friday night fire fight - oneshots

j. welles (nsfw)

i really fucked it up
jackie welles x f!reader
6.6k words

summary: jackie told you not to take this job. now you're fucked in more ways than one.

warnings/tags: kidnapping, some mild torture, violence, blood, weapon use, swearing, established relationship, angst, couple fighting, smut, fingering, edging, orgasm denial, possesive jackie, almost a dash of yandere if you squint

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Jackie had told you that this was not a job you could do alone. He'd warned you from the very start, when you'd stepped into Vik's clinic while he was getting his chrome repaired and presented the plan to him with nothing less than a flourish and confetti. Yet even with your tactics laid out, with every detail plotted and every possibility planned, he still said no.

"We're talkin' about a big ass Kiroshi shipment all the way from Japan, chica," he had told you. "You really think you're the only one who's heard about it?"

You had told him he was starting to sound like his mother. "You worry too much," you had said and taken a seat beside the chair as Viktor had tinkered with a cybernetic in your man's forearm. "It's going to be low-profile anyway. Arriving tonight in a tiny port just north of Pacifica, in neutral ground. No gangs to claim it. No one to hear about it but you and me."

"And where did you hear about it?" Viktor had asked.

"Nowhere," you'd replied. They had both given you identical looks of skepticism that made your skin crawl. "A fixer I met a few weeks back. He's a choom. Hooked me up with a few good takes recently."

Jackie had released a heavy exhale from deep within his belly. You hadn't been able to stop yourself from admiring the way his abs flexed beneath the fabric of his tank top as he breathed. "Still doesn't sound like a good idea," he told you as his hand was released and he flexed his fingers. He shook his palm out. "Just let it go, carino."

You wished you had listened to him.

It must have been hours since the Maelstrom had caught you while loading crates of Kiroshi tech into your ride, eyes wide and lips parted in shock like a lizard in the Badlands stuck frozen in a pair of approaching headlights. It must have been hours since they had knocked you to the ground with a couple well-placed pistol whips that made your head spun, since they zip tied your wrists and ankles behind your back, manhandled you into the trunk of a Thornton, and brought down the butt of a shotgun against the surface of your temple.

There were no windows in your little makeshift cell, so you had no idea what time it could have been.

But it had to have been hours.

When you woke to a reality-splitting, teeth-gnashing, tech-glitching headache, you had discovered your captors had handcuffed you to a bathtub faucet over yourself so that you were forced to recline back in the tub to avoid your wrists snapping. The wall to make the bathroom private had long ago been torn down, giving you a generous view of the rest of the abandoned apartment the gang was using as a hideout. It was just as you had expected from cybercosis-pushing freaks like them; ratty couches and scattered drug bowls, pieces and bits of bloody tech littered across tables and countertops, a spotty television playing somewhere along the far wall. A number of them milled about, coming and going, kicking up feet or pacing with automatics clutched in hand. Your mind was far too much of a fuzzy static to even think of counting them.

If you were being completely honest, you had no idea why the Maelstrom had not killed you on the spot when they showed up to nab the Kiroshi tech and you'd already been there. You had seen them shoot to kill for worse. Hell, you'd once witnessed a junkie get his guts blown out over spitting too close to a Maelstrom's shoe.