A/N: You guys... you guys, I just... I can't stop falling for the bad guys.

This story is only here because I have the biggest crush on the bad guy from Far Cry 3, Vaas Montenegro.

I want to start off by saying...

HOLY CRAP. You guys, Far Cry 3 is one of the most amazing games I have played. It is ridiculously fantastically fun. The graphics are stunning, the voice acting is downright amazing, and the story is interesting. If you haven't played it, I can't recommend it enough! Play it!

That being said, I hope you enjoy this story. I just couldn't get Vaas out of my head, so I really had to make a short story with him and an OC. Please don't take it too seriously or anything; just have fun with it. I sure am! If you don't enjoy it, that's okay, because it's not a main project. Just enjoy it for enjoyment's sake. ;)

This is also written in a style that I've just recently started to take on. That is, it's written in first person. Not because it's how I enjoy writing (actually, I can't deny that...) but because the main character is you. Her backstory? It's your backstory. Her name? It's your name, amigo. I don't think Vaas should be for one single person; he should be shared. So, here you go; this is for you. He... is for you. ;)

All right. I'll let you go on, then. I hope you enjoy! More up soon.

Now, it started like this: I remember I was sitting at my computer, and I could have sworn I heard like footsteps or something. I turned down my blaring music and cocked an ear. I waited, listening, trying to hear it again. I couldn't hear anything, so I turned the music back up.

I was singing the song under my breath aimlessly as I looked back and forth between my typing hands and the screen. I was just working on some tiny stuff, side stories and whatnot. Fiction was what I did in my spare time. Sometimes I thought I just had an overactive imagination; other times I told myself it was my inner creativity shining through. I prefer the latter.

I was just starting a part of the story where the main character was about to walk into a trap (the most exciting part of the story and most fun for me to write) when of course, I was interrupted by the doorbell. I rolled my eyes and sighed. Why was it that whenever I was right in the middle of something I enjoyed, it got interrupted? Whether it was the phone ringing, my little brother shouting, or the dog sprinting through the house, there was always something loud to interrupt my favorite times.

I sighed again, reread the sentence I just wrote, then stood up. I left my room and could see out the living room window. There was one of those big white vans sitting in my driveway. My friends and I jokingly call them either creeper mobiles or rape vans; I'm sure you know the ones I'm talking about.

So, a rape van sitting in my driveway. It put me a little on edge, because… well, I have an overactive imagination, and I was the only one home. I walked to the front door and peeked out.

Some dude was standing there. He looked… I don't know, Asian maybe. Really dark skin, though. He was a real generic looking guy, nothing discernible about him. He had a red hat on and baggy cargo pants. This dude looked sketchy. I opened the front door and he gave me a half smile. I peered at him through the screen door. "Can I help you?" I asked tentatively, glancing at the van.

"Yes, I was wondering if you could fill out a short survey for me," he said with a thick accent. Mexican, I think. A Mexican Asian? Things were starting to get weird.

My brow furrowed. "Uh, no, prolly not today. Sorry," I said, starting to close the door.

"Please, senorita. It's simple, just a few questions. Nothing difficult." That ever present half-smile. It was freaking me out. His persistence kinda scared me, too.

"No thank you, I don't have time to do that today."

"Are you sure?" he tried to peer around me into my house and I closed the door even further. "It will really only take just a few moments. I promise it won't be a problem."

"No, no. Sorry." I closed the door and let out the breath I had. I stood there for a few seconds, and then peeked out the window again. He was still standing there. He tilted his head just a little and slid his jaw as if he couldn't believe I just closed the door on him. But then, he smiled again, shook his head, crossed his arms, and just stood there. I moved away from the door. Why wasn't he leaving?

This was really starting to freak me out. I decided that I should probably have some sort of weapon, just in case. I patted my pocket for my ever-present pocket knife, but I was wearing pocketless jeans today. My knife was still sitting on my headboard. I turned to walk back to my room, then froze dead in my tracks.

"Hola, chica. Having a nice day?"

The blood drained from my face. A guy was standing between me and my bedroom. Who the fuck—HOW the fuck… I turned my head sharply, eyes still on him. There were knives in the kitchen. I could grab one. I looked at him again.

He was taller than me, 5'10" or so. A lot better built than me, too. His muscular arms were crossed across his chest. He had dark skin and black hair that was mostly shaved except for a short Mohawk. An ominous scar ran from his left eye back. He had an oddly perfect white smile, and had thick black gauges in his ears. He wore a simple outfit of a red tank, a few bracelets and necklaces made of hemp and twine, and a black ribbon around his arm. He had camo green cargo pants with some cool-looking belt. Strapped to his leg was a pistol.

I swallowed and looked back at his face. As much as I was afraid of this random fucking guy in my house, there was that one stupid, stupid part of me that said he was drop dead gorgeous. As soon as the thought came to me, I knew that I was in trouble. He had a fucking gun on his leg, for fuck's sake. And he was a strange dude in my house. Hot as fuck, but who the hell was he?

I turned my head a little again. "Who… what are you doing in my house?" I asked a little shakily.

His smile got bigger, and he laughed. "We want you to take our survey of course," he said in that same accent, starting to saunter over to me. I kept the coffee table between us as I inched towards the kitchen. He stopped walking and his smile fell. He tsked at me. "No, no, you don't want to do that. I can see it, see it right here;" he pointed to his eyes, "I see what you're thinking, senorita. No, no you don't want to do that." He smiled again.

I cursed myself for enjoying his dangerously seductive smile and voice. Almost smooth enough to calm my fears and turn them into anxiety of such a sexy guy. I couldn't let that part of me win. I had to let the reasonable side win. I continued towards the kitchen. "Why the hell are you in my house?"

He shook his head. "I told you that's not a reasonable idea," he said as he continued to walk closer.

"Oh yeah?" I asked, feeling my oats. I swallowed. He was almost around the table now. "Why not?"

"Because, then you—" he stopped and sprinted towards me. I flung myself into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and spun to face him in one movement, standing strong against the counter.

"Don't come closer!" I said, gripping the knife tightly, pointed right at the center of his chest.

He laughed, hands up. He shook his head. He was only about a foot from the tip of my knife. He brushed a thumb across his nose and kept his hands up in peace. "That's funny, that's funny, you know. You're a funny girl." I could see now that he had gorgeous light brown eyes. No, no, fuck, not gorgeous. This is a strange fucking dude in my house, he is not gorgeous. His head was tilted down a little as he shifted from foot to foot. "Funny. You don't want to be fighting me, though. You really don't."

"Why not?" I said, swallowing again. "Who are you, and what the hell do you want?"

He smiled again. Almost too quick for me to see, he whipped his pistol out and held it at my forehead. I gasped. "Who am I? You want to know who I am?" He laughed again and shook his head. He turned and walked away a little, dropping his gun. He looked at me and pointed the gun again, this time from farther away. I didn't let the knife drop an inch, though I could see the tip wavering as I shook in fear. He apparently saw it too and put his pistol away. "Oh, baby, don't be scared," he cooed, coming nearer again. I held the knife at his chest again. This time it was against his shirt. He looked down at it. He was silent for a few seconds, then he said quietly, "You know, you rip this shirt, I make you pay for it. You better not rip it." He looked up at me again.

I glanced across his shirt, noting his muscular physique. I licked my lips and used the knife to point at a hole. "You already have a hole in it, there. There too."

He only blinked as his smile fell. My stomach dropped to my feet and I wanted to kick myself in the mouth. I shouldn't be playing with a psychopath.

Then, he laughed. He backed away a little. "You know, you are funny. I like you. I like you a lot." He grinned. "My name's Vaas. As to what I want, well…" He had a glint in his eye. He was silent for a little as I contemplated what he wanted. That stupid, idiotic part of me immediately guttered his words; I wouldn't mind kissing him, making out with him, hell, even blowing him or fucking him. I bit my lip. Great. I had Stockholm Syndrome.

"What?" I asked anyway.

He grinned. "Just want you to complete a little survey, of course."

Hot and funny. It was getting harder for the responsible part of me to stay the dominant one in this situation. I allowed myself a small smile. If he was gunna play, well then, so would I. Knife still pointed at his heart, I said, "All right, then. Ask away."

He started me with a loud laugh. "See? You're perfect, you're funny. Cute, too. I like you. You should come with us. Come, uh, party with me and my boys."

The reasonable side of me finally flared up. "I'm not going anywhere with you." I remembered where I was; the stupid haze of lust cleared a little. I could think clearly again. "You should get out of my house. Right now."

"Oh come on, don't be that way," he said pleadingly, coming closer once more. He was against my knife again. His smile dropped. "You know, I really don't like you pointing that thing at me. I really don't."

For as dirty as he was, he actually smelled really nice. Some sort of cologne. They say there was some kind of study done that found that girls will immediately think a guy is more attractive if he smells nice, no matter what he looks like. But this guy really didn't need it to be more attractive. The haze was settling around me once more. His arms looked so strong… I wouldn't mind being held in them. His hands looked worn but experienced. And his lips… fuck, they looked just so… kissable.

"Did you hear me?"

I blinked and shook my head. Fuck, my face was red. "Uh, sorry, w-what?" Why was this happening to me?

"Move the knife. I don't want to hurt you. Come on, move it."

I shook my head and licked my lips. "No. S-step away and then I'll lower it. You're too close." Or maybe not close enough.

"You know, you're pissing me off just a little. I don't like this knife aimed at my fucking chest."

"And I don't like strange hot men in my house for no reason." Oh. Fuck. I swallowed. His eyes flicked to me and a slow smile spread across his face. "Uh, I mean, that—that you're randomly in my house, and… you, I don't know—how…" I took a quick breath in and let it out. "How the hell did you get in my house?" My voice had gone up an octave, trying to cover my mistake.

He laughed quietly and backed away once more, looking me up and down this time. He pointed at me, raised his eyebrows, and laughed again. His arm dropped. "I like you. Because I like you, how about this." He pulled out a chair from our table and sat down. He looked at me for a bit, and then nodded at the chair across from him for me to do the same. "Come on, I won't bite. Promise."

Against my better judgment, I slowly walked over, knife still pointed, and sat down lightly. I kept my chair angled so that I could jump and run if I needed to.

"You look so fucking tense, come on, loosen up. Remind me to give you a back massage later or something, jeez," he said, grinning.

"Promise you won't hurt me and I'll lower the knife," I said, reasonable side still clinging to control.

He pursed his lips to the side and then shrugged. "I wasn't really going to hurt you in the first place. Don't worry about it."

"Do you promise?"

"Really? You're really doing that to me? Really?"

"You're the stranger in my house. You're lucky I haven't called the cops."

He grinned again. "Okay, fine." He relaxed back against the chair. "I promise I won't hurt you. How's that? That okay?"

I contemplated it. As much as I knew I shouldn't, I slowly lowered the knife. I still kept it in my hand, but it was on the table now. "Okay. That's good." Now that I was… well… at least at a safe point, I let my eyes roam over him. Fuck, he was beautiful. Crazy, but beautiful. His scar just melted away in my eyes. He was perfect. He was a perfect individual. Beautiful and crazy. Oh, the dirty, dirty things I could do to this gorgeous man…

He whistled and waved his hand at me. "Hello? You still with me? Did you go somewhere else for a moment there?"

I blinked. "Huh?"

His hand shot out and covered mine, pinning the knife to the table. He leaned closer, sexy brown eyes boring into my own. I found my breath caught in my throat. "You went somewhere for a moment there," he purred as I started to register the warmth from his hand. "You daydreaming or something? Where's your head at now? Are you scared of me? Huh? You intimidated by me? Don't be scared, baby, I told you I wouldn't hurt you."

Now. I yanked my hand from under his, leaving the knife. I knocked over my chair as I bolted out of it and ran out of the kitchen.

I needed a phone.

The first one I pictured was in the other living room. I bolted for it, feet slamming on the wooden panels, but then froze once more. My sliding glass door was wide open. One guy stood in the doorway, holding an AK-47. He looked almost as surprised to see me as I was to see him. Two guys sat lounging on my sofa, also wearing red. I was almost too stunned to move.

"Why you gotta run from me, girl?" asked a dangerously seductive voice behind me. I felt a chill run up my spine. I turned and bolted into my parent's bedroom and slammed the door shut. It caught on something. Leaning heavily against it, breathing quickly, I looked down to see a foot. A forceful shove against the door pushed me back away from it as Vaas busted his way in.

My breath was coming in short gasps now. There were no weapons in here. I was cornered, I was trapped. Trapped like a little animal, and Vaas the tiger. He smiled at me and closed the door. I kept my back to the window, watching him. He sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. I shook my head. His smile dropped. "You sit the fuck next to me right now, sweetheart. I told you I wouldn't hurt you. I keep my promises." I shook my head again, words lost. He rolled his eyes and pulled out his pistol again. He cocked it and pointed it at me. "Sit the fuck down, right now!" he shouted. My eyes widened and I found myself taking a step towards him. He smiled. "That's right, come on. Come on, sit down." Heart beating itself out of my chest, I took my steps closer to what was surely my doom. He turned the gun away and I slowly sat down next to him. He put his arm around my shoulders, the pistol just next to my face.

Facing forward, he looked into my parent's mirror. "Look. Look at that. Isn't that nice? Look how cute that looks."

He had the gun out again, so I wasn't going to play with him this time. I looked.

All the color was gone from my face but my cheeks. My pale skin was a stark contrast to the beautiful dark color of his. My dark hair matched his, however, as did our brown eyes. I connected eyes with him in the mirror.

"Did I ever tell you," he asked slowly, voice husky, "the definition… of insanity?"

The warmth from his arm and the nearness brought the haze on me again. All I could smell was his cologne. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open. In my mind, I swore. I'm pretty sure I was a little wet. Fuck me, fuck him for making me feel this way!

"It's doing the same fucking thing, over and over again, expecting shit to change. But you know what? It doesn't. There's always so many fuckers out there, those stupid fucking pricks, again and again, thinking it'll all change. A different outcome. Something new." He looked at me, then. I just kept my eyes on the mirror. I saw him look at my eyes, down at my jaw, then up at my eyes again. He took a breath in and let it out. He leaned closer and the breath caught in my throat. Mouth at my collarbone, he slowly drew his tongue up to the bottom of my ear, sending thousands of sensations down my spine and between my legs. My eyes rolled back a little and I closed my eyes. I couldn't help but involuntarily whimper a little, breath stuck in my chest.

He pulled away slightly and looked over my face again. This time, he laughed. He used both hands to massage my shoulders a bit. "So fucking sense. Calm the fuck down, all right? I told you I wasn't gunna hurt you, fuck. I said I liked you. Why would I hurt something I like, huh?" He stopped and left his gun arm around my shoulders, looking at me in the mirror again. He smiled slowly, this time, a new glint in his eyes.

He could see the redness of my face, the distant look in my eyes. He heard the whimper. He knew he had me. He knew the power he held. And that fucking look, that fucking look of knowledge, of understanding, of power… left me feeling so bare and so exposed that I suddenly knew.

I had let the rational side go. All that was left was the irrational imagination and lust. I couldn't think straight. I was so defeated. He had me. I was powerless in his grip. And the worst part was… the worst part was that he knew it. He knew it all. That single look told me so.

His grin only deepened. He turned his head and looked down. "I really like you. I really do. I want you to know that. That's why I'm going to… protect you, keep you safe."

"H-how?" I finally found my voice.

He dug around in a pocket and pulled out a small towel. He was staring at it.

I had seen too many movies to know where this was going. Before I could widen my eyes, the rag was covering my mouth and nose. A sickly sweet, dangerously seductive smell flew through my senses. Vaas held it tight against my face, the arm around my neck tightening. I clawed at his arm to try to get him off of me, squirmed and writhed, but he was much too strong. His face started to get a red tint, and my sight started to go fuzzy.

So this was it, then. My strength was draining by the second. He slowly laid me back on the bed, lying with me, his gun arm a pillow. "Shh, shh," he cooed as my eyes started to flutter and my hands only slowly moved. "I promised I wouldn't hurt you. Trust me, babe, trust me."

I took one more breath in, and it felt like I was nodding. My vision was fuzzy. All I could feel was the softness on my back and the warmth of his arms and body. My last thought before my eyes shut drowsily and my hands came to a rest on his arm was that I had finally gotten to feel what it was like to be in his arms.

Stupid… fucking… me. All because I let my other side win.

A/N: Hate it when them dang sexy guys get the best of you like that. Next chap up soon!