“Fight Me” Zinger
asy-minzy
Leave a “Fight Me” in my ask, and I will write a drabble of my character fighting with/or against yours
“You know, none of this was really necessary,” the girl whined, throwing her handcuffed fists against the chest of the woman currently controlling her friend (and boyfriend’s) body.
“Oh, don’t give me that pathetic line, kitten. It’s completely necessary. Regardless of you getting Hana’s permission, not every stitch of clothing in that closet in hers, you know.” The look on Zinger’s face was playful, but the way her knees dug into the girl’s hips as she hovered over her showed she was pretty pissed. And it only made Minji’s efforts to push or hit or give her some kind of fight all the more pronounced.
“Can you just.... let me go?”
“No,” the woman said bluntly, a smirk still on her face.
Minji was starting to tear up at this point. Out of fear, out of shamed guilt, she wasn’t sure which but she felt the tears. She was sure of that. “R-really though. You-you can... let me go! And, and I’ll go change and bring them-”
“See, no,” Zinger chastised with a click of her tongue, “no, that’s not how this works! See, what has happened here is sorta like this: my roommate, in this case Hana, says ‘Oh, yeah. You can borrow some of my clothes. I don’t mind’ But she failed to remember that there’s only one closet and we share. So, in comes the friend - that’s you -” she interjected with a finger point, “rummaging through the closet and just picking out clothes as you like. Then, I come home to find a thief - you again - wearing some of my clothes. Now that I caught the thief, I have to get my stuff back.”
Minji’s eyes widened, even though she had already guessed what was going to happen the moment Zinger had knocked her to the ground and restrained her. But it was quite a different story to actually get confirmation of the fact that a violent psychopath, who had killed people for much, much less as Jun and Hana had mentioned, would be systematically removing clothing from her body.
“Le- le- let me go,” she panicked, legs trying to buck the woman from over top of her, fists pounding as hard as they could against her chest.
Of course, all it did was excite the woman more as tried to subdue her movements. She made her thighs tense around the girl and her hands quickly grabbed her wrists, forcing them back toward the headboard and the make shift hook she had put in (her none apologies to the owner of the facility for the hole in the wall) to rest the link of a handcuff chain. She loved a good dance for survival, or in this case modesty, as they girl had on more than few of her garments.
“Oh, don’t be like that, kitten. I’ve got to get my stuff back. That’s all I want. My clothes. When I have them, you’re free to go.”
“B-b-b-but I’l be n-n-naked....”
“Not at all the way,” she huffed with an annoyed sigh. “Now, chill and let me get my shit back!”