๐ก๐ธ๐ฝ๐ฝ๐ฎ๐ท๐ฒ๐ท๐ฐ ๐๐๐ช๐
A ronin x Fem overworking reader. !! Short fic !!
A/N : A filler fic untill my long one comes out on day!
Warnings : Murder mentioned (obv), caffine abuse, comfort, blood and gore, stubborn reader (for like a few seconds tbh)
The digital clock on your desk glowed a harsh, radioactive green: 4:17 AM.
The silence of the apartment was total, save for the frantic, erratic tapping of your fingers against the keyboard and the wet, heavy thud of your heart hammering against your ribs. To your right stood a miniature graveyard of empty aluminum energy drink cans; to your left, three mugs with dark rings of dried coffee at the bottom.
Your vision flickered at the edges, lines of data blurring into an unreadable smear of gray and white pixels. Your chest felt tight, constricted by a band of pure, unadulterated panic. The deadline wasnโt just closeโit was breathing down your neck, and the phantom sensation of failure was clawing at your throat. You were so deep into a caffeine-induced psychosis that you didn't even notice your own hands violently trembling, the keys clicking double letters because you couldn't control your motor functions.
The heavy, precise click of the front door deadbolt turning. It was a sound that usually brought an immense wave of relief, but tonight, your nervous system was so fried that the noise made you violently flinch, a gasp escaping your throat.
Footsteps followed. They were slow, heavy, and intentionally muffled, the gait of a predator trying to transition into a domestic partner. Ronin was home.
Before he even stepped into the pool of amber light cast by your single desk lamp, the air in the room changed. The clean, familiar scent of the apartment was instantly choked out by something sharp, metallic, and sickeningly sweet. Copper. It flooded your senses, heavy and unmistakable.
"Darling," his voice tore through the gloom. It wasn't his usual smooth, low baritone. It was a gravelly, exhausted rasp, roughened by the freezing night air and the lingering, jagged edges of an adrenaline rush that hadn't fully subsided. "What the hell are you doing?"
You turned your head slowly, your neck stiff and aching. When your eyes adjusted to the shadows just outside your desk's radius, your breath completely hitched.
He looked terrifying. He was still wearing his tactical gear, but it was ruined. The front of his heavy chest rig was saturated with dark, wet patches that gleamed under the dim light. Thick, smeary tracks of crimson coated his forearms, drying into a dried blood crust around his knuckles. Even his neck wasn't spared; a stark splatter of blood ran from just beneath his jawline, disappearing upward under the edge of his dark fabric mask. He looked like an apex predator fresh from a slaughterhouse.
"Ronin," you breathed. Your voice didn't sound like your ownโit was reedy, thin, and vibrating at a terrifying frequency from the stimulants. "You're... you're covered in it. You're completely...ohmygod..."
The moment your eyes widened in realization, Ronin froze. His entire posture stiffened, locking up like a statue. He took a sudden, aggressive step backward, retreating into the pitch-black darkness of the hallway as if he could erase his appearance by hiding in the shadows. He threw his hands up, palms out, a frantic defensiveness bleeding into his frame.
"Don't look at me," he commanded, his voice dropping an octave, sharp and clipped. He sounded angry, but not at you. The fury was entirely directed at himself. He absolutely loathed when the mess of his reality bled into the sanctuary he shared with you. "Don't get up. Keep your eyes on the screen, princess. Just stay right there. I thought you'd be asleep by now. Goddammit, you're supposed to be asleep."
"I can't," you whispered, the word breaking into a sob. The sheer volume of caffeine in your system had completely stripped away your emotional filters. You covered your face with your shaking hands, your shoulders heaving. "I have so much left to do. The numbers aren't matching. I can't think straight, Ronin. My brain feels like it's on fire, but I can't stop."
Through the darkness, Roninโs sharp eyes locked onto you. He ignored his own blood-soaked state for a fraction of a second to truly analyze you. He saw the dark, bruised purples beneath your eyes, the ghostly pallor of your skin, and the way your entire frame was visibly shuddering from the synthetic energy running through your veins. You were falling apart, vibrating yourself to pieces right in front of him.
His eyes flicked to the graveyard of cans and mugs on your desk.
"Is that fucking coffee? And those goddamn cans?" he growled, a dangerous, protective heat rising in his chest. "How much of that poison did you swallow tonight? Look at your hands. You're vibrating, princess."
"I had to," you wept, a tear slipping through your fingers. "If I don't finish this, I'm going to ruin everything."
Seeing a single tear leave your eyes completely broke whatever rigid rules Ronin kept for himself. He hated the blood on his clothes, hated the idea of contaminating your shared space, but he hated seeing you suffer alone in the dark a million times more.
"Stay exactly where you are. Do not move an inch," he ordered, his tone shifting into the unyielding, authoritative command he used on the field.
Right there in the hallway, completely visible to you if you turned your head, Ronin began stripping with frantic, violent efficiency. He didn't care about preserving the gear tonight. He ripped at the velcro of his tactical vest, tearing it off his chest and letting it drop to the hardwood floor with a heavy, metallic clatter of ceramic plates and tools.
Next, he peeled out of the heavy, blood-soaked tactical jacket, balling it up aggressively and shoving it into the bottom of the hallway closet to contain the smell.
He unbuttoned his undershirt, his chest heaving as he pulled the fabric away from his skin. Luckily, the thick vest had shielded his torso from the worst of the spray. He kicked off his heavy combat boots, unbuckled his belt, and stepped out of his dark cargo pants, leaving them in a crumpled heap on the floor. He was left in nothing but his dark boxers, his heavily scarred, muscular physique exposed to the cool air of the apartment.
Without breaking stride, he reached onto the entryway console table and grabbed a container of industrial disinfectant wipes. He tore three of them out at once, aggressively scrubbing at his forearms, his hands, and his knuckles. He rubbed until his skin turned a bright, raw red, ensuring that every microscopic trace of his night's work was entirely obliterated. He wiped the splatter from his neck, tossing the soiled wipes directly into the trash bin.
Finally, his hands reached up to the base of his dark mask. He peeled it off, tossing it aside. His dark hair was messy, damp with sweat, and sticking to his forehead. His face was pale, his jaw clenched so tightly the muscles jumped, and his eyes were wide with a fierce, desperate worry.
He reached into the flolded oversized grey sweatpants on the couch he leaves out after every 'shift' he does, he keeps there for emergencies. He stepped into them, pulling them up over his hips.
"Look at me," he said, his voice softer now as he stepped over the pile of discarded gear and walked directly into the light of your desk. He didn't smell like copper anymore. He smelled like harsh isopropyl alcohol, clean cotton, and the crisp, biting cold of the outdoors. "Look at me, princess. No blood. Clean. It's just me. The devil himself"
You barely had time to blink before Ronin reached down. His massive, calloused hands slid effortlessly under your arms. With a single, fluid lift, he hoisted you entirely out of your office chair, as if you weighed absolutely nothing.
A small, breathless gasp escaped your lips as your body was slammed gently against his bare chest. He wrapped his powerful arms around you, tucking your head securely right under his chin. The contrast was starkโyour small, trembling, overstimulated body pressed tightly against his massive, solid, warm frame.
"Let me down, Ronin, please," you whimpered, weakly batting at his shoulder, though your fingers couldn't even form a proper fist. "I just need to type one more paragraphโ"
"You're done," he cut you off, his voice a low, heavy rumble against your crown. He wrapped one of his enormous hands around the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, pressing you firmly against his collarbone so you couldn't look back at the glowing monitor. "You're completely done for the night. Your heart is racing so fast I can feel it against my own ribs. You're shaking like a leaf."
He turned on his heel, carrying you out of the study and down the short hallway. He didn't stop to look at his ruined gear. He marched straight into the pitch-black bedroom, using his foot to slam the door shut behind him, effectively locking out the rest of the world, the desk, the laptop, and the agonizing deadlines.
He laid you down on the mattress with incredible gentleness, but before your racing mind could even think about scrambling out of the covers, the mattress groaned. Ronin climbed in right behind you.
He didn't just lie next to you; he completely consumed your space. He gathered you into his arms, pulling the thick, heavy winter duvet all the way up over both of your shoulders. He threw one of his legs over your thighs, pinning you gently to the mattress so you were completely anchored, unable to wiggle or escape. His chest pressed flat against your back, casting an overwhelming wall of heat that immediately began to fight the cold, clammy sweat of your caffeine crash.
One of his palms rested flat against the center of your back, beginning to rub slow, heavy, mesmerizing circles. His other hand remained in your hair, gently stroking from your scalp to the tips, untangling the messy strands with meticulous care.
"But the work," you whispered into the dark, a fresh wave of tears hitting your eyes as the gravity of your exhaustion finally caught up to you. "If I don't finish... the consequences..."
"I don't give a single fuck about the work," Ronin murmured deeply into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. "It will be there tomorrow. And if anyone has a problem with that, if anyone tries to fire you or make your life difficult, you let me know. I'll take care of them permanently. Understand me? You're safe in this bed. The world stops right here."
"I drank too much," you confessed, your voice finally beginning to slur as the safe, unyielding pressure of his body allowed your frantic brain to begin lowering its defenses. "My chest... it feels tight. My heart hurts a little."
His hand on your back tightened, pulling you an infinitesimal fraction closer, flattening your spine against his chest. "I know, baby. I know. That's why you're going to lie perfectly still. You're going to ride the rest of this crash out right here with me. I've got you. Close your eyes."
He didn't speak another word. He knew that right now, your brain was suffering from sensory overload, and any more talking would only stimulate you. Instead, he became a human anchor. He kept up the slow, rhythmic, heavy stroking of your hair. He breathed deeply and slowly, exaggerating the rise and fall of his chest so that your own frantic, shallow breathing would naturally mimic his cadence.
Slowly, agonizingly, the violent tremors in your limbs began to die down. The synthetic buzz of the caffeine began to give way to the crushing, inescapable weight of true exhaustion. Your eyelids grew impossibly heavy, the darkness of the bedroom finally feeling like a sanctuary rather than a prison.
As your consciousness finally began to slip away into a deep, dreamless sleep, the very last thing you felt was Ronin shifting slightly, pressing a soft, lingering, fiercely protective kiss to the top of your head, his massive arms locking you so securely into his warmth that the rest of the world simply ceased to exist.
(๏ฝกยด-ฯ๏ฝฅ) แถป ๐ ๐ฐ
แดสแดษดแดs าแดส สแดแดแด
ษชษดษข แดส แด
แดสษชสษชษดษขs <3
