy, and it would be nice seeing how Kyrie was holding up… But when we got to the factory, we knew something was wrong.”

“What happened?! Just say it already!” And if Nero was a pile of nerves before, now he was beyond any logic.

“I got up on the roofs, Lady crossed the factory inside. There was nothing.” Trish took over, crossing her arms and having her slim eyebrows furrowed in worry. “I got to the patio where I was hearing some voices. There were four demons: one was a leader of three lesser demons, but they weren’t doing anything. I saw Lady hiding inside the factory and watching things from the windows, but everything was… Weirdly calm.”

“Kyrie and y/n were being held hostages. Kyrie tried to fight and let go, but y/n… Nothing.” Lady noticed how Dante and Vergil immediately frowned upon hearing that. It wasn’t like you to be allowed to be taken by demons without a fight. “Their weapons were on the floor. One of them said if y/n even tried to move, they would cut Kyrie’s throat.”

“Fuck…! I knew I should’ve gone with them!” Nero almost threw his arms up in exasperation, starting to roam around the room once again. This was killing him. He wanted to give Kyrie all the space she needed, but after Fortuna… He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. “What about y/n?!”

“That’s why they didn’t move.” Trish’s cold lilac blue eyes immediately turned to Nero. “Head held high as always, but not a single move.”

“And then? Did ya try to do somethin’?” Dante was on the brink on understanding Nero on a soul level – he himself was almost getting up from his big chair to prance around the room and blow off some steam.

“We tried…” Lady’s voice carried a regret he only heard when they were teens and met for the first time, so many years ago. Back then, she had a lot more bitterness rather than pure rage. “We tried to signal some things and plan something, but…”

“Hell Generals.” Trish cut Lady’s words, making Vergil immediately stiffen up, frozen eyes staring her with a sharp edge. “Two Hell Generals. I don’t know how, but they managed to get to the human world. One of them was their ‘master’ while the other must have had some sort of deal with the first.

“Which Generals…?”

“You think you know them?” Lady had to admit she was a little shocked. Trish was usually the encyclopedia of famous demons in Hell, given the fact she was literally born there. She knew the Generals, but not all of them.

“I spent enough time in Hell to know most of its worst.” And to say his eyes could cut was an understatement. “Everyone wanted the chance to torture the son of the 'filthy traitor Sparda'.”

The Devil May Cry fell in silence for a couple of seconds. Everyone knew Vergil hadn’t had it easy during his time in Hell, but he rarely talked about it – and when he did, it was usually followed by chills down their spines.

“Erlach and Orcus.” Trish finally raised her voice among that silence, making Vergil close his eyes. “Erlach was the lesser demons’ master, Orcus was the one who had an arrangement with him.”

“Indeed… Two of the worst.” Vergil opened his eyes once more, carrying even more rage than before.

“And what did they want?” Dante shook his head, sighing quickly. He thought they would be able to have a peaceful Halloween. “They were holdin’ them, so they must’ve wanted somethin’.”

“Yes, they talked about a ritual. The ‘Samhain ritual’ as far as I could hear, but I have no idea what that is.” Lady turned her bicolored eyes to Trish – after all, she must’ve known what they meant by that.

“The Samhain ritual is written in books in Hell but no one knows if it really is true. No demon ever tried it, apart from the ones of legend.” The demon rested her hands on her waist, sighing right after. “It’s a ritual to gain power, said to elevate a demon’s status. If it was made by a General, they would easily rise to Mundus’ status.”

“Ok, so not good at all, that’s what you mean.” Nero placed his hands on Dante’s desk, leaning on it and finally stopping his roaming around. “Why do they need Kyrie and y/n? Their blood? Their souls? Why didn’t you interrupt them?!”

“Well, when I heard what they said before completely disappearing I took some time to make sure I wasn’t hearing things, kid!” Lady now looked as furious as Nero, trying to get him to respect her again as he always did. “I thought I heard it wrong and then they were gone! It happened too fast!”

“What did they say?!” The three Spardas talked at the very same time; different voice tones, but indeed, a family.

“To get the wedding ready.”

Trish’s words fell among them like a ton of bricks. Nero had disgust and confusion written all over his face, seemingly trying to make sense of it – just like Lady when she heard it for the first time, making sure they didn’t get it wrong. Dante had his eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly open, but eyes filled with rage and shock. Vergil looked like he had swallowed an entire book and it was now stuck in his throat, unable to go up or down, while his face tried to maintain some dignity.

Until the three managed to blurt out the exact same phrase.

“What the fuck?!”

That was going to be one hell of a Halloween.

To Be Continued....

60 notes · View notes

goofyahhcats · 8 months

Text

Hold the Line

Rating: E

Re5!Chris Redfield / Gn!AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Angst if you squint, Injury, Violence (not related to smut), p in v action, Gn reader, reader is afab, reader usually wears a bra, use of sweetheart, baby, etc.

Summary: After being injured in the battle against Albert Wesker, you find yourself making stupid decisions. How can you face Chris after what you've done? He seems to be avoiding you. Then again, who wants to get chewed out by their coworkers? You can't help but notice a glint in his eye. It's just your imagination, right?

Word count: 3.8k

A03 link here:

Took some creative liberties with the end of/post re5 ignore that

Burning alive inside of a fiery volcano was not exactly your preferred way to go. The heat and smoke had forced their way inside of your throat hours ago, leaving you teary-eyed and gasping for air. Your eyes, open wide and wild with panic passing back and forth between the rocky landscape and the red and bubbling abyss. You watched in horror as the thing that was once your Captain writhed and screamed as he flung one of his many-tentacled appendages toward you. Scrambling in the other direction, you sprinted towards any open path that wasn’t obscured by lava or crumbling to pieces. Your boots thudded over the rough terrain with an unpleasant rhythm. A stark reminder of an unfortunate tumble you had recently landing you directly on your ankle.

You focused on keeping your breathing steady as you stumbled as fast as you could away from Wesker. Who, after tossing a quick look over your shoulder, was gaining rapidly. A mass of Uroboros shot by you, just barely missing your arm and instead making contact with the floor in front of you. Crumbling away and sizzling as it contacted the lava, the stone of the once angled slope ahead now resembled more of a solid brick wall. Your steps slowed and came to a shaky stop as you stared unblinking at the end of the path. Horrified, you cringed as you heard Wesker’s maniacal laughter seeping between the loud bubbling of the active volcano.

You turned, horrified, as he inched closer and closer towards you. His face wore a grin of satisfaction. Bright red and cat-like eyes alight with the fire of the hunt. Suddenly, his eyes locked somewhere above your head. His grin faded into a snarl as you heard a deep and loud voice scream your name.

“Grab on!” Chris’ large hand extended into view as you whipped around, jumping and gripping him as hard as you could. He almost effortlessly lifted you onto the ledge you had been trying to reach. Biceps and shoulders turning and flexing as he shoved you behind him.

“Go! Now!”

Chris lets a few bullets fly from over his shoulder as a strong hand finds the small of your back and pushes you forward and away from the amalgamation that once was Albert Wesker.

“We gotta get out of here!” Chris called, pulling you behind a boulder to avoid another attack from Wesker.

You stumbled, catching the side of the rockface to hold yourself up. You felt a hot and searing pain flare up from the base of your leg. Shit.

Chris noticed your pained expression, “Hey, what’s wrong?” A gloved hand reached your shoulder, turning your upper body to face him.

“It’s my ankle,” you grimaced, “Twisted it earlier when I was running.”

Chris’ eyes flooded with concern, “Shit, can you walk?”

You tentatively placed your foot down and put a bit of weight on it. The searing pain returned and you quickly withdrew your foot.

“It’s no good,” you rasp, shaking your head.

“Here, I’ll carry you,” Chris rumbled as he reached his hands under your shoulders and legs. You protested slightly but quickly shut your mouth as Chris took off in the direction of another alcove. You heard Wesker shriek as Sheva bombarded him with a barrage of bullets. Chris tucked behind the rocks and looked around, leaning against the wall for support. His breathing was hot, ghosting across your face in waves in time with the rise and fall of his chest. Sweat beaded over his forehead as he watched Sheva duel with Wesker.

“The helicopter should be here soon,” he mumbles, eyebrows knit in thought and frustration.

“Just leave me here,” you look up at him sympathetically, “I’m no use to you two down there if I can’t even walk.”

“No. Absolutely not.” Chris’ dark eyes hold contact with yours. The steadiness of his voice surprises you. This was the Chris Redfield you knew.

“But-”

“No!” Chris yells. You feel his hands tighten and release around your sides as the spark of anger in his eyes slowly fades away. “I’m not losing another one.” His voice is once again steady, But his eyes betray his stoic expression. Tired, sad, and angry. For a brief moment, his eyes flood you with an emotion so intense you can hardly think straight. You feel warm inside, and you smile gently.

“I’m good with a rifle. Tell Jill to pick me up,” you hold his gaze as he drops his head, screwing his eyes shut and letting out a shuddering sigh.

“I can’t let you do that,” he looks back down at you.

Suddenly, you are lifted into the air again. Chris pants as he brings his legs up to speed again, running across the volcano. Wesker and Sheva come into view. You breathe out gratefully that your friend is still alive. You feel Chris’ breath hitch as the full scene is revealed, however. Wesker has Sheva’s neck in a tentacled grasp. Her legs kick as she squirms in an attempt to fight back. You hear her gasp for air and struggle to breathe. Wesker smirks psychotically at her weak display of resistance.

“Chris-”

“I know!” His eyebrows are tightly knit, and he looks down at you and back up at Sheva. Taking initiative, you wrestle yourself out of his grip.

“No,” Chris starts but returns his gaze to Sheva as Wesker drops her to the floor, laughing as he cages her in between him and the lava.

He looks back at you, surprised to find your eyes filled with cold hard determination. Your rifle was positioned in your hands.

“Go,” you state. Nodding towards Sheva, “I’ll be ok. Help her.”

A moment's hesitation, but you see his eyes harden again, “Alright. I trust you.”He turns away.

Suddenly, you are overcome with a rush of emotions. Worry. Want. Need. Before you know it, you are hobbling on one leg and grabbing at his bicep for support. Chris stares at you, bewildered, before you drag his head forward by the vest. Your lips meet for a brief moment. Seconds, maybe. His arm cards through your hair and he holds you close. You feel that warm feeling spread through your body again before it is ripped away as you pull from the kiss.

“In case we don’t see each other again,” your expression is somber, patting him roughly on the shoulder and giving him a slight push in the right direction. He takes two staggering steps forward, looking back at you before his expression tightens. He nods and charges off towards Sheva and Wesker.

The rest of the night is a blur. Jill arrives in the helicopter, just in the nick of time. They swing over to retrieve you, and you watch as Chris and Sheva blast Wesker to pieces. You all sit back as the helicopter flies away, the volcano retreating into the distance. The ride is silent, but you occasionally can feel Chris’ hot gaze on your back. Your hands brush his as you exit the helicopter back on base.

You don’t talk to Chris for a whole month. You had been too engrossed in your medical status - doctors confirming that you had fractured your ankle - and had been bedridden for weeks. Your hospital had denied you visitation, instead putting you in trauma counseling. You didn’t need the therapy, this was the fault of the BSAA’s shitty cover story, claiming that a violent house fire caused you to fall a few flights of stairs, losing all of your roommates and extended family in the process. Those roommates and extended family were covers for the deaths of the other members of Bravo and Delta Team, who had lost their lives in battle. Of course, the BSAA only told this story to the general masses and the hospital. The details - although as vague as possible - were disclosed to the families of the deceased. After your counseling, you endured a few more weeks of physical therapy and were now happily on your own two feet once again.

You reentered the BSAA headquarters for the first time in what seemed to be forever and were greeted by many astonished coworkers. You smiled and waved, giving gratitude towards all of the well wishes that you received. In reality, you had been scanning the crowd for a familiar face and a brown tuft of hair. You couldn’t find Chris anywhere.

You became a bit frantic, eyes looking from face to face to no avail. At some point, you excused yourself and rushed through the compound. Twisting and turning through the corridors, you eventually come face to face with a strong wooden door. The engraving read, ‘C. REDFIELD’. You raised your fist and knocked one, twice, three times, before you heard a muffled, “Coming,” and some shuffling from within.

You took in his figure when he opened the door. Once broad and proud shoulders tired and hunched. His arms remained built and impressive, but you could feel the weight they carried as they dangled loosely by his sides. His face was scruffy as if he hadn’t shaved in a while. Although you silently admitted it was a good look for him. His hair was considerably longer, and the quiff in front no longer stood at attention and instead lay half up half down in a feeble attempt. He had heavy eyebags, which encircled his thick eyelashes and lidded gaze.

“Chris,” you shift on your feet nervously, unsure of whether to run away or wrap your arms around him.

A low mumble of your name cascades between his lips. His right arm twitches upward as if to touch you, grab you, hold you close, but then slowly returns to its initial position.

You stand in silence for a few moments, taking each other in with thousand-yard stares. A spark of something, you aren’t sure what exactly, fills Chris’ eyes. He takes a step back. Gesturing to his office, “Come in.”

You walk in and take in the familiar surroundings. This is not the first time you’ve been inside of his office. He always kept it surprisingly tidy, but it always had a comfortable and lived-in feeling to it. However, now you notice trash on the ground. Cups upon cups of coffee are scattered about. On the desk, on the floor, and in the trash can.

Chris takes a seat in his desk chair and you sit on one of the two chairs facing his desk. The quiet was deafening. Chris rummaged through his desk, avoiding your gaze. You open your mouth to speak, say anything to break the silence that was hanging over the two of you like a wet blanket. Chris beat you to it, haphazardly tossing a wad of papers into your lap.

“Need you to file a mission report,” he was speaking in his professional voice. His inflection read This is strictly business, nothing more. You picked up the papers and flipped through them. Nothing caught your eye. You raised your head to find that Chris was already looking at you. His eyes bore into yours as if he was searching for something. You nod, going to stand, to leave, to get away from the warm blossoming feeling. He doesn’t protest. Your hand reaches the doorknob before you are halted by his voice, gravelly and tired.

“What was that?”

You turn to face him, “What?”

“Wesker. The volcano. You know what I’m talking about.” Chris’ eyes catch yours once again.

Oh.

You are flooded again with that familiar feeling. You hate it. His lips had felt so tender, so soft. You felt the need to run to him. Wrap your arms around him, and tell him everything is going to be alright.

“What about it do you want to know?” your voice is quiet, feeling almost cornered by his gaze.

Chris sighs and drags his hand over his face. His eyes break contact and stare at the ceiling.

“We need to talk,” he mumbles.

“About-”

“Everything.” his voice rises slightly, and he stands up. He makes his way towards you and halts. You can feel your heartbeat thundering in your ears. He was so close. You could practically count each scar and blemish that decorated his upper body. You longed to trace your fingers over them. To soothe the aches that he must be feeling.

Chris’ hand reaches over yours, and clasps around your right hand, still resting on the doorknob. You tense up as Chris gently turns the handle and pushes the door open. The knob swings away, but his hand remains on yours.

“Meet me at my place tonight,” his hand slowly retracts, as if he just now realized what he had done.

“We need to talk,” he repeats.

You nod in reply, your throat too dry and your voice too shaky to respond. You stay staring at him for a moment, before turning and leaving his office.

You finish your BSAA duties quickly, rushing home and almost stumbling on your way to the shower to clean yourself up. Only once you had finished getting dressed and were slipping on your shoes did the reality of the situation hit you. Your rushed movements slowed as the anxiety set in. You felt the pit at the bottom of your stomach only grow as your car neared Chris’ apartment building. You made your way up the stairs, practically sick with the idea of actually confronting your feelings.

You raised a fist and knocked only once at his door before it opened. Inside stood the same Chris that you had met this morning, only now in a comfortable white shirt and gray sweatpants. He steps backward, and you walk in as he shuts the door behind you. You look around his modest but homey apartment.

Just like his office, you reminisce. Smiling slightly to yourself as you walked further into the simple living room. Chris takes a few long strides to his couch and sits down. He takes a beer he seems to have placed on the table previously and cracks it open. As you sit, you notice he had put out one for you too. You take it graciously and take a sip.

Chris turns to you, “So, about what happened-”

“I am so sorry Chris. I overstepped. I really shouldn’t have let my feelings get in the way of work, I-”

“Stop.” Chris gently rests a hand on your shoulder to calm you down.

“No! But, it was so unprofessional of me..!” your hands flail about as you talk, words tumbling from your mouth as the coil inside of you unravels faster than you could keep up, “Sheva could have died and I- I was just being… selfish,” You exhale at that last word and look up into Chris’ dark eyes. For the first time in months, weeks, or years, you see a smile spread across his face. It crinkles the corners of his eyes up, and you feel as though you will never see anything as beautiful ever again.

“Sweetheart,” it falls gracefully between his lips as he talks, the other hand coming up to brush a knuckle along your jawline, You feel your face heat up.

“Chris, listen-”

Chris shuts you up by pressing his lips against yours. You let out a muffled squeak in response. It was all passion, Want. Need. His arms wrapped themselves tightly around you and you reciprocated. Fingers finding their way into his hair, alternating between stroking and pulling. He groaned into your mouth and swiped his tongue across your lips. You obliged. His tongue buried against yours as you suddenly found yourself leaning back against the cushions.

The warm feeling is everywhere. Hot and heavy. But this time, you didn’t want to back down. You needed more.

One of your hands took a detour from his hair and began exploring his expanses of muscle. His biceps flexed on instinct as you came into contact with them. You traced up and down the curve of his elbow as he kissed you harder.

He broke away for air for only a split second before diving into you again. You felt and heard him audibly shudder as your wandering hand found the edge of his shirt. He broke away, face flushed.

“Are you sure?” It was quiet, almost difficult to hear. You nodded.

Chris cupped your face with his hand, “Need to hear you say it, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” you whispered, wetness pooling in your pants as he quickly pulled up his top. You were only allowed to stare for a moment before he captured your lips in his again. Instead, you opted to see with your hand, which traveled over every bump, bruise, scar, and muscle it could find. He groaned and fisted a hand in your t-shirt. You pushed his chest away and broke the kiss, hot breaths filling the silence of his living room as you fumbled with your shirt, exposing your chest to Chris.

“Fuck, no bra?” he growled against your ear as he began to grope and explore your body just as you had his.

You let out a small giggle, “Nope, didn’t feel like one today,” you gasped as he gripped onto your sides, making contact with the top of your pants.

He smirks, “Shouldn’t feel like wearing one more often, then. Fuck,” he stares down at your chest, “I’ve been missing out.”

His mouth catches yours and you pull him down flush against you. You can feel his sizeable bulge against your thigh, which only deepens the wetness pooling in your underwear.

With a surge of confidence, your hand reaches between the two of you and palms Chris through his sweatpants. He lets out a low and shuddering moan at the feeling. You fumble with his waistband before he pulls it down himself. His boxers come down with them and you are left with the feeling of his cock springing against your stomach. You swallow heavily as you stare. He was long and thick. You gripped him and stroked once experimentally. He let out a breath and hissed as you slid your thumb over the head. You slid your hands up and down his shaft before he grabbed your wrist.

“Let me take care of you first,” he whispered. In a flash, your pants and panties had been removed, exposing your glistening cunt to the world. Chris groaned at the sight. He experimentally slid a finger between your folds. Your hips bucked upwards at the feeling, a noise escaped your lips that you didn’t know had been there.

Chris raises his finger and chuckles, “All for me?” he presses the finger to your lips. You gently allow him inside and clean him off with your tongue. He takes his finger away and returns it to your folds. One finds its way to your slit and strokes over and around the opening, while another finds your clit. Both fingers circle for a moment until you grow desperate, rocking your hips against him.

“Chris.. don't be such a tease,” you say between each rock of your hips. Your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders. He allows you to rock for a little while. Simply admiring you with a soft look on his face.

“Chris, please,” you whine. He groans, dipping one finger inside of you. You moaned louder than you had meant to as he began to thrust his finger back and forth. The other finger rubs circles over your clit as you pull him down towards you for another kiss. He kisses you passionately, bordering on rough as you whimper into his mouth. You can feel his resolve cracking the more your tongues and lips meet. His fingers speed up until he quickly rips them away from you. He breaks the kiss, staying close to your face. His eyes burn with desire.

“Tell me you need me,” he growls low, one of his fingers returning to your folds. You start to respond but let out a choked moan as he tugs at your clit.

“Tell me you fucking need me,” Chris’ eyes flash “Because I've always needed you.”

“Fuck… Chris, I need you..! I need you right now, please just-”

You are cut off by his cock sliding itself into you, and you moan. Your back arches up as your hands tighten over his shoulders. His lips dip down to your neck, kissing and sucking as he begins to move at a rapid pace. No slow introduction, no pacing, he needed you and he needed you now.

Your moans bounce throughout his living room, skin on skin echoing through his apartment. You bring a hand up to his hair and pull, bringing his head up from its position at your neck. He groans at the feeling, eyes locking onto yours as he pounds into you.

One of his hands grips the flesh of your thigh and lifts, bringing it upwards. The stretch nearly causes you to orgasm on the spot. Chris’ cock nudged that perfect spot with each thrust.

“Fuck.. baby,” Chris rasps in your ear, his other hand holding tightly to your waist, “I'm close. I'm close… fuck.”

You moan in response, reaching down between the two of you to thumb at your clit. Chris quickly grabs your wrist, “No. Let me..”

His calloused thumb rubs against your clit, and you can feel your pussy tightening against his cock.

“Shit, yeah sweetheart. Just like that,” Chris moans. His eyes squeeze shut and his lips meet yours quickly. He’s messy, sloppily kissing you in time with his thrusts. He drops his head and groans a chorus of Fuck’s and Shit, baby.

“Look at me. Are you close?” you meet his eyes and nod, moaning his name.

“Chris,”

“I know, baby.”

His thumb speeds up, and you spasm. Your back arches up as you cum, your legs shaking. You spill fluids all over his dick, moaning and babbling incoherently. It doesn't take long for Chris to find his end as well. You feel a hot sensation flooding between your legs as Chris empties himself into you. He gasps and groans as he thrusts into you a few more times.

His movements halt and you both stay there, breathing heavily. You hold eye contact with him as he gently pulls out of you.

He sits back, admiring his work. He then stands and pads towards another room. You hear a sink running. He returns with a warm washcloth and wipes you down, folding the cloth over and then wiping himself off. Ever the gentle giant, he tenderly sits you up, offering you a glass of water. You lean into his touch, resting your head on his shoulder as you gratefully sip the beverage.

Chris gently strokes your hair with one hand. You smile and nuzzle into his side. His arm wraps around you as you both sit there in silence for a few minutes.

You turn your head up to him, “Did you mean what you said? About needing me?”

Chris sighs, a small smile falling across his features, “Yeah, I did. Did you?”

You return the smile, pressing a small kiss to his cheek.

“Yes, always.”

#NSFT #smut #angst #chris redfield #chris redfeild x reader #resident evil #re5 #albert wesker #idk hes there for a bit im adding him #god i love him #gender neutral reader #no use of y/n #afab reader

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ashlingiswriting · 8 months

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do i know you? chapter three

[ 3k words ] [ prev chapters: one, two ] [ masterlist ] "it’s an unfamiliar sensation, not being able to completely read him. it skitters over you like static electricity." richie jerimovich x reader, past mikey berzatto x reader, slow burn

you’re on call every day from eight at night to eight in the morning, so by the time richie rolls up, you’ve usually just eaten a late breakfast and he’s heading home after work. there’s a consistency to his late night appearances, a rhythm that becomes comforting.

there’s no pretending and no politeness—what would be the point? they should invent a word for this. maybe childhood-friend-in-law would do, except you had a snowball’s chance in hell of ever marrying michael and you always knew it. that’s the feeling, though. familiarity comes built in. even when he gets truly infuriating, you don’t leave feeling worse than you did. more pissed off, sure, but never worse. it’s a distinction worth noticing.

some nights are easy. you talk about questionable obscure music in which you really do not overlap or middling mainstream music in which you do, running out of concerts and context. sometimes it’s pure bullshit, gossip or make believe, starting up elaborate jokes too lame to admit to in front of anyone else, then discarding them when they’re outworn. sometimes it’s old stories, sometimes it’s pure speculation.

hand to god, some nights are good.

and then there’s this night.

you’re barely out the front door when richie calls out, hey. where the hell were you?

you got called in real early yesterday, so you missed seeing him last night. but that’s no cause for him to yell, the entitled little jerk. you shoot him a baleful glare. then, as you take in the sight of him, you settle a little.

he’s not truly angry. you’ve spent enough time with him now, you’d know.

with a shrug, you shove your hands deep in your pockets and come stand beside him.

last night i had to smoke all by myself like a fuckin loser, he says.

that's your cue to say, you are a fuckin loser, but you don't take it.

he offers you a drag on his own cigarette, and you shake your head. you want it bad, but you can’t. you all but smoked yourself to death between crises yesterday, and you’re trying to convince yourself now that giving it up will somehow fix things.

but nothing will be fixed, and it’s not your responsibility anyhow. this is not your city. you’ve felt that acutely of late, as each of your last links to it is broken one by one. coke or the cops, what difference does it make? the caruso kid didn’t listen to you, didn’t listen to anyone, and once his infection got bad enough, his wife called an ambulance. it’ll be the cops for him if he survives, and his father after that, the next domino to fall. you yourself are somewhere in that long line, just waiting for your turn.

work sucks, huh, richie says.

you look over at him to find that he’s already looking back at you, a little sleepy but not good enough an actor to hide the keenness in his observing eyes. it’s dangerous that he noticed you were gone and it’s dangerous that he’s noticing you now, but it feels really, really fucking good.

yeah, you say. i thank god every day that i am a woman of leisure.

he laughs. well, i’m just grateful that you allow yourself to associate out with me, you know. me in my rags and you in your pearls and finery. he gestures at your sweatpants and gigantic parka.

once my tiara’s back from the cleaner’s, it’s over for you, you say.

sure, and i’ll be crying my eyes out in a pint of cherry chocolate chip.

with that, he launches into a long, winding tale about the shenanigans he pulled at the beef today, installment nine hundred and seventeen of his neverending battle with a guy named fak. you’re not following, but you’re not trying to follow particularly hard, either. you’re too tired, and you’ve got other shit on your mind.

that’s the closest richie has gotten to mentioning your job in weeks.

used to be that he’d poke around with dogged persistence, as though he thought he could needle you into submission. he asked after your boss’s health, your credit score, your childhood high school. he complained he had to take a shit or that it was too cold out to stand around. all that. anything to invade, get inside, get a little more information.

michael was like that, too. the difference between the two is that michael won. conquered you, most if not all of your secrets, and fell asleep in your bed long before even a month had passed. but richie’s been at it for a few months now and he seems to have given up. he doesn’t know your job, your last name, or your phone number. he could pick you out of a lineup but he could never track you down. and he’s decided to let that go.

it’s just as well. you’ve got leftover dim sum in the minifridge right now, and if he pushed hard enough, you’re pretty sure you’d take him up to share it. siu mai re-steamed and slices of lo bak goh re-fried in hot oil in a pan, savory and delicious, nothing better. you can’t cook, but you’d still feed him well if given half the chance. you’d arrange the table with takeout napkins and your only two sets of matching cutlery, you’d—

the real richie rudely interrupts your thoughts.

you’re not even listening to me, are you, he says.

no, i’m not, you admit without an ounce of compunction.

just like everyone else, hey? fan-tastic. there’s a real bite to the way he breaks the word in half.

you look at him, startled and stung. don’t be such a fucking baby.

man, fuck you, he says. real anger, rocketing out from his chest.

fuck you! you stare at him, legitimately astonished. maybe it’s your fault for not paying attention, but you really have no idea where this is coming from. you’ve been good. maybe your mind strayed for a while tonight, but what about every other night? you’ve always listened, or at least pretended to listen, to the travails of his divorce, his money problems, his insane workplace, his dysfunctional quasi-adopted family. and there’s a hell of a lot of it. you’ve been really fucking good!

apparently, not only has he not noticed this, but he thinks he’s entitled to even more.

you say, what do you expect here when you’re going on for eons like fucking always. do you think this is fun for me?

well, someone has to talk since you won’t say shit about shit with that paranoid secret agent—

oh, fuck. something about the way richie cuts himself off. you dread whatever he’s got to say next.

he says, what’s that supposed to mean, do you think this is fun for me?

jesus christ. you fumble in your coat, only to remember that you threw away your last pack. i don’t speak in fucking riddles, richie, this is not that type of situation.

then what type of, like. his face wrinkles in horror and disgust. am i a charity project?

this is like having a migraine, but worse. i never said… truly, what the hell is going on? how did you even get here?

dredging up the last of your energy, the emergency fund, you turn it into bravado, your default response to an unexpectedly angry man. you give it your all cause that’s the only way to do it, turning and facing him head on, putting your shoulders back and standing square over your own two feet.

what is this, richie? you wanna fight? you really wanna fight?

yeah, i think i do actually, says richie, alarmingly ready. i think i really fuckin do.

fine, you spit.

you tilt your chin up so you can look him square in the eye and you give him the worst you got, spiteful already, and then you start trying to anticipate his next move.

there’s a lot of things he could say, as it turns out, a lot of things that only he could say, because he was there for everything. he witnessed the aftermath and attended the funeral. he could have you skinned like a caught rabbit given half the chance, and you just handed it to him on a silver platter.

besides, he has a right. he loved michael even more than you did.

the realization dawns on you far too late, and then the dread sets in. can he see it in your face? when he opens his mouth, you’re setting your jaw so you don’t flinch.

forget it, he says flatly. he turns away a little, steps back to lean against the building, and in the shadow of the building all you can see is the shape of him. if you concentrate, you can make out his profile against the gray concrete.

at first, you can’t quite believe it. it’s mercy, after all, and that’s rarely reliable. but after his last cigarette, richie folds his arms tight across his chest and tilts his head back, eyes looking up towards stars that neither of you can see through the city lights.

eventually, you do start to think the mercy is real. you test it.

can i have one? you say.

richie doesn’t even hesitate. he reaches into the left pocket of his tracksuit pants, produces a pack, and hands it over. it turns out to be brand-new box of menthols.

you look at it for a moment. your throat’s doing that thing again. he really did notice that you weren’t here last night, huh.

i don’t do charity, you say, after a second.

it’s fine, forget it, he says.

i don’t, though. you don’t know what to say, but you know you can’t leave things there, so you keep pushing, and the words just come out. richie, i’m—i’m really a piece of shit.

he looks at you directly again, but this time it’s a question. he doesn’t try to negate it with a brainless autoresponse like ‘no you’re not.’ he just listens, plain and simple. for a second, you’re at a loss.

sudden and frightening as a car crash at the next intersection, the impulse flashes through you: tell him the truth, the whole truth. test him for real, watch that mercy melt away, inevitable as ice on hot pavement. teach him to hate you like he should. it’s like strong hands digging their fingers into your shoulders, the thought, and you’re reeling.

i… you swallow, smash it down, yank the car back onto the road. i hate ice cream and babies and long walks on the beach, i hate old ladies and libraries. you look over at him. i kick dogs every chance i get.

there it is, at the corners of his mouth.

heartened, you go on, nearly tripping over your words. like, small dogs, richie. puppies. right in the head, i kick them.

now you’re both smiling, and the relief is so fucking crazy. you’ve fought with him so many times before, but you’ve never gotten scared by it before. this is a first, and you have no idea what to do. all you can do is repeat, i don’t do charity.

okay, he says. okay.

you lean against the wall, and you’re absurdly heartened when he does the same right next to you. something about the symmetry, something about the weight off. you finally light up one of the menthols, and you have the night with richie back again. the breeze brushes by, chilly but not unbearable. it’s perfect.

what happened today? you say.

i thought you’d like it, he says. it was funny.

go on, then.

you wonder if richie might try to make you say please, but he doesn’t. he walks you through the whole day of catastrophes, from the broken toilet to the loss of electricity, from the loss of electricity to the fucked-up fridge, from the fucked-up fridge to the outdoor grill—

that’s really cool, you say.

he grins. right?

whose idea?

from his crooked, exasperated smile, you know it wasn’t his.

syd’s, he admits.

you raise an eyebrow. so i take it the culinary institute is good for something.

he scoffs. no way they taught her that. that—he points at you—was pure chicago.

oh okay, so we’re giving the credit to the city.

yeah, we are, cause it’s like—

the city, not the woman.

it was very chicago of her! that’s a compliment. don’t make it a feminism thing. his voice matches yours, a near-laugh ribboning through it like fudge in ice cream.

alright, okay. you’re smiling like a fool and you couldn’t care less. so then what?

so turns out fak’s connect isn’t much of a connect, surprise surprise, and it’s gonna cost us fifty-five hundred just to get the fridge back up and running. so he and carmy come to me, all hat in hand, and they’re like—shit. i didn’t tell you about the dealing, did i? you got me all turned around.

didn’t tell me bout the what now?

fak snitched on me earlier, told carmy i was dealing in the alley back behind the beef. i’m not moving much weight, just like. he gestures vaguely. covid, he adds, like that’s an explanation. please don’t have a fit about this, i’ve had all i can take from carmy already.

you shake your head once, thinking hard, processing. the more you think on it, the more it unsettles you.

i knew he was dealing, obviously, but i didn’t know about you, you say. after a second, you add, richard edgar jerimovich?

jesus, he mutters.

is that right?

and here i thought carmy was going full mom. edgar, jesus fucking christ. richie’s torn between aghast and amused. where’d you get that from?

that’s your middle name?

yeah, but—

you hold up a hand, not rude, just asking him silently to let you finish, and he does.

richie, you broke your wrist when you were twelve trying to play tackle football with the big boys on asphalt. at some point in your thirties, you started getting a rash every time you ate shellfish, but you still do it anyways, ‘cause fuck it’. and to this day you hate nightmare on elm street cause he convinced you to watch it with him when you were both way too young.

none of this richie told you himself. it all came straight from michael.

you say, how do i know all that, but i didn’t know you were dealing?

richie says nothing, so you look over and find him watching you already. it’s an unfamiliar sensation, not being able to completely read him. it skitters over you like static electricity.

you got a pretty good memory there, huh, he says.

it’s coke, right?

it’s just coke, yeah. was coke. it’s over now. richie shrugs wearily, turns away, and stubs out his spent cigarette on the concrete wall. mikey and his fucking secrets. i don’t know what to tell you.

you can say that again.

richie says nothing for a beat, then: mikey and his fucking secrets, i don’t—

okay, okay.

he breaks into a small smile as you watch him, and then you keep on looking at him even as the smile subsides. a car goes by, and you look down at the pavement as the headlights sweet over both your faces, only looking back up at him once the car is gone.

the thing is, you really did think you knew him. what a crazy thing to think, when this is a mistake you’ve already made before with michael. you thought you knew him too.

there could be so much of richie you don’t know, because michael didn’t know—or because michael didn’t tell. and yet richie isn’t a stranger. at any moment you could close your eyes and picture his face, imagine his voice. he’s in you that much, at least.

so here he is, through your own eyes. you’re determined to fix him in your mind, not richie from the stories, but richie as he really is. his hair is dark and close-cut, his beard too. his eyebrows are scant, and there’s a ridge on his forehead as if to make up for it. his nose is straight and straightforward. there are bags under his eyes, because of course there are, but his eyes themselves are as blue as summer, so blue they’re barely believable. that’s him, that’s his face.

then there’s the eternal black leather jacket, oversized and complete with unnecessary shoulder straps for all the bags he’ll never carry. he stinks of kitchen in general and arby’s curly fries in specific. he’s allowing you to stare at him, an indulgence that you can’t question without being a dick. he makes you want to not be a dick. all this is here, all this is real.

he rubs his nose with the side of his wrist.

you must be tired, you say quietly.

when he smiles like that, it’s almost like you can look down past a few decades and see the teenager you never got to meet. i’m never tired, he says.

he’s always tired, you realize. of course he would be. you only ever see him after his long-ass shifts. go to bed, richie.

that was too gentle for sure, because he says a little curiously, getting some real weird vibes off you right now.

you take one last drag, then push off the side of the building, gathering yourself to go. you want normal, don’t come to me.

heard, he says with a chuckle. g’night.

goodnight.

[ chapter four ] [ masterlist ]

@garbinge, @narcolini, @drabbles-mc, @beingalive1 — if anyone else wants a tag, let me know.

#richie jerimovich x reader #richie jerimovich #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #the bear fanfic #mine #readerfic #the bear imagine #do i know you?#diky

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