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killerpancakeburger · 1 month

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Breaking point (2/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Soap x GN!Reader

Ghost's version (1/2)

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Soap is tooth-rotting sweet.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing.

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃Soap is Prince Fucking Charming (very cliché romance tropes). Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

This bad good boy gave me a harder time than expected lol.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing.

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be Soap fucking Mactavish. Only the most gorgeous man on base - according to you, that is.

You weren't proud of it, but you had a crush on him since you arrived, six months ago. His piercing cerulean eyes, rugged good looks and outgoing personality wouldn’t let you know peace. The mere sight of him was enough to bring a goofy smile to your face, and every conversation between the two of you left you blushing and elated.

You initially thought that this silly, juvenile infatuation would fade away soon enough. Ok, he was beautiful, and he had eyes to damn yourself for, so what? Surely with enough time and exposure, he'd feel mundane. But things didn’t go that way at all.

On top of looking stunning, he just had to be friendly. He made you feel welcome when you arrived. He made efforts to include you in conversations, asking questions to get to know you. He relieved you of the burden of small talk, appeasing your social anxiety, by happily keeping the conversation going on his own, never taking offense when you had nothing to say. He chose to spend some of his free time with you, escorting you back from the archives or dropping by your office.

He was even flirty at times. Flirty. With you.

You could have still disregarded all this; tell yourself he was like this with everyone, that it was just his personality; imagining things would only end up with you hurt in the end.

But then, during a meeting, you witnessed his sincere concern for civilian lives. His righteous anger against unjust orders, when you had fully expected a soldier to obey mindlessly.

This had been your undoing; the moment you knew you were a goner. A severe fondness for him had sunk its claws deep inside your chest and had no intent to let go. It didn’t mean you had any intention to declare your feelings though; you never entertained the thought that he could return them, therefore there was no need for any confession.

For him to be the one to have caught you in this state, it was downright humiliating. Especially since his good heart would make him feel obligated to care.

He was still wearing his leather, fingerless gloves, and some dirt lingered on the contour of his face, like he tossed his weapons and his flak jacket to the side right out of the heli bringing him back to base, and rushed here.

“Hiya hen, brought you the- Shite, what happened?”

His booming voice and cheerful tone fade away as his eyes widen with concern. He briefly freezes at the door in shock before closing the distance to your desk with great strides. You lower your eyes in shame, avoiding his gaze.

“Nothing. Nothing happened. Everything's fine.”

“No offense, bonnie, but yer not very good at lying.”

You bit your lip, forcing yourself to look at him. Staring at your own lap is only going to make you seem more suspicious.

You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Soap turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced.

He still remembers that one time when you showed up thirty minutes late to a meeting with the Task Force, panting, leaning on the threshold, the front of your clothes soaked in blood.

“Sorry I’m late,” you started.

“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to cut it,” Price interrupted before laying eyes on you. “Bloody hell, what happened to you?”

You explained how Private what's-his-name bled out in the break room after carelessly reopening his stitches and you had to stop the hemorrhage with your bare hands and a bunch of paper towels while shouting yourself hoarse for help. Yet when Price ordered you to take the rest of the day off, you insisted on going on as usual, forcing their captain to make it clear that it wasn’t a mere suggestion.

You and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

Clinging to what's familiar, you focus on the stack of papers under his arm.

“You have the latest reports? Give it here.”

You hold out your hand expectantly. Instead of giving them to you, he sets them down on the opposite side of your desk, out of your reach.

“Paperwork can wait.”

You blink in astonishment at him.

“No it cannot…?”

You roll your eyes at his behavior and get up to seize the reports, but he snatches them from you. You can feel your composure snap like a twig.

“Johnny, what the hell?!” you yell, throwing your hands in the air.

You could remember exactly the first time you called him Johnny, only because it had been such an embarrassment. You couldn’t get used to his alias; sure you had been warned beforehand that some of them were… original, but somehow "Soap" was the one that stood out as the most ridiculous. You briefly entertained the idea of using his first name, except that for you “John” already referred to Captain Price. Only once you tried to call him Mr Mactavish, and as a result Gaz and him guffawed so hard they almost fell off their chairs. Even Ghost let out a cough that was most definitely a concealed laugh. You were running out of options until you heard the lieutenant call him Johnny; you instantly liked it. It just… fitted him.

From that moment on you used the nickname, but only in your mind. You didn’t have any of the liberties Ghost had and you wouldn’t take them, out of respect, and shyness. Or at least this had been the plan until you fumbled and called him that to his face. The ensuing silence felt deafening as you were realizing what you’ve just done, and you apologized immediately, mortified.

He just laughed it off; said you could keep calling him that. True, he had appeared more surprised than irritated, but you didn’t want to take the risk of him simply being polite. This too, had been your plan, until he ruined it merily.

Somehow he must have noticed your efforts to not slip up again because he teased you about it.

“Not Johnny today? Did ah dae something wrong?”

You went back to “Johnny” quickly - anything to put an end to the mischievous glint in his eye and the rascally smirk on his lips aimed at you. Being the target of his undivided attention sent a pang in your chest and knots in your stomach. Those sensations weren't exactly unpleasant, but it led to an ominous feeling that this was too good to be true, and that at any second this vision would shatter to reveal the cruel reality; so you'd just grant him a timid smile to confirm he did amuse you, but then proceed to look away.

It's the first time you’re pronouncing “Johnny” with anger; real, raw annoyance, as well as animosity, instead of the fond frustration you usually display when he messes around.

To your utter disbelief, he smiles in response to your outburst.

“There we go, talk tae me. Even if it’s just tae scream at me.”

The remark pacifies you instantly; you lower your arms, defeated.

“I'm not gonna… I don't want to scream at you.”

You sigh and sit back, setting down your elbows on your desk to take your head between your hands, overburdened.

“The hell you want me to tell you? That my mom's on the brink of death out of nowhere? That when she's gone I'll be all alone in this world?”

You swear, aggravated, as tears sting your eyes again, and this time you ignore if you'll be capable of holding back the flood.

Nevertheless you can still hear Soap curse under his breath, Scottish accent growing thicker, before moving to get on your side of the desk, to reach you, dispensing soft-spoken, soothing words along the way. You pivot to face him, your burning eyes and the sensation of dried tears on your face making you painfully aware that you must look as pathetic as you feel.

Your eyes widen in surprise when you see him kneeling at your feet. His hands reach for your face, slowly enough to give you time to back away if you wanted to.

“A'm sorry, ah didnae mean tae mak' ye cry, a'm a bloody eejit. …Can I?”

His fingers stopped a breath away from your tear-stained cheeks.

At that exact moment you can’t quite believe what he's about to do, yet you nod your head in agreement - not trusting your voice to not break - all the same, the gaping void in your chest aching for any kind of contact he'd be willing to provide.

His warm fingers cup your cheeks as the pad of his thumbs gently, almost reverently, wipe the underside of your eyes.

“There we go,” he cajoles, meticulously drying any wet spot on your skin.

“A'm ‘ere whether ye want tae talk or not, aye? A'm not going anywhere.”

You stare at him in silence, thunderstruck by the scene unfolding in front of you. Never in your wildest dreams you would have expected to have this man at your feet. He sets his hands down on your knees, squeezing them softly, and is looking right at you, encouraging smile and tender gaze, reassurance radiating from his expression. The position allows you to greedily take in every little detail: the white line of the scar on his chin, the breathtaking shades of blue in his eyes, the gap in his left eyebrow.

As you lose yourself into the work of art that are his features, he keeps conversing.

“We should take yer mind aff things. We could play board games in tha rec room. Or ye could let aff some steam wi’ tha punching bag in tha training room! Ah could teach ye how tae shoot on tha shooting range-”

You open your eyes wide as his suggestions turn progressively more violent.

“I have a bus to catch, and that's overlooking the fact that I haven't done anything in my last hour of work today…”

“If anyone gives you trouble, just say ah forced you.”

You chuckle at the idea.

“You'd never compel me to do anything.”

You can’t repress a loving smile. Johnny just feels that safe to you.

He smirks mischievously at that.

“Na, but they'll believe ah dragged ye intae mah evil schemes.”

He punctuates his statement by a roguish wink that wrests a laughter from you.

“You should take my bed,” he declares suddenly, serious again.

As the silence between you two stretches and your smile is replaced by a mix of shock, confusion, and worry, he realizes how this may sound. Flustered, he starts rambling to defuse the situation.

“Wait, no- steamin’ jesus - Ah didnae mean it like that! I’d take the couch in the rec room, ‘f course. Ye shouldn't go through tonight alone.”

“Oh my god, Johnny, I could never take your bed from you. You must already sleep on the floor so often for missions…”

“Exactly, hen. This is nothing for me. The couch is a hotel compared to that.”

You open your mouth to argue more, but then he makes an expression that can only be described as sad puppy eyes, even going as far as slightly tilting his head to the side to perfect the impression. You gulp in response, stricken straight through the heart, and knowing pertinently that you could already hardly refuse him anything, so if he begins to gaze at you like that…

“Pretty please?”

Oh no. Not that line.

He's now excessively batting his eyelashes at you, which, while not exactly alluring, is both comical and endearing. Hell, who are you even kidding? You’re so smitten with this blue-eyed creature, is there any act from him you wouldn’t find endearing?

“Are you… pouting?”

“Depends. Is it working?”

You sigh, aware it's a losing battle, and look away, a futile attempt to hide the ridiculously potent effect he has on you, or to at least shield yourself from his influence, if only momentarily.

“I think you know the answer to that.”

“Maybe ah just wantae hear ye say aye tae me.”

Your cheeks catch fire at the suggestiveness of the words. As if the regular rasp of his voice, that felt like an exquisite caress along your spine, wasn’t already making it incredibly difficult to keep your face at a reasonnable temperature.

“You're gonna get me fired, Johnny.”

“Over my dead body,” he retorted with surprising determination, solemnly pressing a hand over his heart.

You scoff indulgently. Coming from anyone else, the hastily taken oath would be preposterous, but Soap has always proved himself trustworthy.

“Let's go. Your knees must be sore,” you mumble, trying to sound casual.

“Wanna make a joke aboot mah stamina when kneeling but ah will keep it fur next time,” he slips as he stands up, way too smugly for your own good, so you pretend you didn’t hear anything. As if you needed any more incitement into picturing him on his knees in a different context.

You get up quickly after, but he does not get out of your way. You rise a quizzical eyebrow, his close proximity triggering alarm bells inside your head. If he remains near enough for you to feel his body heat, you’re going to get dizzy.

He simply grins.

“Want a hug?”

He opens his muscled arms, smile genuine, almost blinding, like a tacit invitation, and all your reluctance seems to evaporate with that simple gesture. Before you can linger any more on the harmful consequences this lack of restraint will eventually cause, you throw yourself into his embrace. It feels like falling and flying all at once.

You blink at the unexpected question. Yes, implores your touchstarved mind. YES, cries out your sensitive, enamored heart.

No way, rebuffs your cautious brain. It will only hurt more knowing what you can’t have.

Your hands close on the back of his shirt, near his shoulder blades, and, pressing your face into his shoulder to make the world disappear for a moment, you cling to him like he could rescue you from the sinking ship that was your sick mind. One of his arms close around your waist while his free hand rubs your back, leaving trails of fire in its wake, but bringing you much-appreciated comfort nonetheless.

“You're too nice to me. I feel like I'm taking advantage of your kindness.”

He remains silent a drawn-out second, and you're terrified you just screwed everything up.

“Yer givin me too much credit, lass “ he finally says. “Ah don't go ‘round base comforting every person I find.”

His tone isn’t angry, per se, but it lacks its previous joviality.

Soap tilts his head back, biting his lips, thanking the universe that with your face laying against his chest, you can’t perceive his embarrassment.

He can’t tell you. Not yet. Not now.

Months ago, he took the resolve to make you smile more; for a while now he started doing his reports more seriously, or even did the ones of Gaz and Ghost, just to have an excuse to see you, to behold the way your face lightens up when he brings you necessary paperwork before you even demand it.

He can’t tell you that he used to consider writing reports as the worst part of the job until you came along; until you awarded him a heartfelt, radiant smile when he gave you his; that he noticed how little you smiled outside of artificial ones you fabricate for work purposes; that when he manages to make you smile or laugh genuinely, it feels like a prize, that only he is privy to.

And he certainly can’t tell you about that one time where he handed over his reports in advance, but you weren't there, so he left, heart heavy with disappointment, dragging his feet, until he heard your voice coming from the room he just left.

“What are those?” you questionned your coworker.

“Soap just dropped them.”

“But… I didn't even ask him to yet?”

Perplexity combines with glee in your voice.

“He's a good boy, isn’t he?” prompted your colleague.

You let out a fond, wistful sigh, before responding, half-joking.

“I know! Such a good boy for me.”

Getting to hear you beaming over his benevolent action was already a treat, but witnessing that compromising exchange? To be called a “good boy” by you short-circuited him. He swore - “Steamin jesus” -, ears burning, face on fire, covering it with one hand. He needed to leave badly. Seek refuge in his room, where he could be free to replay that tantalizing line on loop in his mind. “Such a good boy for me.”

Your heart beats a bit faster than usual as you obediently follow Soap through corridors you’ve never been in before. You trust him with all your heart, but that doesn't change the fact that what you’re doing is against the rules; and those rules aren't high school's, but the ones of a military base.

You flinch hard as a familiar voice screams in your direction.

“SERGEANT MACTAVISH!”

Oops, you think. That's Captain Price, your supervisor, and he sounds pissed. You never witnessed him calling Soap by his last name before, but that being said, you never saw him deal with a kidnapped assistant either.

You've been caught red-handed.

Your mind begins to come up with plans to lessen the punishments that are without doubt about to descend upon you two, but Johnny grabbing your hand brings you back to reality.

You lift your gaze to him. He doesn't seem worried at all, if anything… is that a spark of delight in his eye?

He only pronounces one word.

“Run.”

So you run, carried away half by adrenaline, and half by the sergeant dragging you. Thankfully Soap is aware that there's no way you can keep up with him and his training, so he comes to a halt a minute later.

Panting hard, you double over, hands clenching your knees for support, heart thumping in your chest, blood throbbing in your ears.

“Why… are we… running…!?” you manage to exhale. “It's only… gonna make… things worse…”

By your side, he's standing fresh as a daisy, barely ruffled by your flight. The sight would be infuriating if his eyes weren't glinting with amusement and he wasn’t offering you a dazzling smile.

“Because it's fun,” he affirms like it's evident.

Little by little, you catch your breath, throwing Johnny a look that's half in earnest, half in jest.

“More fun for you than for me.”

He doesn't get flustered by your moderate reprimand.

“Is it selfish o' me tae wantae spend more time wi' ye? Didnae want us tae git interrupted yet.”

The line feels like a punch to the chest, stealing the breath you just recovered and leaving you agape.

He takes your hand again with the natural of a well earned habit.

“C'm'on, ah have more than one trick up mah sleeve.”

You're unsure which of the views unfurling under your eyes is the most magnificent; the sunset in front of you that's painting the sky in shades of pink and orange, or the striking man by your side whose eyes could rival the most astounding sights.

Nibbling on the dinner Soap smuggled out of the cafeteria with too much ease for it to be his first time, you regularly sneak glances at him as he fills the silence with tales of his adventures - the parts that aren't top secret, at least. You two totally did not break onto the roof moments ago, no sir.

Goosebumps travel along your arms and any exposed skin as the night falls and the sun takes away the warmth with him. You furiously brush the outside of your arms for heat, and you're about to suggest finishing this inside, when a jacket lands on your shoulders.

It is still warm with his owner's bodyheat, deliciously so. You curl up and drag it closer, your face on fire. Realizing that Soap gave you his jacket without you even having to ask or complain about the cold… you’re conflicted between obsessing over this like a giggling schoolgirl, and feeling apologetic.

Once you more or less got your blushing under control, you turn to him, displaying a contrite expression.

“I don't want to take your jacket on top of your bed, Johnny.” you pout.

“A'm a bloody furnace. Wanna check?”

He asks, cheekily, even adding a wink for good measure. As if there was any more artifice needed to make you putty in his hands.

He presents you his bare arm for the taking, all golden skin, bulging muscles and a constellation of white scars.

You indulge him and lay a hand on his bicep, knowing he won't relent otherwise; that is definitly the only reason; it has absolutely nothing to do with your own desires.

Indeed, he's burning. As you envy and bask in the heat provided by his body, forgetting that your touch is lingering too long for someone who is just a coworker, he chooses that moment to flex shamelessly, showing off the impressive circumference of his muscle. You feel obligated to squeeze it in response, a way to finally meet him head-on instead of passively enduring his quips, and it feels like reinforced concrete under your fingers.

You fail to hold back your laughter at his facetious demeanor.

“You're ridiculous.”

The comment holds no bite, a smile brimming with tenderness stretching your lips.

“I'll be the most ridiculous man on the planet if it makes you laugh.”

He's leaning back, hands propped on the ground behind him, head slightly tilted to gaze at you, and the earnestness on his face could almost make you believe his words.

Almost.

But instead a sharp pang pierces your chest, right between your lungs, at heart's level. The smile you return him in spite of yourself oscillates between content and heartbroken, before opting for the latter.

Tomorrow you will ask him, maybe even plead; tomorrow you'll ask him to put an end to the flirting. You cannot bear it.

But just tonight, you'll indulge it. You'll pretend to be normal, a well-adjusted human being, instead of a broken shell; you'll act like an adult for who flirting is a regular event and not the mental equivalent of a nuclear bomb.

You abruptly stand up, dusting yourself off, purposely ignoring the newfound lack of understanding on Soap's face and how his mouth opened for a question.

“It's getting late,” you state, not nearly as casually as you'd like. “I'm beat!”

You're running away and you know it; but you never claimed to be brave. Really, it is the best solution for everyone involved, or at least it's how it has always seemed to be your whole life.

He escorts you to his room - of course he does. Even if he already picked up his things earlier to crash on the couch, already showed the place to you.

As you awkwardly face him on the doorstep after saying your goodbyes and your thanks, unable to look away yet incapable of making eye contact, pain flares in your torso thinking of him, somehow intertwined with joy and gratefulness for his existence. Maybe your inner struggle shows on your face because next thing you know, he cups your cheek, forcing you to look up, but as the deranged idea that he's about to kiss you manifests in a remote corner of your mind, your brain swiftly shuts off as his lips make contact with your forehead.

The touch is light yet your entire being seems gathered on that point of contact.

“G'night, bonnie,” he half-whispers, as if to make sure his words exist only for you.

He grants you one last smile, small but so sweet you feel your heart tightens.

“Good night, Johnny,” you manage to articulate before sheltering in his bedroom. The room smells like him.

The moment the door shuts behind you, you rest against it, tilting your head back, letting out a deep sigh. Morbid curiosity pushes you to glance in the adjacent bathroom's mirror, if only to see what you look after this evening. A flustered mess? A sorrowful wreck?

Catching your reflection's eye makes you grimace as you realize an incriminating detail.

You forgot to give Soap his jacket back.

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lovewithmary · 8 months

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THE ENGINEER | MCU X FORMULA ONE CROSSOVER

summary: hell hath no fury than a woman scorned. or, where viviana is pissed.

fc: gabbi garcia

author’s note: I lowkey want to write viviana doing interviews solo and with other drivers? like a 'who knows me better' with mick, max, and viviana then mick and max compete to see who knows her better. would you guys like to see that?

btw i put the potential guys viviana might end up with as tags, so if you want to see who she might be with, go ahead.

twitter (i WILL NOT call it the other name)

"Mick!"

Mick turned around upon hearing his name being called from behind, only to see Lando and Oscar. "Have you been on Twitter today?" Lando asked, and Mick shook his head no.

Lando sighed, causing Mick to worry about what could possibly be on Twitter to make him and Oscar go to him. "It's bad, mate. People have been accusing Viviana of boosting you and Max," Oscar informed him.

Mick's eyes opened wide, not expecting that. He expected more of the dating rumors considering it's all he's been able to see on his timeline. They were admittedly funny but also concerning, considering they ranged from Viviana dating one of the guys on the grid behind his and Max's back to Viviana being in a poly relationship with all the single guys on the grid.

He had to block the person who made the latter rumor since the image was too specific for him to not think about it. Mick could barely make eye contact with anyone that day.

"Do you think Viviana has seen it?" Lando questioned, and Mick shook his head no.

"We would've known by now if Viviana had seen it, she hates whenever someone says that one of her friends used her for an advantage," Mick told them.

There was one and only one time that Viviana had been genuinely used by someone for their own benefit. She had met someone in Peter's High School (she was in college at that point, getting her 2nd degree) and she had thought that he genuinely liked her and vice versa.

But it turned out that he just wanted her to put in a good word for her dad, and she ultimately dumped him and blacklisted him from getting any Stark Industries job in the future. To her, she claimed, "If he had to use me to get a chance with the company, then he wasn't good enough to get in by pure skill."

Mick looked at both McLaren guys and hesitantly asked, "do any of the other guys believe the rumor?"

Both Oscar and Lando shook their heads, relieving Mick since he didn't want to ruin any friendships he had with the guys just because of a baseless rumor. "We all agreed it was a pretty shit rumor, to be honest," Oscar commented.

Mick quirked a smile upon hearing that, amused at the Australian. He then felt his phone buzz, which made him realize that he had to look for both Viviana and Max in order to warn them. "Sorry, guys, I need to go find Viviana and Max," he excused himself.

But before he could leave, Lando blurted out, "Are Viviana and Max dating? I know they said they weren't but they act like boyfriend and girlfriend,"

"Viviana and Max... have a different relationship. I don't really want to say a lot because it's not my story to tell, but Viviana helped Max with a lot when it came to Jos since she was the only one willing to stand up to him. And when Tony became Iron Man and then the Avengers happened, Max was a really big help to Viviana," Mick tried to explain.

"And how about you?"

"I'm the one that helps out the both of them, just like they do to me,"

Viviana was currently on a phone call with potential investors for Stark Industries, which was why Max offered his driver's room for her privacy. And in an effort to try and waste time while he had nothing to do, he was walking around the paddock.

Which was where Carlos, Pierre, Charles, Daniel, and Alex saw Max, which prompted the Redbull driver to talk to them.

"Did Viviana come today?" Carlos questioned, and immediately, Max was suspicious of the two Ferrari drivers.

"She had a call for her company, so she's currently in my driver's room," Max explained.

"I thought she wouldn't come because of the rumors about her," Charles carelessly said.

"What rumors?" Max questioned.

"Oh, you haven't heard the rumors yet..." Charles awkwardly said.

"What rumors?" was all Max repeated.

"People have been saying that Viviana is the reason why you and Mick are in the position you guys are in," Alex explained.

"What?! That's ridiculous," Max said.

"Which is what we said, but a lot of people on social media are saying otherwise," Carlos said.

"MAX!" Mick yelled out, capturing the attention of the group of drivers.

"Did you see—"

"Let me see the tweet," Max demanded and Mick wordlessly gave him his phone, which already had the tweet up.

"No way FIA would investigate something based on a rumor,"

"FIA have investigated for less,"

"Do you think?—"

"Parang hindi nila alam na kahit wala ako, magaling sila. Mga bobo." It's like they don't know that even without me, they're still good. Idiots. Viviana said, practically marching towards the growing group of drivers, evidently mad.

"Nakita mo to?" Did you see this? Viviana said.

"Vi, you're speaking in Tagalog again. And no matter how much we try to learn, we still can't understand it whenever you speak fast," Mick told her, reminding her she had to calm down.

"The tweet. Did you see the stupid tweet? I mean come on, we only revealed that we're friends this year but suddenly I'm the reason why the teams aren't performing the way that they should? It's not my fault other teams aren't that good!" Viviana ranted.

A cough from behind Viviana was heard, making the girl freeze. She swore silently to herself before turning around, only to see a couple of drivers that belonged to said teams that weren't good, according to her.

She awkwardly laughed, amusing some of the drivers who thought that this was a nice change compared to her usual composed professional self they'd always seen on the rare time she was being interviewed. "I'm sorry, but only because you heard me and not because of what I've said," Viviana honestly told them.

"Good save, Vi," Max said, enjoying the fact that his best friend was making what was originally an angering moment for her turned awkward.

"Shut up, Max. Anyways, what should I do with the rumors?" Viviana asked.

"I don't think you should say anything," Daniel spoke up, causing everyone to look at him.

He looked unsure for a second because of the sudden amount of eyes on him, but once he looked at Viviana, who was confused at what he said, he elaborated, "Whether or not you say something won't change anything. These people are convinced you did something, so you should stay quiet for now since you did nothing wrong,"

"Who are you and what have you done with Daniel Ricciardo?" Pierre jokingly said, causing the other drivers to laugh.

"Hey, I can give out good advice!" Daniel tried defending himself.

"Yeah, but they usually come with back up plans A-Z," Charles said.

"Well, it can't be any worse than my original plan," Viviana thoughtfully said.

"What was your original plan?" Alex questioned.

"Make a F1 Team and buy my way in," she nonchalantly said, shocking those around her.

"What?!"

"Well, I'm obviously not going to do that. But, I would try to prove people wrong and it'd send a message of, 'you'd know if I did something' but people would probably get angry because of who I am and my last name," she rolled her eyes.

#f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 ig au #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #max verstappen x reader #charles leclerc x reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #carlos sainz x reader #mick schumacher x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader

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ncteez · 1 year

Text

Menace (m.yg)

When you learn of a hostage within the confines of the abandoned apartment building downtown, you weren’t expecting it to be Min Yoongi, the most wanted man in the country by gangs and policemen alike. or the one where yoongi wasn’t prepared to be stuck in a situation with his own enemy, nor was he prepared to be kept alive by and ultimately infatuated with one that calls herself Kim Namjoon’s girlfriend.

ao3 | m.lists | leave feedback and reblog to give gangster yoongi a boner.

minors do not interact.

WORDCOUNT― 11k

PAIRING― gangster!yoongi x afab reader

CONTENT― yoongi is mad that he has to be submissive sexually, smut, grotesque descriptions of blood and gore, food mentions, you’re still really soft despite being surrounded by killers. FYI: the use of the word brother in this fic is not indicating that the characters are blood related.

SIDE CHARACTERS― namjoon as the leader of a gang and also your boyfriend, jungkook as a fellow gang member on your end.

WARNINGS― namjoon is fucking awful, yoongi is a lil mean but still a big softie, intense descriptions of starvation, torture methods, and broken fingers, mentions of suicide, mentions of r*pe (in passing), mentions of killing methods like drowning, stabbing, shooting, catching on fire. fr, this fic is very unsavory but they still fuck so, take that as you will.

NOTE― listen. this started as a different idea and ended as this so, fr, don’t even read it. if you do, just be aware that I am not responsible for the content you consume, i’m just responsible for being down bad enough to write it :) if you send me an off hand message you will be blocked for not knowing how to avoid content you don’t like. bye (p.s. we are just gonna pretend that people do not need to use the bathroom in this fic bc im not about to find a work around to let this man relieve himself. no piss or shit will be mentioned in this fic or in any of my fics ever. thanks.)

smut tags under cut::

smut tags :: pain, making out, frottage, biting, dirty talk, mocking, uh….getting turned on by the idea of Namjoon dying, unprotected sex, cream pie, mentions of eating pussy, mentions of multiple orgasms

The leaking ceiling was somehow nicer sounding than the one in his apartment, and his bruised ribs feel less painful now that he’s laid here for three days on the cold and molded floor. Plenty of time to heal, plenty of time to think, and plenty of time to build up a distinct type of rage within his body.

If he hadn’t made that tiny mistake, he would be at the shop surrounded by faces that are sworn to protect him. He would be swimming in money, women, and eating only the finest delicacies this city has to offer. But no, he had to trust the wrong fucking person.

It was impressive actually, that the man going by the name of “John” managed to slip through the cracks. Yoongi grew fond of him quickly, especially with how eager the newcomer was to kill and maim not only alongside him, but for him without a single doubt.

He should have known that he was experienced, especially with the way he killed, with the way he drank, with the way he fucked every woman accepted in the confines of the hideout. He should have known that he was in a gang already, and that said group had been out to get him for years.

Jungkook was his real name. A man who had been given endearing nicknames from both himself and other high-ranking men within this gang. He answered most to the name of “Jojo”, looking Yoongi dead in the eye with vicious intent and loyalty. He was a good liar, better than himself, apparently.

Yoongi really messed up, learning the truth only when he was met with Namjoon, face to face and battered up black and blue before being restrained and left in this unknown location. Naturally, there is a type of rage within him right now that could kill a large sum of men in one breath.

Unfortunately, he can’t. His wrists have been bound in the same position for three days, and he has still been unable to unbind them. His legs are numb from the stomping, but still working through the intense pain of his attempts at slithering across the floor to find a new spot on the cold ground.

The room is empty, there is nothing save for a chair in the corner and a doorknob that remains locked. There is only a single window, both the walls and floor are concrete and cinderblocks, and the only sound he’s heard since his last broken finger cracked through his ears, is the sound of that fucking water dripping.

He lifts his head, only to drop it back to the floor in a huff. Not quite in a sound of defeat, but more so a sound of frustration. Surely the men who did this have already been killed, surely his loyal friends are searching for him. Surely–

A new sound.

Yoongi can barely comprehend hearing something other than the slow and consistent drip, drip, drip of the ceiling leaking just a few feet from him. He’s grown weak within the three days he spent here, delirious even. No food and only those very drips of water to quench his sore and dried out throat. That sound is familiar though, and his drowsy eyes can hardly make sense of it.

Then another new sound. Something clicking. Echoing through these empty walls and meshing with the two other sounds, creating a new song in his head that somehow seems like bliss.

He thinks hard about the tune in his head, wondering if it’s similar to a song he knows, or if he’s just going insane from the feeling of his stomach both healing and starving. It is too much sensation for him, as he curls up in a pathetic little ball of a person and wonders what the others would think to see him like this.

He lays there, thinking about those sounds becoming louder and louder before his eyes shoot open in realization.

Those are footsteps.

An immediate headache hits him when he forces his body up, sitting uncomfortable on the floor with his arms still twisted behind his back. He stares at the door in wait, wondering if it’ll be his brothers bursting through, or an enemy.

When that door opens though, his face twists similar to the way it did when he was getting held down and his fingers snapped to the side.

“F-” he tries to say upon seeing Jungkook for the first time since it all went down, but his throat is too dry to speak and he coughs instead.

“Happy to see me?” Jungkook smiles, stepping to the side to reveal another person with him.

Yoongi glares, not paying attention even the slightest to the person standing just behind him. That clicking sound matched her shoes, so pristine against this dirty floor. He doesn’t dare speak again, as his eyes trail down to the gun in Jungkook's hand, and then shift to the side at the plastic bag in her hand.

He can make out a bottle, and possibly, food. He won’t grove for it though, no.

“Damn, you guys really fucked him up. I never thought you actually caught him.” You smile in an uneasy way, walking back alongside Jungkook and making your way out of the building.

“Told you we got him. Namjoon seemed really pleased, you think he’s finally going to let me into the circle?” Jungkook’s shining eyes somehow seem innocent with that question as you look at him.

“If he wasn’t fond of you, he wouldn’t have let you escort me here,” You start, lowering your sunglasses from your head to your eyes to avoid the bright sunlight once you step outside. “He would have brought me himself. You’re already in.”

“You certainly complained enough wanting to see, I was shocked he even let you this time, even more shocked that he asked me to bring you.”

Jungkook smiles again, wanting to pat himself on the back for his hard and dedicated work to Namjoon. He’s a harsh man but one that he wants on his side nonetheless. If this is going to be his life he’d rather be sitting in the room drinking expensive liquor than out running the streets and committing petty crimes.

This was his deal and he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t fuck it up again. He was very nearly kicked out, and by kicked out, he means killed by Namjoon himself. Why? Well, as experienced as he is at killing, fighting, and being an asshole, he wasn’t too experienced with smuggling substances across country lines.

He got it easy though, thankfully being caught by one of them that resides within the government factions. Then again, that man ran straight to Namjoon and complained on his name, stating that they were all at risk of being caught if it wasn’t for the nim-witted officer he was stationed with that night.

Started off well enough, Jungkook coughed the wrong way and his hands shook slightly. The officer immediately wanted to search the vehicle. Thankfully, one of theirs took over, and what did he find? Exactly what was he knew would be there.

Namjoon was pissed at the situation. Hauling Jungkook in as if he were one of their hostages, towering above him on the floor and tipping his head back with the heel of his expensive boot.

“What should I do with you now?” Namjoon said to him, huffing in a gutteral way out of frustration. “You’re telling me you can kill three men without breaking a sweat but you can’t get through a security check without shivering in fear?!”

Jungkook knows better than to speak, he simply nods.

“You’re lucky it went down the way it did, and you’re lucky your cousin put in a good word for you.” Namjoon continued, crouching down to Jungkook’s level on the floor and looking him in the eye. “If you fuck this one up, you’re done.”

Honestly, he couldn’t believe the kindness Namjoon gave to him. He’s known for having a temper, and he’s known for being unforgiving, but he got a second chance, and he wasn’t going to fuck that up.

That deal was to run off and act much like he did while trying to smuggle those drugs. Be a puppy for another gang, get close, get in with the crowd, and then get Min Yoongi. The man who killed Namjoon’s closest brother some four years ago. His grudge never left, and unfortunately, Yoongi was very nearly untouchable.

Jungkook did his duty, and now, he’s in. The girlfriend of Namjoon himself said so and with that, he can’t help but feel proud when he sees that man suffering in the room alone. He can’t help but be happy as he escorts you back to Namjoon. Truly, he can’t help it.

“We can’t just starve him.” You argue another three days after you last saw proof of the man confined in that abandoned building.

“This is why I forbid you from seeing the hostages. ” Namjoon tries not to argue with you, but it’s gotten to the point that you really just need to sit down and shut up about it. “He killed the only other man I could trust, and you want me to give him a fucking menu?”

“Well, no but,” You start, but Namjoon cuts you off.

“That’s enough. If you’re so worried about him tell Jungkook to swing by with some dog food.”

You look to the floor with a short nod, knowing for a fact that this is just the way it goes. You figured your boyfriend would want to strangle the man with his bare hands rather than let him rot away slowly. There’s too many opportunities for Yoongi to be found there, and far too many variables in the situation. The least he can have is a meal before he dies, right?

Then again, you know you’re quite soft despite the lifestyle you live. Min Yoongi is not a good man, but he is still a man. You’re a bit curious about him too. He was kind of cute even as he sat on that floor battered, so those rumors about him being easy on the eyes were true. Not that a scale of attractiveness really matters, considering he’s killed people from this family with a smile on his face.

You think hard that night, alone in bed as Namjoon probably mingles around the club he recently took control of. Imagining how awful the hostage must feel, all alone in the dark. It has you thinking a bit too hard about what it means to be human. You know where that apartment building is, and you know where the nearest convenience store is. Jungkook already knows you tried to feed him once and it didn’t work (because Yoongi kicked it across the floor out of spite.), so you’re unsure of how it would go down if you went alone.

Still, it’s not like you’d be in any danger, not when you grab one of the guns and slide it into an empty purse.

Arriving at the building feels scarier than it did when Jungkook was with you. It’s dark, and you can hear creaking as the wind picks up and rain begins to fall. Still, you take a deep breath and rush inside with another offer of food.

You follow your footsteps from before. Left, left, down a flight of stairs, right, and left. The hallway that contains his prison feels much longer than before, and the sound of rain is nearly muted at this point. You feel as if you’re buried deep within a tomb, with a flashy and loud bag of snacks for a man that killed your boyfriend’s brother.

It feels silly, but you still think you could at least try to communicate with him. However stupid this decision is, you pay no mind.

When you get to the door, the room is so dark and quiet that you wonder if you either picked the wrong room or he’s dead already. Still, you flip on the flashlight you grabbed and place it on the chair in the corner, shining it directly at the man lying on the floor.

You take a moment to look around and smile slightly when you notice the food he kicked from him before has been eaten. Surely that pack of crackers and bottled water wasn’t enough, but it’s all Jungkook would let slide without fearing for his life again.

“Hi.” You say in a peppy voice, seemingly in a much better spot than he is and accidentally making it more obvious.

Yoongi groans, rolling over to look at you briefly before letting his head fall back to the floor.

“I brought food again. There’s more this time.” You smile when you say it, shaking the bag as if Yoongi truly were a dog that would jump and do tricks for the food. “It’s against the rules, and I’m not supposed to be here so I suggest you fucking appreciate it this time.”

He rolls his eyes as he lies there, weak and hardly able to move. He does try though, more willing now to grovel, more willing to do just about anything for food so he can at least get his thoughts straight.

You watch him struggle to sit up, and only now realize that he really is dying. He’s actually starving and probably can’t simply appreciate the food if he doesn’t have the energy to even hold his head up.

“Do you need some help?” You ask, walking around and shining the light at his face.

You’re taken aback by his eyes. They’re dull and lifeless as he gives a small nod. You can see that he’s silently pleading.

“Ah, right. Starvation and all that.” You say with a pained laugh, grabbing the bag and scooting it next to him before crouching down and trying to lift him up.

His body is horrendously lightweight, and something inside of you twists at the feeling of him slumped in your arms. You hold him there, listening to his pained groans as you glance around the room and start to drag him.

“Here, sit up,” You say, propping him against the wall and going back for the bag. “I’ve got two sandwiches, two bottles of water, and an ibuprofen.”

You see his pained and choked chuckle at the mention of an ibuprofen, as if that’s a bandaid for the immense amount of anguish he’s been feeling. Still, he relishes in the feeling of another person being near him. The energy alone helps him keep his eyes open.

“Can you chew?” You ask, looking at him as you unwrap a sandwich and try to place it against his lips. “Um,”

You feel defeated seeing someone in this state so closely. Regardless of what he’s done, you feel pity and slight disgust of his treatment. No wonder Namjoon forbids you most of the time from meeting hostages or looking at crime scenes as if it were a zoo for your entertainment.

“You must feel awful,” You whisper, trying again to push the sandwich past his lips. “Can you eat this for me?”

He tries. Opening his mouth and feeling the sensation of taste. His mouth waters and burns at the sudden feeling, drool running out of the sides of his lips as he tries to work up the energy to chew. His throat is too dry to swallow though, and he chokes on the barely chewed piece of sandwich.

You’re quick to grab a bottle of water and tilt his head back. You grab his cheeks and hold his head steady and his mouth open, pouring a bit of the water into his mouth and watching how long it takes for him to swallow both the food and the water.

“God, I know I should be hating you but this really is pitiful.” You comment, feeling as if you’re already talking to a corpse.

In a way you are, and you hate it. So maybe, knowing that Namjoon intends to leave this man here unbothered and unfed until he’s dead, surely you can…you know…help the situation.

On one end, you’re betraying an entire gang of men and women who have protected you for years. You’re betraying your boyfriend, the leader of that gang, but…humanity still exists within you. Since that night, feeding a viscous killer, you couldn’t stop thinking of the state he was in.

You knew Namjoon was a killer but he never let you see that side of him. You saw Yoongi once three days after his capture and he still looked alive and well despite being heavily beaten. And just those three days later, you saw how much the world seemed to have forgotten him.

You have heard whispers of the rival gang searching for him, but they have been met with no luck. You appear to be his only saving grace, which is a terrifying place to have put yourself in. Still, if they’re going to kill him, you’d rather they just shoot him in the head and leave it at that.

You’re meddling where you shouldn’t be, and you still have no idea why you feel compelled to do it.

On the other end, you find yourself in deep shit when you continue to visit Yoongi late at night to essentially undo what your boyfriend has ordered. You notice how far you’ve gone when Yoongi can start talking, when he can start moving, when his eyes brighten up a little more, when his cheeks become fuller.

The moment you see him, with faded bruises and still swollen fingers, you wonder what he looked like without being so fucked up. His face is still pretty, even when he was on the verge of death, and here you are watching him appreciate that you, an enemy, continue to keep him alive.

“He’s going to kill you for this, you know.” Yoongi comments, eating away at the meal you’ve brought him this time. “Feeding me so often. I’m pretty sure they were leaving me here to die.”

“They were.” You huff, sitting on the wooden chair and watching the way his energy grows. “I figure if I get caught, I’ll just kill you first and then myself.”

“Bold,” He ticks his tongue, still not looking away from the food in front of him. “I can imagine they think I’m already dead.”

A wave of cold fear hits you. That’s right. Surely by now, he would be dead, and surely they’d come check and hide the body or something. But no one has shown up, no one but you. You can imagine that by now, they’re probably planning to come see him, and seeing him alive and well would pose questions. Lots of questions.

Thankfully, no one notices when you leave at night. You never leave when Namjoon stays with you, and you never make yourself suspicious either. If they have any questions, they certainly wouldn’t expect you to be the one to answer them.

“So, why’d you kill him?” You ask, wondering if you can at least learn some information about him before all of this comes crashing down around him.

“Kill who? I’ve killed a lot of people, most of them I don’t even know their names.” He laughs, narrowing his eyes at you. “Who are you, anyway?”

You pause. He’s still a dead man despite that beating heart so telling him wouldn’t change a thing, you assume. You give him your name and follow up with your title.

“You’re dating that pompous asshole? You know what he did to my family, right?” Yoongi looks at you with a face you hadn't seen before. There’s a lot of hate behind it as he sneers at you.

“I don’t, no. But I can imagine he probably killed them, right?”

Yoongi nods with a grimace, for the first time losing his appetite. It’s laughable, really.

“If you’re referring to his friend, I shot him. It was a quick death. But do you know what he did to my friends?” He continues with an evil smirk, as if telling you will hurt you as much as he’s been hurt.

You shake your head, breathing in deeply at the images in your head.

“Well, you saw what he was doing to me. I’m shocked he was being so kind with my demise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, both curious and afraid to actually learn what he means.

“Have you ever seen what happens to a body after they’ve been floating in murky water for a week?”

You shake your head.

“Have you ever heard the snap of a neck?”

You again, shake your head.

“Well, isn’t that nice?” He laughs, now gaining his appetite back. “Both of those things, I'd love to do to your boyfriend.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and for some reason, you don’t shiver.

“Are you saying those are things he’s done?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“Well, yeah. Most of us have. But him. He’s particularly brutal, likes to send us videos, y’know? I bet you’ve never watched the only person you’ve ever loved get doused in gasoline and set on fire either, have you?”

You freeze, another chill running down your body. Namjoon did that? Like, you knew killing was part of it but you really expected a typical gunshot or stabbing. This, this is something else. Given, you watched him starve the man in front of you so, should it be as shocking as it is?

But it is, because he did this to someone’s girlfriend? You’re his girlfriend, and by doing that to Yoongi, surely that put a hit on your head.

“He’s not so pretty in your head now, huh?” Another laugh.

“Is that why you killed him?” You ask, trying to avert the attention to someone other than Namjoon.

“No. Unfortunately, I was the one who did the first hit. But to be fair,” Yoongi twists his wrists bound behind him and tilts his head in a playful way. “He did some unsavory things to that same person I loved.”

Unsavory things. You can’t imagine what that could be outside of, well, rape. Namjoon’s best friend, his brother, raped Yoongi’s girlfriend. And then Namjoon set her on fire in retaliation?

“Why are you so quiet now?” Yoongi asks, finishing off his food with little to no hesitation and staring at the water. “Not too happy to learn that I’m not the only piece of shit you seem to cling to?”

You take offense to that, eyes trailing to that same bottle of water he’s looking at.

“Fuck you.” You say, standing from your place and grabbing that bottle of water, opening it, and pouring it out on the floor in front of him. “If you're thirsty, there, have at it.”

You don’t even look at him when you turn and walk away, locking the door and promising yourself that you won’t come back. There’s no way Namjoon did those things, and you’re not fucking clinging.

Fortunately for Yoongi, no one unsavory shows up two days later. It’s you again, reluctantly stepping in with his delivery of food and energy.

“Here I was thinking you wouldn’t come back.” He laughs, scooting from the wall and toward you. By now his legs are feeling better, and he can even move some of his fingers, which is very lucky because he really thought they had been twisted.

“You’re lucky I did.” You deadpan, walking up to him and looking down. “I learned that maybe you’re not much of a liar, are you?”

He tilts his head at you with a smirk, nodding his head in a genuine way.

“I’m either going to die, or you are. What’s the point in keeping secrets?”

You nod brokenly, breathing in a deep sigh and still trying to process the things you confirmed on your own. Jungkook may be in, but he sure does have a loud mouth when you start asking him questions. The good news is that, if Namjoon found out Jungkook shared those secrets, he’d be on the chopping block again. So, he’s kind of stuck with you in this limbo of wondering who to trust and who not to trust.

You, now fearing your own boyfriend who not only holds you on the nights he’s home, but tells you he loves you, feel at a loss when you look at Yoongi.

Both men have committed atrocities and it’s funny how you expected them to have not been that way. At least the man before you told you the truth though. He protected a person he loved, and Namjoon killed people for it.

“Yoongi.” You say his name for the first time and he grimaces immediately at it.

“What makes you think we are on a first name basis?” He asks, snidely.

“I had to feed you like a fucking baby, I can call you whatever I damn well please.” You argue, stepping back and reaching for the chair to sit in front of him.

“You think you can just call me whatever you want because you chose to fuck your life up and keep me alive?” He laughs again, clearly very aware of the position he’s in but still unafraid. “So fucking clingy. I don’t see how he stands it.”

You scoff, poking your tongue in your cheek at the audacity of this man.

“Have you ever heard of saying “Thank you”?” You ask, rolling your eyes and kicking him over.

He falls with a huff, but lays there chuckling about it.

“Either way, Jungkook said he was ordered to come here in two days to get rid of your body. So, I suggest you either roll over and die or we figure something out.”

“We?” He questions, sitting himself back up and looking at you with a raised brow. “So, you’re working for me now?”

You look around the room, wanting to cry because it damn well seems that way considering what you’ve learned. Namjoon would probably kill you without blinking . Unfortunately, yeah, maybe you are.

“It seems so.” You look at him, noticing how his once dull and lifeless eyes are full of energy and rage. Noticing even more how he looks up and down your body.

You can imagine the man is touch starved, and for some reason, that is…kind of attractive. Such a wanted man checking you out as if you both aren’t on the verge of being shoved into a morgue freezer.

“Oh yeah?” His eyes stay roaming, and then he flicks them back up at you. “I’ve gotta hand it to you, it’s pretty hot to know you’re turning your back on that piece of shit.”

In his head, he’s very clearly barely back to reality. After all, he’s been in this room entirely alone save for you. Nearly dying and then coming back from the brink of death because of you. Is it so wrong for him to kind of, you know, be a man in such a dire situation?

“I haven’t turned my back on him! I’m just,” You pause, going quiet for a moment to think. “I’m just trying to figure out if I can accept what he’s done.”

“And so, you’re asking me what to do so we both don’t get killed? Hate to tell you babe, but even if you chose to stay, I'd tell them the second they find me alive that you’re the one who fed me.”

You glare at him, knowing that you’re both facing a brick wall with guns pointed to your head.

“I bet you would.”

“He and I are pretty similar, watching you die wouldn’t sting even a tiny bit.” He continues, poking and pushing the buttons he realizes you have. “Thank you though.”

You look down at him, tilting your head and, for some reason, smiling.

“You’re welcome.” You say, standing to your feet and walking around him.

He protests the second he feels your arms snake around him and try to lift him. His body now having a bit more weight to it, you feel pleased that you kept him alive, for some reason.

“Sit on the chair.” You say, still tugging him up and noticing how he wobbles on his legs.

Yoongi says nothing, for some reason no longer fighting and instead focusing on seeing if his legs still work. Somehow, they’re not broken, and he’s able to stand on them for a brief moment before leaning the entirety of his weight on you.

“Clingy.” He laughs in an out of breath whisper, fumbling to the chair and finally falling into it.

“Did you love your girlfriend?” You ask, stepping back and looking at him propped in his chair.

“I did.” He admits, looking straight past you and at the wall. “Can’t now though.”

You look to the ground.

“Would you have killed her if she kept Namjoon alive behind your back?” You ask.

“No.” He admits again, laughing at himself. “Would have killed myself before I ever laid a hand on her.”

You think hard about the similarities between Yoongi and Namjoon, but you struggle to find many of them. Which is terrifying.

“So, you really think Namjoon would kill me for the same reasons?”

“Babe,” He lets out a pained laugh for you, shaking his head in pity. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

You nod your head, because you honestly think he would too.

“So, what now?” You ask, knowing there is no answer to the question.

“I’d suggest you run home to him.” He says, nodding his head to the door as if to encourage you. “I don’t suppose I can expect you to accidentally let one of my family members know where I am though, can I?”

“No,” you say sadly, trying to force the tears threatening to shed to stay behind your eyelids. “I suppose you can’t.”

It’s silent for a long while, but you can’t bring yourself to leave. Realizing how much safer you feel in this prison compared to in bed next to Namjoon. It’s frightening, truly, that you could be killed simply for having humanity. Yoongi’s girlfriend was killed because his humanity drove him to revenge. Maybe you’re the one more similar to Yoongi.

“I’m not really going to tell them, you know.” Yoongi calls out, dropping his head and looking at you from under his messy hair. “I might kill, but rarely without reason. I’m satisfied enough with the idea that you might leave him.”

You stare at him.

“You’re too naive to be involved with all of this. He seems to do a pretty shit job at protecting you, considering you’re here with me.”

You continue to look at him, questioning every word he’s saying.

“You’re pretty similar to her, you know? I mean, minus the whole going behind his back thing.” Yoongi smiles when he looks at you, and arguably that expression hits you right in the gut.

“If I untie you, would you come after me?” You ask, studying him.

“Maybe, who knows?” He watches you go behind him anyway. “You like playing with fire, don’t you?”

His eyes light up at the feeling of you behind him, hoping to god you’re truly weak hearted enough to untie him. He could run, he could fulfill this rage growing in his heart, but those hopes are shattered when you come back into view.

You lean down, inches from his face and look directly into his eyes. Searching for a reason to think he would kill you the instant you untie those hands. What you see instead, is his eyes flicking to your lips.

You, in turn, flick your eyes to his and you don’t even know why you do it. Perhaps it’s the overwhelming feeling of death looming over the two of you. You hold Yoongi’s life in your hands, and he technically holds your life in his if he were to tell on you. The feeling is driven solely by fear, disgust, hate, pity.

You kiss him. His breath not offering much outside of the citrus fruit he had eaten when you offered it to him just an hour earlier.

It’s silent, and you can imagine he truly could have gone insane in this room all by himself. You feel yourself going insane too, despite feeling safer.

And when you pull back reluctantly, Yoongi’s eyes shine a little differently. His smirk is still scary but his eyes are soft and pleading. That dull look in his eyes from the first night you fed him? That tiny little glint of need shining through to you? That is showing in full force and you wonder if he notices it.

“He’d definitely kill you.” Yoongi laughs, still looking at you.

It’s silent again, save for a few quick breaths leaving your chest. You give him a short nod, because you know he’s right and there’s no point in denying it at this point.

“But I wouldn’t.”

All you can do is fall farther into the insanity that fills this room at that. Leaning in and kissing him again, this time a bit more desperate, releasing all of the tension inside of you on him as you bring your body closer, and straddle his sore and weak legs.

“Are you asking to die?” He comments at your closeness, confirming that you may actually be as clingy as he joked that you were. It appears that death doesn’t seem to scare you at this moment, nor does it scare him.

If anything, having Namjoon’s girl straddling his lap without so much as asking for it is a new kind of desire in his mind. Namjoon may have killed his ex girlfriend, but he didn’t fuck her. Which, arguably, isn’t worse than losing her but still makes his heart race with anger at the thought. The idea of taking you from that man even for a moment is blissful. An ultimate insult, one that would piss Namjoon off beyond belief. Surely he’d be left in a different room to be eaten by rats next time he makes an attempt on his life.

“Hm?” Yoongi continues, letting you kiss him, feeling your weight on his sore body, kind of loving the feeling because he hasn’t touched a woman since his girlfriend died. But if he’s going to end up dead, he might as well fuck Namjoon’s girlfriend beforehand, right?

“Maybe I am,” you answer, breathlessly. “Are you?” You ask, leaning back and looking at him.

“You do realize I’m one of the most wanted men in this country, right?” He laughs, smirking and feeling quite cocky with the turn of events.

“That,” You eye him, feeling his length twitch beneath you. “you are.”

He chuckles, noting that you’re suddenly complimenting him now.

“Wanted by you wasn’t exactly what I had in mind, but alright.” He shrugs, pressing his hips up and against you. “Can you at least untie my hands if you’re going to throw yourself at me like this?”

You shake your head, lifting off of him a bit and checking that his hands are still bound.

“No,” You laugh, sitting back down and noticing his harsh reaction to your weight on his legs again. “Does your dick still work?”

Yoongi glares, unsure of how he feels about fucking someone while bound and in pain like this, but who is he to say no? Again, Namjoon’s girlfriend. Rage and revenge. If he can live through a heavy beating and starvation, surely he can handle a girl bouncing on his cock.

“It appears so,” He says, feeling the twitch in his pants fight against the pain of his legs. “Why, you gonna fuck me?”

“Maybe, who knows?” You respond, leaning back down and biting hard against his neck.

He glares at the wall, seemingly enthralled with the idea but still not entirely happy with the situation at hand. He’s not typically the person to be fucked, and yet, here you are moving your hips against his battered body, bumping against his cock each time.

Shaking himself out of it, he has to remember that again, this is Namjoon’s girlfriend and he wants to fuck her for no other reason than pissing him off. So, whatever.

“Are you this eager with him too?” He asks, trying to crane his neck from your biting mouth to get you to look at him. “or am I just lucky?”

Lucky, hah. You scoff against his neck before pulling back to look at him.

“You really do talk a lot of shit, you know that?” You say, deliberately pressing more weight against his legs to elicit a pained groan out of him.

“I’ve been told, yes.” He groans in a half laugh, not wanting to appear as broken as you know he has been. “You’re still the one trying to fuck enemy number one though.”

Internally, your heart is racing.

“Maybe I’m the lucky one then?” You offer, moaning a bit at the feeling of how hard he’s gotten despite the state of his body. “Most wanted man in the country right? Sitting right here, tied up, at my mercy.”

“Damn, I didn’t know Namjoon liked to be slapped around.” Yoongi laughs, wincing again at both the pain and pleasure you’re offering to him.

“He doesn’t.” You respond, tilting your head before leaning in close to his ear. “I’m the one who likes that.”

His arms shake within their bounds, broken fingers be damned he still has another hand to use.

“Then fucking untie me,” He grouches, huffing out through his nose and attempting to push you away by shifting his legs. “If you like it so much, let me do it.”

You shake your head again, this time with your own pitied laugh.

“You’d kill me. I know you said you wouldn’t but you were just trying to get on my good side.” You coo out at him after your comment, ghosting your lips over his. “It must hurt pretty bad to know how pathetic you look right now.”

He very nearly spits at you for looking down on him with intent. Sure, before you probably looked down on him because he was literally dying. But now? This is a blatant insult, and he can’t help but feel some of that rage build up within him.

“Pathetic?” He laughs, staring down at the way your hips continue to move. “You’re the one getting yourself off on a man who would kill your boyfriend in an instant.”

“Do it then.” you say, unsure of why you’re suddenly so okay with the idea of murder. Maybe because if Yoongi did it, you know he’d probably be quick with it. He didn’t seem to take pleasure in describing such gory scenes to you, so clearly he must not like to savor them either. Not like Namjoon, who appears to favor giving others a long and painful death.

“Fuck,” Yoongi calls out, being entirely aroused by your willingness to tell him to kill your boyfriend. The thought of hurting him alone could get Yoongi off within seconds. The relief of killing the man who caused so much pain would be better than any orgasm or twelve hundred dollar bottle of wine.

“Say that again,” Yoongi groans, replaying those words you just said in his head. His own hips moving against you now. “Say it and I swear I’ll kill him when I get out of here.”

You don’t comment at first. “when I get out of here.” he said, as if he knows for a fact you’ll untie him. As if he trusts that you’re with him one hundred percent. Hell, at this point, maybe you are. Feeling so unsafe and so very aware of how dead you actually may become, fighting to keep yourself alive is easier to swallow than letting your own boyfriend kill you for betraying him. Fight or flight, the brain works so strangely when it needs to survive.

“Do it,” You repeat, hearing his breath hitch in an embarrassing way. “I bet you would, wouldn’t you?”

He nods proudly, still writhing his arms and wanting so badly to be free, not even to escape at this point, but to hold onto your waist and feel more of that pain you offer to him.

“Fucking untie me.” He demands, legs shaking as he continues to try and chase the rhythm of your harsh grinding hips. “You think I’d kill you when you’re talking to me like this?”

“I think you would.” You laugh, now pulling back off of his lap and standing to your feet in front of him.

You look down at him, his cock towering in his dirty jeans. For some reason, you’re not disgusted by the fact that he’s filthy. You’re more disgusted with the idea of going home and smelling the shampoo Namjoon uses to wash the blood out of his hair.

“I wouldn't.” He repeats himself, now moving back and forth in his chair to try and unbind his hands much like he did the first night he was here. “If i planned on killing you, i’d fuck you first anyway.”

You narrow your eyes, watching him try to break free before you lunge forward and lean over him again. Much like before, you grab his face and force him to look into your eyes.

“I’m not untying you.” You say sternly, as if to warn him that it’s the final time you’ll say it. “You have two days left, and I’m not coming back after this.”

“I know.” He admits, bucking his hips up at nothing. “So, if you could just pull my dick out and get to it, I'd really appreciate it.”

You poke your tongue to your cheek again, wondering how the fuck this man manages to stay so confident in such a position. You wonder even harder why you listen to him.

Just as he asked, you lower yourself to your knees and lay your head on his knee. For a moment, he watches you and understands why Namjoon must like you so much. You’re pretty down there, with playful eyes even in the face of death. You’re definitely something else. One, for ending up with Namjoon, and two, for ending up in this room with him like this.

“I think you could probably drive anyone insane,” Yoongi says in a voice that seems too soft for him. “If he’s really stupid enough to kill you for giving him the chance to kill me again, he’s a lot more dumb than I expected.”

You smile, blinking up at his compliment.

“Thank you.” You say, feeling so lost in this situation that at this point, you feel like you’d rather just stay here and let Jungkook find you both two days from now. It’s a fucked up situation on all ends, but at least you feel okay right now, with your chin resting on a killer’s knee, glancing at his cock, wondering how you want to pleasure it.

He stops talking by this point, bucking his hips to encourage you to stop staring and pull it out. The sound of his clothing rubbing against that old wooden chair suddenly feels loud, and your ears begin to ring as your heart picks up.

There is a specific realization in this moment regarding all of that humanity that drove you to this point. Helping this man is one thing, but wanting him is something completely different. In your head, you question everything you feel at this moment. Are you chasing comfort from none other than, and he was right to say it, the most wanted man in the country? More wanted than Namjoon? Perhaps that’s because Namjoon has other’s do his dirty work though. Yoongi appears to kill personally, and quickly. It’s no wonder he got caught by the gang you call family.

You remember being told that they got him, and that he was to be killed. You remember mocking Namjoon, complaining that you wouldn’t believe it until you saw him. You remember Jungkook sitting in the driver’s side of the car and driving you here for the first time, and you remember that one of your first thoughts about Yoongi was that he didn’t look much like a gang leader lying on the floor like that. You thought he was cute, almost puppy like in his defiance.

When he spilled all of those truths about Namjoon and the men and women you are surrounded with, you did lean more into Yoongi than the people who claim to love you. You didn’t know why you kept him alive, you didn’t know why you betrayed those you love. If anything, you know now that is was simply humanity.

Something that you cling to, and something that the majority of people around you have thrown away. When you look at Yoongi though, alive because of you, you see his humanity too. There is a fire in his eye that doesn't sing out for rage and blood, no. It’s a look you couldn’t find in Namjoon’s eye just a day before. Humanity brought you to save this man, and it also brought you to find him attractive despite his state, and it also brought you to this. Wanting him.

Wanting to comfort him from those atrocities your boyfriend committed toward him, because you can defend why Yoongi killed the man who once brought you a cake for your birthday. You wanted to keep him alive because somehow, in your gut, you knew he didn’t deserve to die this way.

And now, so terrified of what this situation might bring, you’re turned on by fear. The arousal of him talking so much shit, complimenting you through insults, looking at you in a way Namjoon never did drives a distinct type of butterfly within your belly. You fear every single person outside of this room, but Yoongi. You want him to yourself.

Yoongi watches you against his knee, seemingly in deep thought as your face falls and lightens up with realization. He finds himself smiling at the situation. He was really quite lucky for Namjoon to be dating such a woman. If he hadn't been, surely he would be dead and limp in the corner, rotting until his body is hidden elsewhere two days from now. But he’s not, his heart is beating and his cock is raging much like the hate in his heart for the men who seemed to have claimed you.

Don’t get him wrong though, it’s not that he likes you in the way Namjoon seems to. He gets why he does though. The fact of the matter is that you put yourself in a terrifying situation to keep him alive for no reason that has truly been given. It’s natural for him to owe you now, and what he owes you is nothing short of his own life for putting yourself in the line of fire like this.

Yoongi does like you though. Likes the way you look at death the same way he does, being reckless and making mistakes despite clearly having some sort of intelligence. His attraction to you comes in the form that you’re a woman, you’re Namjoon’s woman, you’re attractive, and you really did give him his life back. Even still restrained, he’s turned on beyond belief. Never having been put in a situation where he fucks the inevitable out of his mind, but it’s exactly what he intends to do.

Not just to spite Kim Namjoon, but also to somehow repay you. You got on top of him, you kissed him, and if you want to fuck the life of out him, he owes you that much too. At least when you leave him here, if you leave him here, he knows that he made you feel good too.

“Well?” He finally says, pulling you out of your drifting thoughts and making your eyes shoot back up to him. “You just gonna look at it or?”

You blink twice before glancing back down at his cock and feel the resolve within you strengthen. Your mind is suddenly so clear when you reach forward and unbutton his pants, sliding them down his legs and completely off of him.

You gasp when you see how bruised his legs are, realizing that you were just sitting directly on them. Thankfully, again, they’re not broken but you can imagine the weakness he feels.

“Oh.” You breathe out, letting your fingers ghost over one of the deepest and darkest bruises. Shaped like a boot and showing a pattern that looks very similar to the pair of boots your boyfriend wears. You watch him wince at the energy of your fingers, not even touching the spot but simply close enough to still somehow manage to hurt him.

“I’ve had worse,” he urges you, leaning forward a bit and looking at you. “What, you think I can’t handle a couple of bruises?”

You look up at him, trying to push the range of colors against his skin out of your mind as your eyes land and focus back between his legs. Not surprising that it can distract you almost instantly as it stands against the last remaining restraining fabric.

His hips buck up when he sees your hands go for the waistband of his underwear, licking his lower lip with a silent chant in his head of yes, yes, yes! Perhaps it’s because he lost his mind, but it’s really not such a bad deal to be able to get so turned on in a situation like this. After all, he owes you, so he might as well get into it, right?

When you pull off his underwear, instantly you’re just staring. In awe that he can manage to be turned on at all right now, ultimately quite happy that it still works too.

“I bet all the girls love getting fucked by you.” You comment, staring at his cock and the way it stands more lively than the rest of his body.

“On the contrary babe. I don’t fuck just anyone.” He chuckles snidely, looking down at the way your eyes swallow him up. “If I’m fucking someone, only I’m fucking her.”

“Lucky her, bet you go for the pretty ones too.”

“You misunderstand me,” he chuckles softly, his cock twitching at the way your energy changed once you got a good look at it. “If I fuck her, she’s only fucking me.”

You pause, noting another lack of similarity between Yoongi and your boyfriend. Namjoon fucks other women, sometimes in just a room over from you. Part of you wishes he was as possessive as the man before you on all fronts. Enough to kill a man for you like Yoongi did, enough to starve and suffer in a room for protecting you.

“What happens when Namjoon gets his hands on me again, then?”

“He won’t be able to once I’m done with you.”

You pause, unsure if that’s a threat on your life or a threat for a good time. The gamble is the same either way, so you offer him a sarcastic laugh.

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” You ask, leaning forward and tip toeing your fingers up his length.

“You wouldn’t want him to fuck you.” He says snidely, shivering at your touch. “Let me show you what it’s like to actually get fucked.”

You breathe in deeply, pupils blowing out at the sound of those words. It only takes a moment to stand up and place yourself back on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck and looking directly into his eyes.

“Is that a promise?” You say, eyes burning in delight and ignoring the wince of pain that trembles through his body. “You think you can fuck me better?”

He smirks and nods his head, pushing his cock forward as his legs start to go numb under your weight. He’s no longer uncomfortable, thinking with only one part of his body.

“Let me,” He says, trying to show his dominance despite being restrained. “Sit on it and see, babe.”

You chuckle silently, lifting up on his lap and internally apologizing for the way your legs squeeze his thighs, he doesn’t react though. You snake your hands under your skirt to push your panties to the side and have no qualms with grabbing his cock and positioning it right where it needs to be.

Yoongi shivers at the feeling of your hand grasping him, and the image of your eyes not leaving his when you do it. For once in his life, he is feeling so out of control, owing someone else, all while being pleasured? Honestly, he couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time in captivity.

“Sit.” He says in a demanding way, feeling the way you hover over him and make attempts to tease the pleasure.

“You’re in no position to tell me what to do.” You laugh, still somehow following his order and sliding down just an inch and releasing a breath.

He hums at it, holding his own pleasure in and watching you attempt to control yourself just through the small amount of cock he’s got in you.

“Untie me, I’ll take care of you.” He tries to reason with you again, bucking his hips up and plunging another few inches against your aching walls. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

You nod, dropping your head to his shoulder as you brace yourself against the chair behind him. Slowly sinking down and adjusting to a size that isn’t what you’re accustomed to. And when you finally sit flush against his thighs, you spread your legs to offer him some relief and clench your pussy around him.

“Untie me,” he says again, thrusting his hips up beneath your weight and trying to force in more of him despite having no more to offer. “Fuck.”

You ignore his words and his chasing hips as your pussy hugs his length. You feel so full, so satisfied by his size inside of you. When he tries to fuck up, he doesn’t go far but the tight fit burns in a way that feels more arousing than you could have ever expected.

“You must hate being tied up,” You chuckle, finally moving your hips just a bit to relieve yourself of a bit of his length. “How does it feel to be at a woman’s mercy?”

Yoongi glares at you when you say those words, pressing up and struggling with his strength as he tries to force those few inches back into you.

“How does it feel?” He repeats the question to you. “I could be fucking the light out of your eyes right now if you’d just let me.”

You almost consider it, wondering what his working hand would feel like pressing against your skin. The other, too swollen and likely too painful to touch you. You’d still play with those fingers though, because the only way you can get a decent moan out of him is if he’s hurting.

“The light already left my eyes, Yoongi.” You say.

He doesn’t hear a word of it outside of you using his first name again. He rolls his eyes at you, dropping his head back in a frustrated groan at how he’s both getting what he wants, but also not.

“No, your eyes are still shining.” He says when he lifts his head back up to face you, and you pull back a bit, rolling your hips before finally lifting again to actually start riding him.

“So are yours.” You say, looking straight into them and smiling.

He doesn’t believe you, but the sensation of how wet you seem to be definitely would have any man’s eyes shining.

“How does it feel?” You comment, noticing the shiver that runs down his body and his heaving chest.

“Fucking tight.” He grimaces, “I’d keep you all to myself. Namjoon is a stupid, stupid man for letting you come here.”

“He’s a specific type of man,” You correct him, hovering over his lips. “Doesn’t even eat my pussy.”

“Goddamn, untie me.” Yoongi very nearly pleads, feeling the intensity of how your walls cling to him.

He’s aching so much. He’s so fucking angry, and yet, he really is about to beg for you to release him. Not to run, not to kill you, but to pleasure you.

You still ignore him, ghosting your lips over his and watching his eyes droop into a drowsy stare at you. You were right when you said his eyes were shining, even like this, they are. You could argue that he feels good, you could argue that if you untied him, maybe he really would fuck you better than Namjoon does.

“I bet you’d kill to have your hands on me right now, wouldn’t you?”

Yoongi nods brokenly, still trying to buck his hips up to make good on his promise, and still being met with frustration bubbling inside of him. He’s too restrained for this, his heart has grown soft at this ego blow, and yet, his cock still yearns inside of you.

“I would.” He admits, his voice so broken sounding that you almost feel as if you’ve pushed him to his limit.

“You’d eat me out too, wouldn’t you?”

“Fuck yeah I would.” He admits again, this time seeming more determined as he starts to move his hands again in an attempt to free himself. “Let me.” He seethes out through a clenched jaw.

You ignore him.

“Let me.” He says again, this time in a half moan when you move your hips with more intent.

“If you make it out of here alive, I’ll let you.” You moan yourself, sliding back and forth against him, swirling your hips and feeling his weeping cock stretch you out even more.

“You’re fucking insane.” Yoongi groans, tensing his muscles to offer more support for your languid grinding. “Fucking me so slow, making promises you know you can’t keep.”

“I’ll keep them,” You say, lowering your face to his neck and reaching your hands behind him, rubbing against his arms. “You’re giving me so much power right now, it’s hard not to savor it.”

He chuckles at your boldness, once again leaning his head back against the chair and allowing himself to relish in the feeling of the way you ride him.

“If I make it out of here alive, I’m going to look him in the eye and tell him how wet and needy this pussy is for me.”

“You’re so honest,” you laugh, picking up pace and fiddling with the binds on his hands. “That’s why I’m not going to untie you.”

“Faster,” he groans, imagining that he has healthy and free hands, guiding your hips on him. If he’s going to have to be like this though, the least he can do is try and guide you to the pace he should be fucking you at in this moment. “I want to hear how wet you are.”

You smirk, pulling your hands back and grabbing his face. His cheeks are fuller now compared to that night you came to bring him his life back, and they look plush when you squeeze them and force his eyes to stay on you.

“Faster?” You ask, already pistoning your hips against him, the chair creaking and threatening to break under the weight the two of you offer. “Harder?” You ask, his eyes burning straight through you as if you’d be daring him to kill you if you don’t.

He’s pleased by your pace, falling into a world of arousal in his head as you ride him exactly how he wants it. He can hear the wetness seeping out of you, and the best part is that it’s for him and not that pompous asshole who nearly killed him.

You bounce, fast and hard, drilling his cock so deeply into you that he finally releases a moan of pleasure right against your lips before rolling his eyes back and giving in.

“Fuck, you do this for him, too?” He asks, eyes rolling back to look at you and the way the determination in your eyes only grows.

“No,” You say out of breath, keeping that same pace and hiccupping with small moans each time. “He never lets me ride him”

“Won’t eat you out, won’t let you ride him.” Yoongi mocks him, freely moaning now as you take him for all he’s worth. Which isn’t much at this point. “I’d worship you.”

You pause your movements, out of breath as you look at him. You glance down to his smiling lips, and then back up at his eyes.

“I’d let you.” You say shortly, kissing him once again and returning back to your slow movements, pumping his cock inside of you so tightly that he fears this will end too quickly.

And it does, when you feel his tongue tense up in your mouth and he starts kissing you harder. His harsh voice releases whimpers and breaths into your throat. The sounds coming from him are unintentional and entirely too arousing to ignore. You can feel his length twitching aggressively inside of you, and you feel more full than you ever thought you could. You ride it out for him, giving him quick jerks of your hips to drag that sensitivity on as he finishes what you started.

And then it’s silent, but he’s still kissing you.

“Then let me.” He says once you part your lips, still holding him inside of you, and not daring to move a muscle.

You stay with him for a long while, torturing him in a way he finds himself loving by the time the sun rises and he now only has one day on this earth to live. You had spread yourself out on him, gotten him off twice, and then promptly moved him from the chair to get him on his knees.

It was the first time since you’d been with Namjoon that you felt a tongue against your clit, breaking your own promise of letting if happen if he gets out of this situation. Arguably, you felt like you fell into this hole with Yoongi far too deep to even consider crawling out of it. He ate you like he was still starving, smirking as you swirled your needy clit against his tongue. He was eager to take the parts of you that Namjoon never wanted, it seems.

And when the daylight rose and you were still here, panic sat in. You were filled with a man’s cum that isn’t your boyfriend’s. Your legs were arguably as weak as Yoongi’s, and you knew for a fact that your family was already wondering where you were. One of the cars would be missing, you’d be missing.

“What?” Yoongi asks, watching you in horror at the sudden shift of mood. Your face twisting in panic as you start to breathe heavily.

“I can’t.” You say shortly, scooting back further from him. “I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

Yoongi picks up quickly on what you’re referring to. He knew this night had to come to an end though, and he knows for a fact that at least you got to experience him for who he truly is, and not the rabid criminal Namjoon seems to believe he is.

“Probably because you know Namjoon is going to mail your head to the police?” He laughs, sighing in defeat.

That is, until you stand up and walk behind him.

Instantly he feels the tight bind against his wrists loosen and now, he can look at the damage. His broken fingers aren’t twisted, and his wrists actually hurt more than they do. He turns to look at you as you stand there, struggling not to cry.

Honestly, he’s a bit frozen in place before he tries to stand. His legs buckle from the lack of use and from your weight on them, but he manages to balance himself and slowly take a step toward you with a look of appreciation.

“Why did you do that?” He asks, trying to balance himself but feeling his legs give in instantly. He crumbles to the ground with a pained groan. Embarrassed by his nudity and lack of strength.

You didn’t run, nor did you hide after you untied him. What you did do though, is set him free from this situation. He can leave now, and if he needs to, he can take you with him.

“Are you stupid?” He asks through his pain, standing again and internally forcing himself to walk. “Go on, run back to him.” He raises his voice.

You shake your head.

“I’m dead either way.” You say with a shaking voice, feeling a pit in your stomach still bubble with arousal but the reality hit you far too late.

“You saved my life and you’ve now given me a chance to fucking run. You think I’m going to let you die?” He says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Technically, it should be normal for a person to react this way, but Yoongi is a killer too. It’s not like you expect anything more from him, nor from Namjoon at this point when he ultimately learns that you’re the one who did this.

“If you want me to kill you so bad, I’d be happy to do it so you don’t have to fucking suffer but–” Yoongi goes silent for a moment, contemplating the position that he’s about to put himself in.

As if the situation wasn’t already bad enough, it couldn’t hurt much more than it already will.

“You could come with me. My men will protect you for keeping me alive. You’d be untouchable.”

You look at him, seemingly unsure at first.

“He’s probably already out looking for me.” You say in a smaller voice than before. “He’d know it was you.”

“No shit. Either you’re coming with me or not.” Yoongi deadpans, standing as still as he can so he doesn’t tumble over to the ground again.

You shrug in defeat, nothing left to say.

And then you’re getting into your car after the struggle and helping your enemy escape. He’s in the back seat, smiling up as he focuses his eyes outside.

“If you drive me straight to him, you know he’d probably forgive you, right?”

You ignore him, finding more comfort in the fact that he’d kill you for this.

“Just tell me where to go.”

#bts smut #yoongi smut #suga smut #min yoongi smut

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golden-cherry · 1 year

Text

deal - cl16 (1/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it's his apartment.

Chapter Summary: The best tactic to defend yourself from a stranger? Being dressed only in a towel and having a newspaper in hand, of course.

Warnings: google translated French (I didn't put the translations in the story, but there's a reason to it! maybe you'll figure it out through the series!)

Word Count: 3.1k

series masterlist

A/N: here it is my friends! the first chapter! I'm not sure about tagging people. bad experience and stuff. I still hope you like it! feedback is appreciated! love ya.

The apartment is dead quiet when you get home. Tired, you flick on the kitchen light and toss your gym bag into your small bedroom before grabbing a wine glass from the shelf. You twist the cap off the cheap white wine sitting on the bottom shelf of the small fridge with your teeth, and spit it away. You wouldn't need the cap anymore. You would drink the bottle empty today.

The whole last week had been unbelievably lousy. Your boss had fired you for a mistake you weren't responsible for, and even though you didn't like working there, you were on the money.

A few months ago, you had moved to Monaco for that very job. You left your family behind. Built a new life here. Only to find yourself without a job, without opportunities, without prospects.

You sit down on one of the two chairs at the dining table and open your laptop. Since you were kicked out, the home page of your Internet browser has been searching for suitable job offers, but you haven't found anything yet. You're glad that you've put aside enough money every month to be able to keep this apartment for a few more weeks. And after that, it's either take the next best job, no matter how underpaid it is and no matter how unhappy it would make you, or move back in with your parents.

You'd rather live under a bridge than back with your parents.

Frustrated, you close the laptop. It's hard to find a job in Monaco unless you're already a big shot or born into a good family. And as a former, small-time magazine photographer, you're neither.

You leave the laptop and your sweaty gym clothes in the bedroom as you head to the bathroom for a shower. The warm water feels good on your skin and tense muscles. The lavender shampoo calms your senses and nerves a bit, but you can't flush that nagging lingering thought - what happens if you don't find a new job? - down the drain, unfortunately.

Ideally, you'd like to stay here, in Monaco. Why not? Life here is great and the people are so friendly that you don't even want to think about leaving it all behind. But the possibilities are limited. And time is running against you.

You step out of the shower, wrap your hair and body in soft towels, and walk out of the bathroom.

And just at that moment, the apartment door opens.

"What the hell?"

The young man suddenly standing in the hallway wrenches his eyes open at your words and winces. Apparently, he wasn't expecting anyone either.

"What the heck are you doing in my apartment?" you yell at him, grabbing the nearest object you could use to defend yourself from the intruder. Unfortunately, it's just a magazine from your old job. You roll it up and point it at him.

"In your apartment?" he asks, confused, dropping the large bag hanging around his shoulder to the floor. He doesn't take his eyes off you. It's like you're the crazy one standing in his apartment all of a sudden. "What do you mean?" He raises his hands placatingly as you take a small step toward him on bare feet with the newspaper.

"Are you stupid? What don't you understand about 'my apartment'?" Your voice sounds a little shrill. You roll the newspaper up tighter in your hands. Not that you can particularly do anything about the man. Just wrapped in a towel and with that little bit of paper. Besides, he's at least a whole head taller. And definitely stronger, judging by his stature.

The young man lowers his hand to let it disappear into his left pants pocket. You wave your arms behind your head - like Rapunzel with her frying pan. If he tried anything, you'd have enough momentum to maybe hurt him.

"Calm down. I'm not going to hurt you." He fishes something out of his back pocket and holds it up. Dangling from his finger is a jingling silver key. "This is my key. For my apartment. The one I bought." He enunciates each word one at a time, as if you're a child who must somehow be made to understand why two plus two does not equal five. Step by step.

You narrow your eyes. The newspaper stays in place behind your head. "I rented the apartment. A few months ago." You shift your feet apart a little to get a firmer footing. "If it really is your apartment, where have you been for the last few months?"

Confused, he looks at you as if you must know where he'd been. Then he rubs his forehead with his free hand. "Can I sit down? My day has been incredibly tiring and I'm exhausted." He takes a step toward the dining room table, where your wine glass still sits.

"If you take one more step, I'm going to scream."

He rolls his eyes, but stops anyway. "I'm too tired for this shit," he retorts, annoyed, running a hand through his brown hair. "This is my place. I don't know how you got in here or who's supposed to have rented it to you, but you pack your shit now and get out. Before I call the police."

"Why do you want to call the police? You're standing in my apartment!"

"This is not your apartment!"

Like two lions about to go for each other's throats, you stare at each other.

"You leave my apartment now before I call Joris and he throws you out," you threaten him. When he starts in with the cops, you continue with your landlord. If suddenly the cops are in your apartment, he would be informed either way. At least then you could give him a heads up if he really did call the cops.

Apparently your words triggered something in him, because he lowers his arms and his shoulders relax a little. "Joris? Joris Trouche?"

The fact that he knows your landlord's last name unnerves you enough that you lower your arms as well. The newspaper, however, you still hold in one hand. "How do you know Joris?"

The man no longer looks annoyed, but seriously confused. "Joris is one of my closest friends," he explains. "I bought the apartment in his name. Did he rent it to you?"

Friends? Bought it in his name?

"He did. A few months ago," you answer him. You're not facing each other like lions now, but rather like two deer who don't know exactly how to act. You chew on your lower lip, undecided about what to do.

"I'll call him." As the man pulls his cell phone from his back pants pocket, you can only stare at him in disbelief. If his Joris is really your Joris - what happens next? If he bought the apartment, will you have to move out? You have a valid rental contract. Will it be terminated then? Will you have to move under the next best bridge sooner than expected? Does Monte Carlo have any bridges?

"Good evening, Joris." You didn't even notice that he had already dialed the number. He's not holding the phone to his ear, but in front of his mouth, and you can see he's activated the speaker.

"Hi, buddy. Did you have a good flight?", Joris voice actually rings out.

Your heart stops for a moment and the newspaper falls out of your hand. The man takes one look at the paper and then at your face. "I did, thanks." He licks his lower lip once with his tongue. "I just arrived at my apartment. You know, my second apartment. The one that's in your name."

On the other side of the phone, it's suspiciously quiet. As if transfixed, you stare at the cell phone in his hand, hoping it's all a big mistake. That this already shitty week isn't about to get even shittier.

"I can explain." Fuck.

While Joris explains to his "buddy" what's going on - "I had rented out the apartment so that it wouldn't get miserably dusty. Besides, it would be completely stupid not to rent out a great apartment and let the money slip through your fingers. I couldn't have known you'd go there. I thought the apartment was only for emergencies." - you sit down at the dining table, still wrapped in your towel, and drink the rest of your wine in one go.

"C'est une urgence!" The man turns off the speaker and holds the phone to his ear. "Je ne peux pas et ne veux pas aller dans l'autre appartement! Tu sais pourquoi! Et maintenant, tu loues ma retraite sans m'en parler? Qu'est-ce que je vais faire maintenant, Joris?" His French is too fast for you to understand in the least. Judging by the wild flailing of his hand, he can't be saying anything good. He raises his hand, touches his thumb to his other fingertips, then holds it to his forehead. His face is flushed as he nags stressedly into the receiver, and you can even see the vein on his neck. "Je ne vais certainement pas à l'hôtel! Comme "pourquoi pas"? Parce que j'ai une résidence secondaire, espèce de crétin! Je peux difficilement l'expulser maintenant de l'appartment que tu lui as loué! Alors je suis le connard qui a jeté une jeune femme à la rue! Comment crois-tu que le gros titres vont suivre?"

While you understand a few words like hotel, idiot, woman - almost certainly meaning you - and headlines, your French is not so good, even after months in Monaco, that you could easily understand him.

"Je me fiche qu'elle soit sexy. Tu ne peux quand même pas laisser quelqu'un vivre dans mon appartement!" He puts his thumb and forefinger to his nose bone. "I'm really too tired for this, Joris. We'll talk tomorrow," he ends the conversation back in English and sits down in the chair across from you. He places the cell phone on the table before drumming his fingertips on the tabletop. "We'll summarize. You have a valid lease on my apartment. I have nowhere else to go. So I have to stay here. What's the plan?" He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms in front of his chest.

You stare at him. "I should put some clothes on first." Wordlessly, you get up and disappear into the bedroom before he can say anything back. You quickly change, slipping into a dark green Adidas sweater and comfortable yoga pants, and quickly comb your hair. When you leave the room, the man is no longer sitting at the table, but stands in the small kitchen and - cooks?

"I haven't eaten anything today," the man says without glancing in your direction. "And you still had some stuff in the fridge."

You reach for the wine bottle and pour some more into the glass before taking a big gulp. "And you think you could just grab my groceries and cook yourself something?" you ask snarkily. He acts like he's at home. Like this is his apartment.

Well, it is, in theory.

"I'm making two servings. For you and for me. I'm not a monster." He glances at you out of the corner of his eye as you lean against the fridge to watch him. "Maybe we should start over. Completely new." He turns the piece of chicken in the pan. "What's your name?"

"Y/N" You tilt your head. "And you?"

He furrows his eyebrows in confusion before giving the noodles in the pot a single stir. But as suddenly as the confusion was on his face, it's gone just as quickly. "Charles."

Sharl. The French pronunciation of Charles. And you have to admit, it suits him. As he cooks, you watch him, racking your brains on how to proceed now.

The apartment is small, but living with two people in it could work. One would sleep in the bed, the other on the couch. There would have to be a bathroom plan. And a cleaning schedule. And-

"Can you pour me a drink, too, please?" asks Charles, spreading the food on two plates. He sets them on the table and pulls two forks out of a drawer.

"What would you like? Wine?" When he nods, you take a second wine glass and pour him the last of your wine. As he sits down, you look at him skeptically.

Charles raises his eyebrows. "What is it?"

You tighten your mouth into a thin line. "That's my seat."

"Well, there's another chair. Why don't you take that one?"

Uncertainly, you teeter from one foot to the other. You don't want to seem like a crazy person, but in the few months you've lived here, you've always sat in the same chair. You want to keep it that way.

When you don't move, he rolls his eyes, but then sits down in the chair across from you. "Better?"

His food tastes better than expected. To be honest, it tastes better than anything you've ever cooked. But you don't tell him that, of course.

"I don't know how much you overheard of my conversation with Joris" - you overheard everything, you just didn't understand anything - "but I'm afraid I have nowhere else to go. Personal reasons." He pokes at his chicken for a moment. "And I don't want to put you out on the street, either, of course. I can't at all. After all, you have a valid lease and I can't just kick you out, even if it is my apartment." He looks up from his food and looks at you. His eyes are an impossibly beautiful green.

"What do you say we live here together? Just until my situation eases up," he suggests. Before you can say anything, he continues speaking. "I know the apartment is small and there's only one bed, but if we agree on cleaning and shopping and everything, I'm sure we can work it out."

There's a sparkle in his eye. You'd like to know why he can't go to his other apartment. Why he can't go to a hotel. Why he absolutely has to go to his second apartment. But he said himself it was an emergency. And you've known each other for what? An hour? Even if you asked, he certainly wouldn't tell you.

Private is private.

And maybe it's not permanent. True, you could say on your own that you could go to a hotel, but on what money? For sure you could negotiate with Joris. You move out and stop paying rent. But what if you happen to find a job after all? Then you'd have to look for a new apartment again, because hotels in Monaco aren't exactly cheap. And you certainly won't get a cheaper apartment than this one.

"All right."

Charles doesn't seem particularly surprised, but relieved nonetheless. More like his suggestion wasn't a suggestion, but a fact you'd have to agree to. Which makes you very uneasy.

Maybe he's the kind of guy who takes advantage of his looks to trick young women like you and then murder them in their sleep. Or maybe he'll drug you and sell you to the nearest human trafficker. Or-

"Then maybe we should talk about the sleeping arrangement." He takes a sip of wine and screws up his face. "I thought this was dry wine."

"Dry wine is gross."

Charles exhales audibly. "That's debatable. Whatever." He puts the glass back, but a little farther away than you had put it earlier. "You can sleep in the bed for all I care. I'll sleep on the couch. It shouldn't be that uncomfortable. Except - if it's okay with you - sometimes I'd like to sleep in the bedroom to save my back." His offer sounds reasonable. Once you fell asleep on the couch from fatigue. You could have saved yourself the backache the next day.

"No problem." You smile kindly at him. "Thanks. For letting me have the bed, I mean." And for not kicking me out.

He nods before standing up, taking the two empty plates and placing them in the sink. Charles turns around, hands braced on the ledge behind him. "We can wash this tomorrow, if you like. I'm too tired for that now. And you don't seem like you're particularly up for it right now, either."

He's right. Although your fingers are itching to wash the dishes and put everything in its place, you're so exhausted from the day and the terror of suddenly having a stranger in your apartment that you could fall asleep standing up. So you just nod.

"I'll just go brush my teeth. Then you can go to the bathroom."

Charles sticks his thumb up before you disappear into the bathroom and quickly get ready for bed. Thank goodness you cleaned the whole apartment yesterday, so you don't have to worry about things lying around or dirt.

As you exit the bathroom, Charles is settling into the couch. "I grabbed the second set of bedding from the closet in the hallway. You certainly don't need that, do you?" he asks. You shake your head. "Great. I sleep without an alarm clock until 9 most nights. So would be great if you could keep it down until then. The walls aren't very thick, I'm afraid." He spreads out the comforter while you stand in the room, still unsure, watching him. "Do you have to go to work tomorrow? No? Great. Then we can talk about the rest tomorrow. About cleaning and stuff. We'll figure it out." His smile is almost infectious as he pushes past you to go to the bathroom. "Good night, Y/N."

Just before he closes the bathroom door behind him, you see him pull his shirt over his head and his back muscles move under his tanned skin.

Just at that moment, your cell phone rings. Without looking to see who's calling, you push the caller away. There is only one person who could be calling at such a late hour. And you definitely don't want to talk to that person.

A few minutes later, you're lying in bed with the covers pulled up to your chin and the door locked for safety - you never know - and you're racking your brains about what needs to be sorted out tomorrow. And whether the whole thing might not have been a stupid idea after all.

Living with a complete stranger? Who could possibly kill you in the night? Or worse - could put you out on the street from one moment to the next?

You turn on your side, one hand tucked under your cheek, the other between your knees.

Maybe Charles is nice enough and living together works out great. Maybe you'll even become friends. Anything is possible.

And apart from that - you don't have any other choice.

Neither of you can go anywhere else. You both need this apartment.

That you both also need each other, you don't know at this point.

next part

#Charles Leclerc #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc #f1 #charles leclerc fluff #Carlos sainz #charles leclerc one shot #charles leclerc x reader #Charles Leclerc fanfiction

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eddiemunsons-missingnipple · 9 months

Text

Date night

Pairings: Eddie Munson x reader

Summary: You make Eddie take you to a haunted house.

Warning: fluff, mention of weed

Prompt: “…You’re cutting off the circulation in my arm.” “Oh? S-sorry. Just… "Got a little tense, is all. I swear I’m not scared, though! Why would I be scared of fake shit like that, anyway? What do you take me as— AHH! FUCKING GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FUCKHOLE—”

A/n: I wanted to try and do a little fall/halloween blurb from this prompt list. Not proofread.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Eddie shrieked as a scary clown with sharp pointed teeth jumps out from behind a wall.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," he mumbled behind you, clutching his heart.

"Oh, c'mon Ed, it's not that bad they're just people in costumes." You giggle, leading the way through the haunted house.

Eddie had promised to take you out on a date, letting you pick wherever you wanted to go. What he didn't expect was your first and only choice being Hawkins new haunted house. He tried to persuade your mind on going to the pumpkin patch instead, but your mind was already made up. He was taking you to that haunted house.

Eddie pretended like scary stuff didn't bother him much. He could sit down with you and watch scary movies all night long. Only jumping when a masked killer appeared from out of nowhere. He played it off like he was re-adjusting to get more comfortable.

You always knew he was actually more scared than he led on because after your movie night, the lights in his home stayed on. He didn't care if his Uncle Wayne came home and threw a fit. Those lights were not getting shut off until the sun was out.

You, on the other hand, loved any and all things scary. Halloween was your absolute favorite time of year. Which is why Eddie tried his best to enjoy it just as much as you did. He loved seeing you weirdly giddy at the sight of people in zombie costumes. How you jumped for joy and excitement standing in line to see a new horror movie at the theater.

Now, as you both make your way down, different hallways covered in various props. Fake blood splattered on the walls and spooky sounds playing on the speakers, setting the perfect mood. Scare actors chasing or popping out from around different corners.

The sound of others screaming ahead of you, alterting what's about to come next. A giant smile plastered on your face as you make your way through the house while Eddie tagged along behind you very closely. His eyes closed most of the time, and his heart beating a mile a minute.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you owe me big time." He spoke while hesitantly peaking down an empty hallway, making sure no one was lurking.

"Fine, what do I owe you?" You sighed, turning your head to look at him.

He paused, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Oh, please, as if you didn't get enough already yesterday." You rolled your eyes, taking his hand guiding him around another dark corner. There were fake arms and legs hanging from the ceiling. Every once in a while, his head would bump into one, and you'd hear a quiet "ew" from behind.

"I could never get enough, especially if it's coming from you." He bent down to whisper in your ear.

"I literally made you tomato soup yesterday. Now you want it again?" It's not even cold enough yet for soup."

"I want gold fish to put in it this time and add that green stuff that looks like bad weed," He added proudly as his head bumped yet again into another fake arm dangling from the ceiling.

"Oh, you mean the green stuff that looks like your weed." You teased.

You heard him gasp from behind you, and before he even had a chance to argue back, a girl with long black hair covering her face popped out from a fake mirror on the wall, making him shrill with fear. He gripped your arm so tight you swear it's losing going to go numb.

"…You’re cutting off the circulation in my arm."

"Oh? S-sorry. Just… "Got a little tense, is all. I swear I’m not scared, though! Why would I be scared of fake shit like that, anyway?" He motions around, letting go of you. He's trying to gain his composure as if he hasn't been terrified the entire time. Pretending like he was never scared in the first place, but you know the truth. Those screams were genuine fear coming from within him.

He goes to continue on, "What do you take me as— AHH! FUCKING GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU FUCKHOLE—"

You swear you've never seen him move this fast before. His body probably resembled something of a blur to the others you were sure of it. You couldn't help but chuckle a little as he ran through the entire place until the glowing exit sign was in sight. Maybe you should have picked the pumpkin patch for date night instead.

Before Eddie could finish, a large man with a fake chainsaw creeps up from behind him. The buzz from the saw startling him so bad that he takes you by the hand and bolts through the house. Running down corridors and various small rooms filled with people dressed like grotesque monsters.

They reached for him before they even noticed you. Eddie never stopped screaming and cursing as he made a beeline through the house with your hand tightly in his. You heard him repeatedly reassure that he's going to get you out of here.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #my writing #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson blurb #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n

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qkopi · 11 months

Text

LINK UP (3)

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pairings: prowler! miles x fem! reader

cw: violence, profanity

summary: miles was ready to brawl it out with milo as soon as he realized what had been going on between his girlfriend and his own twin. after fighting they had realized they also had to make it up to you. the real question is.. who are you going to choose?

a/n: angst, i don’t speak spanish (my stuff is translated), sad ending :( and guys I DONT DO TAGS IM SORRY THAT SHIT TAKES WAY TOO LONG HELL NAH🙅🏻‍♀️

pt 2 <- pt 3

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the sight of miles standing in the doorway, staring at the two of you, took you by surprise. you didn’t know how to react, and you weren’t sure what to say. milo was quick on his feet, and he immediately let go of you as he stood up and walked towards his twin brother.

“look miles..” milo said calmly, as he looked at miles with a stern expression on his face.

“i know this looks bad, but--” before milo could even finish his sentence, miles had pushed him.

“what the fuck, milo?! what have you been doing with my girl?” miles began to feel the anger burn up in his skin as he clenched his hands into fists. he was feeling too many emotions at once, shock, anger, and betrayal, due to what he saw of his own brother and girlfriend.

milo stumbled backwards, as he was punched square in the jaw by miles. he was in shock, as he saw his twin brother, standing in the doorway, glaring at the two of you. milo didn't have an excuse or an explanation, and he was still trying to figure out how to get out of the situation that he was in. he was in trouble, that much was clear, and he wasn't sure what to do to fix it.

meanwhile miles was glaring at you both, his face full of anger and disgust. he was too angry to think straight, and he was ready to fight for what was his…

“miles.. i’m sorry-“ you began to button up your blouse and began walking towards him. you tried to reach out your hand to comfort him but miles only ignored it, pushing past you.

he glared at milo with venom in his eyes. he was too angry to listen to anything you had to say. miles had seen enough, and he knew what you two had been doing. he was devastated and enraged, as his eyes were full of hatred towards his own brother. he was ready to take out all of his anger on milo.

milo and miles began to fight as the two of them exchanged blows and insults. they were both caught up in the moment, and they weren't going to stop until one of them was down on the floor. it was a brutal fight, with no rules or boundaries. they were both furious, and they were going to take out all of their anger on each other.

you tried to intervene, but you were no match for the two of them as they kept pushing you off to avoid you getting in harm’s way. you immediately went out of the bed room, going to the living room and reaching out for your bag and calling a number.

“mamá morales! please come home, i don’t know what to do!” you started to hyperventilate, hearing the clatter and ruckus over at milo’s room.

“hija, what’s happening? are you hurt?” rio asked.

“milo and miles, they’re fighting— please hurry!” you began to pace around, hearing their grunts.

“okay, okay. i’m on my way.” rio said as she ended the call.

“whatever the hell you just did, that’s some messed up shit, ‘Lo!” miles landed a blow on him.

“why the hell would you mess with my girl?!” Miles asked, feeling a punch on his cheek from Milo.

“it’s not like that, miles. you’re were never here for her. you’re always away, doing your spider-man shit, leaving me to take care of her instead. so don’t act all pissed at me when you’re the one who’s never here for her.” milo said truthfully since you weren’t here to listen to their conversation.

“you’re my brother, milo! out of all the people who would do this, you’re the very last person i expected to do this to me!” miles shouted as they continued to fight.

“and you’re a horrible boyfriend to her, so i guess we’re even!” milo shouted back.

the two began to wrestle on the ground as you waited in the living room. thankfully, miles and milo’s parents, jeff and rio, came along with their uncle aaron.

“hija..” rio went to hug you.

“are you okay, where-“ rio was cut off as soon as she saw her two sons come out of milo’s room and begin to fight in the living room.

this was a sign for the two men to get ahold of each boy. jeff held back miles as uncle aaron held milo back from fighting each other.

the fighting stopped as the twins were separated from each other. they were both breathing heavily, as they tried to catch their breaths. there was a tense atmosphere in the room now, as the two brothers looked at each other in anger still. milo looked at his brother, with a look of pure malice and hatred in his eyes whilst miles looked back at him with disgust and betrayal.

they had both gotten some good hits in during the fight, and they wouldn’t back down now… it was clear that they were not done with each other, and that this was far from over...

“los dos, ¡dejen de hacerlo, en este instante! (both of you, stop it, right now!)” rio yelled as the twins stopped trying to get out of the grasps, continuing to glare at each other.

you looked at the situation in horror as you realized what you had done. you were the cause of this whole fight between your boyfriend and his brother…

“cariño.. i suggest you go home for now, alright? but are you okay, are you hurt anywhere?” rio asked you as she held your hands while leading you to the front door.

while rio was doing that, both miles and milo used this advantage of trying to get past their father and uncle aaron but they wouldn’t budge.

“hey, hey, miles! stop!” jeff tried to control him.

“milo, milo! chill, man!” uncle aaron made sure he wouldn’t get past him.

“i’m fine…i think.” you said, as you brushed off your clothes.

“i just…i just need some time to think…” you said as you left their apartment and start to head back home.

just when rio closed the door, anger contorted up in her face as she walked back into the living room, still seeing the boys against jeff and aaron’s hold. the two stopped struggling against their hold as soon as they saw their mother coming back.

“sería mejor que uno de vosotros empezara a hablar...(one of you better start talking..)” rio said threateningly as she sat down, crossing her arms and waiting for one of the twins to talk.

miles and milo remained in a standoff, their bodies panting heavily and their eyes full of anger. they were both trying to take deep breaths, as the tension continued to hang in the air. milo was the first to speak up, as he looked at his twin brother.

“what i’m saying is true, you’re just in denial. you’re never here for her.”

miles ignored him, as he continued to glare at him.

“i know what she wants…” his voice was filled with malice now, as he spoke again. “and it’s not you.”

“oh, screw yourself, milo! you’re full of shit!” miles snapped back as he tried to get past his father’s grasp to punch milo but jeff wouldn’t let him.

“well maybe if you actually treated her like you loved her, she wouldn't be so willing to cheat.” milo clenched his fists, as he tried to break free from his uncle aaron’s grasp.

“ ’Lo, that’s enough.” uncle aaron scolded him as he felt milo use all his strength to get to miles.

milo looked up at uncle aaron, his eyes still full of malice.

“no, it’s not. not until i’ve seen him on the floor, it’s not.” milo sneered, as he glared at miles with hate and disdain in his eyes.

“miles, we both know you’re a terrible boyfriend. y/n’s better off without you.” milo taunted as he saw miles shaking with rage.

“nah.. you planned all of this.. you lured her into some kind of trap and made her want to cheat! she was fine before you came into our business!” miles yelled back.

“she was fine? are you serious? she was a mess, and it was all because of you. you were never there for her. she needed someone who could give her the attention she wanted, and that’s exactly what i did, dumbass. now, she's better off without you.” milo shot back, as he continued to struggle against uncle aaron.

“she realized that she deserves better than you, miles.”

that statement angered miles to the max as he was trying to use all his strength to get past his father and beat the shit out of milo right now.

“you know i’m right, miles! you’ve been taking her for granted, and she's finally gotten sick of it… she doesn’t love you anymore.” milo let out a chuckle, as he smiled mischievously at his twin.

“¡cállate! both of you!” rio yelled making both twins to stop struggling against jeff and uncle aaron.

miles and milo both looked at their mother, as they finally stopped struggling. they were both exhausted now, their bodies covered in sweat and their faces full of rage. they were both furious, and they were not going to let this go so easily.

jeff and aaron distanced them away from each other, while still standing infront of them, seeing the twin brothers continue to glare at each other. they knew that this was far from over, and that the twins were going to go at it again the first chance they got..

“i’m going ask each of you a question, okay? miles, i’m going to start with you since your older. why did you start fighting your brother?” rio looked at miles, expecting an answer from him.

miles sighed, as he looked at his mother. he was exhausted from the fight, and he didn't want to answer the question, but he knew he had to.

“because i caught milo kissing my girlfriend, mamá..” his voice was filled with anger as his eyes turned to milo.

“he ruined my relationship with y/n! he didn’t deny it either, so i know he’s only after her for one thing. and she deserves better than that.” miles accused milo of using y/n, this led to milo being offended since he sincerely liked y/n.

“don’t even start, you pric—” milo was cut off by his mother.

“milo.. now, why would you do that to your brother? you know julia and miles are dating so why?” rio asked, wanting to hear out both boys and trying to understand both sides.

“he doesn’t treat her properly, mamá. he never puts her first in their relationship, and she deserves better than him.” milo glared at miles.

“now, miles. is what milo saying true? did you never make time for her?” rio asked.

miles was taken aback by this question. he hadn’t expected his mother to ask him about this, and he wasn’t sure how to answer it. well he couldn’t tell her that he was spider-man. that would lead to more drama.

now miles was furious, and he didn’t want to admit to her that he had been a terrible boyfriend to you…

“it’s true…” miles finally admitted, as he looked at his mother with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“i have been a bad boyfriend, and i’m sorry…but what he did still isn’t right.”

“i understand that.” rio nodded as she turned to milo.

“now, milo.. what made you think kissing your brother’s girlfriend was going to be okay?” rio asked him.

milo was quiet for a moment, as he realized that he didn’t have a good answer for this. he had let his malice and jealousy get in the way, and he had done something that he shouldn’t have done. He looked at his mother with shame and regret.

“i… i liked her first, ma..”

"it doesn't matter whether you liked her first or if i did. guess who she went out with first, me—"

“miles.” rio said sternly, giving him a warning look, making miles shut up.

“jeff.. aaron..” rio moved both men aside, taking each one of milo and miles’ hands.

milo and miles let their mother lead them like kids that had been caught fighting. they both looked at her with shame and embarrassment. they knew that they had messed up, and they were not sure what to do now. they were both ready to do whatever their mother said, even if it meant being grounded or punished in some way..

“ustedes dos son hermanos, ¿entiendes? (you two are brothers, you understand?) you’re each other’s flesh and blood and i don’t want to see my boys fight like this ever again..” rio gripped onto their hands tightly as she began to tear up.

“the two of you have been there each other ever since you were kids and you depended on each other.. i don’t want that to stop because of all this drama, okay?” her voice started to break as she looked at both her sons.

milo and miles both went silent, as they looked at their mother crying. they had never seen her so upset, and they had never been so ashamed of their actions before. they were both ready to make things right, and they would do anything to ensure that this didn't happen again... milo looked up at his mother, as he wiped his own tears away. he was sorry for what he had done, and he was ready to make things right...

“lo siento, mamá... we won’t fight like that no more..”

“i’m sorry too, ma.. we'll never fight again, we promise.”

it was silent for a moment. milo looked at miles, as he spoke softly to him.

“miles.. i'm sorry... i was upset and jealous cause i didn’t make my move that time... i should've never done that.”

miles let out a sigh, as he looked at milo. he didn't know what to say, as he was also overcome with emotions. he was angry, but he was also hurt and ashamed of what he had done. he wanted to forgive his twin brother, but he wasn't sure if he could...

he looked at miles nervously, as he waited for his answer.

“bro, please… i know i messed up, but i promise to never do it again. i won’t ever try to mess with you and y/n… i swear, i won’t.” milo had meant what he said, and he was ready to make things right between him and his twin.

he wanted to make things up to you, and he wasn’t going to mess this up again… the fate of their relationship was in miles’ hands now, and milo was ready to accept whatever he decided…

miles slowly nodded, as he looked milo. He wasn’t sure how to feel, as he was still hurt by what his brother had done. but he also didn’t want to hold onto that hurt, and he knew that they both needed to move on from this. he took a deep breath, as he let go of his anger and resentment and forgave milo. he knew that they both had made mistakes, and he wasn’t going to let this tear them apart anymore...

“yeah, let’s move on from this..” miles said as he extended his hand to milo. milo took it as he felt miles give him a hug, giving the hug back as well.

rio just looked at her two sons, happy that they have reconciled.

“as for y/n.. i feel like you two should give her some time to think. she seemed pretty shocked about everything that has happened.” rio added.

“yeah, i'll make it up to her somehow... and i’ll make it up to you too, mom... i promise. just…give me time.” milo let out a weary sigh, as he nodded in obedience.

he knew he had messed up big time, and he wasn't going to mess this up again. he was ready to make things right between him and his twin, and he was ready to do whatever it took to make up for his mistakes.

“and please.. whoever she chooses, whether it’s one of you, just be happy for each other, alright?” rio asked pleadingly, not wanting her sons to be in another fight.

both miles and milo nodded, as they let out a sigh of relief. they were both ready to move on from this whole ordeal, and they were both ready to set their differences aside for the sake of their family.*

“of course, mom... we won’t fight like this again. you have my word.” miles promised as he looked at his mother with a sincere look on his face. milo also nodded, agreeing with his twin brother. they would set their differences aside and work together to make up for what had happened.

(a week later)

you had tried her best to ignore both boys. everytime you saw miles or milo in the halls, you would turn around and go the other way just so you wouldn’t have to converse with them at all. this worried miles and milo heavily.

“oh, come on! she can’t still be angry at us…we’ve tried to apologize to her, but she just won’t listen.” miles complained to miles as they made their way down the hall towards their classes. they had both tried to apologize to you repeatedly, but you just ignored them every time. they were both frustrated since they were ready to make things right with you.

“what the hell do we do now? she won’t even look at us…” milo asked, as they both continued to walk down the hall towards their classes.

as you were walking with your friends, you saw miles and milo walking together in the corner of your eye as you began to panick.

“uh, i’ll meet you later in class, i think i left something in my locker!” you quickly said before rushing off.

“wait, y/n!” miles called out, as he and milo were both surprised to see her after all this time.

“y/n, wait!” milo called out as well as both boys tried to catch up to you and talk to you.

they didn’t want to let this go on any longer, and they were ready to make things right with you now.

“y/n, we’re sorry!” they both said in unison as they continued to chase after you. but you wouldn’t stop until you felt miles’ hand come in contact with your arm.

“let go of me, miles!” you yanked yourself off his grip harshly.

both miles and milo was surprised by this reaction, as miles let go of your arm. miles didn't want to make you uncomfortable as he stepped back and put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. he was ready to talk to her, but he didn't want to force her or make her feel like she had to speak to him. he was ready to give her space if she wanted it, and he hoped that she would be ready to talk to him at some point soon.

“i'm sorry, y/n… for never being there..” miles let out a weary sigh as he looked down at the ground with shame.

you were about to go and run, but you didn’t. you stayed in place as you looked at both boys, a sigh leaving your lips.

“no, miles.. i’m sorry.. im sorry for driving a wedge between you and milo.” you apologized.

the twins was surprised by this, as they had expected you to be angry at both of them still. they were ready to try to make it up to her, and they were happy that you seemed willing to hear them out now.

milo looked at miles as he shared a smile with his twin and let out a sigh of relief. they hoped that this was the start of them making things right between them all. milo was ready to make things up to you, and miles was ready to work together to repair your relationship with you, too.

“it’s okay, y/n.. miles and i have made up and—”

“no, it’s not okay! it was never going to be okay.. did you know how much that broke me? seeing two of the boys i love fight over.. me? are you serious?” I started to tear up.

“you two are willing to risk your brotherly relationship for someone like me..? i can’t do that to the both you, i can’t..” you shook your head.

milo felt awful as he realized how much he had hurt her. he didn't want to cause her any pain and he knew that he had been selfish and cruel in what he had done. he was ready to take the blame for everything, and he was ready to try to make things right now. He knew that you deserved better, and he was ready to make it up to her now.

“im sorry, y/n... i was being a selfish jerk, and i didn't think about how my actions would affect you…” milo looked at her sadly.

“please, y/n.. we’re not forcing you anything but please, give us a chance to never make that mistake again..” miles held your hand.

“you’re right.. you both won’t ever make that mistake again because.. i can’t be in a relationship with either one of you..” you revealed, taking your hand away as you turned to face somwhere else.

“whether it’s a friendly relationship or not.. i cant risk a sibling relationship like that ever again.. i’m sorry.” you walked away, feeling deeply remorseful for ending your relationship with both twins.

even if you wanted to stay just as friends, you knew you couldn’t. it would’ve been too selfish of you.

both boys were devastated by this, as they both let out a sigh of defeat. they knew you were right, and they couldn’t argue with you even if they wanted to. they were ready to accept that they had made a huge mistake, and they would move on. they had lost the girl they both loved, and they were both ready to accept that now. both boys had had their chance, and they blew it.

™︎ qkopi | tumblr

#miles morales x reader #miles morales #miles x reader #miles x y/n #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #atsv miles #atsv x reader #earth 42 miles x reader

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iluvmissmaximoff · 6 months

Text

I’m confused about us?

Inspired by this mood board I made 🩷

This is basically just ooc Billy and literally doesn’t fit into the show’s storyline at all but I love me a good cowboy so I had to write about him.

Tags: Dom!Billy Sub!Reader punishments are given, spanking, smut, oral (m) lemme know if I missed any!

It’s 18 something (?? I have no clue when the show is set in) and you’re 19 when your parents decide drop you off with a man you barely know. William H Booney. They said “he’s a the son of some good friends of ours and they said he’ll straighten you right out” I don’t need straightening. You think. Geez you steel one truck and a bottle of liquor and suddenly everyone thinks your a problem. When you were first introduced you thought “hey maybe this won’t be so bad” You. Were. Wrong. Within the first 30 minutes your parents had left you, you couldn’t stand him. He came and sat down in front of your spot on his couch, Ok listen here little girl. He said, You frowned. Little girl? You thought. These are my rules. Follow them and you and me will be just fine. He smiled. No.1 please don’t steal no trucks or anything I have enough trouble with the neighbors around here I don’t need you making that worse for me. 2 Dont back talk me. There is nothing I hate more than an undisciplined girl. Your frown deeper. Though.. I guess that’s why your here isn’t it? He laughed like it was funny. You scoffed. No I’m here because my parents expect me to stay home and clean or embroider. You laugh, And that’s not something I can do every day. Oh? Speaking of that. You’re not gonna be goin out for the first two weeks. WHAT?! You said shocked. Yes mam I think it’s exactly what you need. He said patting your thigh. I need to not go outside? You asked rudely. No you need to realize you only get what given to you. Now I want you to understand if you break any of my rules you gon be goin over my knee that minute young lady. You understand? He asked. You turned red, w-what? You said hoping you misheard him. Yes mam I don’t know about y’all city people but right here when you misbehave you don’t like what happens to ya. N-no you don’t understand, my parents would never let a strange man do that to me. S-so call my daddy and he’ll tell you you’re not allowed to do that to me. You said almost confidently. Sorry sweetheart your folks were real clear I should do whatever need be to make you behave. Tears came to your eyes, but as long as you’re good you’ll be fine. You can do that right? You said to yourself.

No. No you can not.

Less than 24 hours later you found yourself over his lap, it happened because you saw some boys going on a trail ride through the window, you saw one of them had a flask. You thought how bad do I need that, you had been up since 5am thinking about Billy, how blue his eyes were how commanding his voice was (how good he’d fuck you) but that he’d probably never want you. He apparently he saw you as a little girl. Ugh I don’t like older men anyway (wrongg) you thought. As you tried to quietly sneak down the stairs and out the front door. You saw it was locked with a padlock. Shit you thought. Your eyes darted to the window. You smirked, I don’t know what he was thinking I can fit out of these windows easy. As you were lifting the window up all you saw was two hands towing over you and pushing the window back down. Your heart almost stopped. He leaned down to your ear and said. Now what do you think you’re doing little girl? He asked darkly. Uhhhh. before you could come up with an answer. He had picked you up and put you over his shoulder. You squeaked Ah! You yelled. Put me down!- he did in fact put you down… just over his lap. No! You yelled. Oh hush. No need for a tantrum now. I’m not having a tantrum! I’m a grown woman and you can’t do this t- you were cut off by him putting his hand over your mouth. You tried to wiggle your way out but he easily lifted up your skirt. And you felt a warm hand on your bottom. His hand rose, and fell quickly, alternating cheeks. If there was anyone else in the house they would have definitely heard the loud smacks! Billy was giving you. And your muffled cursing. After about 4 minutes of him doing this you were about to cry. You tried to get away but to no avail. He easily pulled you back to position and gave you two extra hard slaps. And kept going. He finished soon after you started crying. Your bottom stung. Nobody had ever done this to you before. It didn’t hurt that bad but the humiliation hurt He brought you back up and sat you on his lap, you quickly adverted your eyes down as to not make eye contact. But he harshly grabbed your face smooshing your cheeks together, listen, he said dominantly like he was scolding a child. This or worse is gon happen every time you disobey me , you let out a light sob just thinking about it. So I’ll let you decide whether or not you want this kind of stuff to keep happening.

No I really do not you thought.

It was two days later when you ended up in this position again. Billy had jokingly bought you an embroidery kit. And you had not so jokingly told him to fuck off. So he threatened to wash your mouth out with soap… what ? You said. I said you better watch your tongue or I’m gon have to wash your mouth out. He said dominantly. You suddenly felt very wet.. and figured what’s the worst that could happen? There are other things of yours I’d like in my mouth more sir. You said in a lustful tone, while looking up at him from your spot on the bed. Literally two seconds later he was unzipping his pants, he used your mouth roughly holding your hair in a ponytail. After he had came in your mouth and regained himself. You stood up and grabbed his shoulders, pressing yourself against him your body asking him for more- huh? You thought as he quickly sat and pulled you down and back over his knee. W-wait Billy- you tried to protest as he cut he off. Hush. Was all you heard before your skirt was lifted and smacks rained down on your poor bottom. “Luckily” for you it was a lighter one than your first but you were still confused. He was spanking you like a disobedient child. Not like a woman that had just sucked him off. “I’m confused about us” you thought.

This is it for today I’m totally planning on making this a series so request anything that would make sense in the story line once I get a few I’ll write part two so the more yall request the faster I’ll write. Also if you guys want to make any mood boards more this id love it! Also my request have been a bit wonky lately so if it doesn’t seem to be working just dm me please! Thanks for reading!

#coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #billy the kid #billy the kid x reader #billy the kid x you #spank me daddy #sir kink #the ballad of songbirds and snakes

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wordstome · 7 months

Text

now that we don't talk

I cannot be your friend, so I pay the price of what I lost And what it cost Now that we don't talk

alpha colonel König x beta ex-lover reader

2nd person, no y/n, she/her pronouns, reader's callsign is Eden, reader speaks French, omegaverse, exes to lovers, fraternization

2.2k words

tw: none

I swear to God one day I'll write something that doesn't involve that big hooded freak. But today is not that day.

Shoutout to loganlermanstanaccount here on Tumblr, who I won't tag. The bullet point headcanons with written parts interspersed format is from their excellent college roommate Miguel O'Hara post, which became their fic Rigor Mortis. I highly recommend both!

Also, excuse the absolutely butchered military content. I'm sure none of this is how it works in real life, but alas, this is fanfiction, not a research paper. Reader serves a Laswell-like role, but I refrained from labeling her as CIA even though I do call her a station chief. For the purposes of this fic, she's the voice in the operatives' ear during ops. We're playing a bit fast and loose with the terminology here.

You’re a highly skilled intelligence agent and operative handler.

You’ve spent most of your life dedicated to your career: moving through the ranks, proving yourself, refusing to let anything stand in the way of your ambitions.

You’ve done some things you aren’t proud of, but always for the right reason. Or the reason that made the most cold, logical sense. Even when your heart tells you otherwise. Nobody in this line of work has clean hands, after all.

You’ve always done what needs to be done. For everyone’s best interest.

Today marks the first day of your collaboration with a PMC called KorTac. You’re hunting down a homegrown cult turned out-of-control terrorist cell.

You haven’t had much experience working with mercenaries, but in terms of hardened war criminals, KorTac’s people are quite well mannered.

Not that you had expected them to be rude and discourteous, but, well. You are an outsider. They haven’t necessarily embraced you, but their reception was nice enough.

You’ve got a meeting with their commander, but you can’t quite find the room you’re supposed to be meeting in. Not a great first impression to make, but luckily, someone takes pity on you.

He introduces himself. Korean. Callsign Horangi.

“You’ll get used to the layout of the base,” he says as you follow him through winding hallways.

“I hope so,” you reply. “I’ll be here for a while." You study the walls, the signs and numbers on the doors, trying your best to memorize everything.

"Do you know your commander well?" you ask. You're not the world's biggest fan of small talk, but you may as well know what you're walking into.

"König? Yeah, we've been close ever since he joined up." Horangi says, leading you into a long hallway. "He's a good guy. A little intense, but don't let that get to you. He's just getting the job done."

"We'll get along if he's competent." You can respect a man who forgoes pleasantries for making sure the shit gets shoveled.

"You don't have to worry about that." Horangi stops and holds the door open for you. "After you."

You study him for just a moment before entering the room. He's curt and to the point. Not bad-looking, either. Hopefully you'll get more chances to—

Your heart nearly stops.

KorTac's commander is facing away from the doorway, shuffling through some papers by the looks of it. But you would know him from any angle. The set of his shoulders, the way his stance is at ease but never truly relaxed, the way his hair curls at the nape of his neck.

You have to force yourself to step into the room. And when you do, he turns around.

You're vaguely aware of Horangi stepping around you to get into the room, but that's happening somewhere far away from the headspace you occupy right now. By the way König's eyes widen as they meet yours, he's in the same place too.

He hasn't aged so much as he's gotten more tired. He never did sleep enough, but now he looks like he hasn't gotten a sound night's rest in a long time. He's put-together, but there's a haggardness to him that probably wouldn't be noticeable to anybody but you. Someone who knew him when he was younger, and in the prime of his life. Someone who used to know every scar on his body, every crease of his brow, and now hasn't seen him in more than a decade.

The man who broke your heart stands on the other end of the room, staring at you as if he's seen a ghost.

The two of you stand there for a while before Horangi's voice shakes you back to reality. "Brought the station chief, sir."

"I...see." König—you suppose that's what he calls himself nowadays, the arrogant prick—clears his throat. "Thank you, Hong-jin."

"No problem." Horangi takes a seat. "The others will be in soon."

Horangi seems like a perceptive enough guy. Can he tell that the room feels several degrees colder? You pull a chair out, the furthest one from König's position possible, and ignore the hurt that briefly flashes across his face as you sit down.

The meeting goes well. It's just an opportunity for you to formally introduce yourself to the KorTac operators you'll primarily be working with for the next few months.

You can tell they're a close knit group by the easy way they interact with each other: they've worked together for a while.

König, too, is part of them, which must be how they pick up on the chilly dynamic between the two of you. Some of them are just puzzled. For most of them, it raises their hackles.

It doesn't matter to you. You can barely focus on getting through the meeting without feeling like you're going to faint.

It's absurd. You're not some delicate Regency-era lady. You're a hardened military officer. But it makes no difference.

It doesn't matter how long it's been, it seems. He's still the only one who can make you feel like this.

You can't get out of there fast enough after the meeting has concluded. Not only are the others shooting you suspicious looks, but you've spent too long in his presence. Any longer, and you don't know how you're going to keep your composure.

But you can't escape him. Of course not. Why did you ever think otherwise? You hear him call for you, and you walk faster. But it's futile.

This hallway is smaller, narrower, less open. Nobody's around to watch when he slams you against the wall to stop your hasty retreat. Nobody's around to see the way you sway in his hold, overwhelmed by the smell of him all around you. You're bathed in it, the overpowering presence of him.

"We need to talk." he demands.

"We just did. Meeting's over," you shoot back, making a paltry attempt to wriggle out of his grasp. He loosens his hold on you, but you're still trapped between him and the wall. No exit.

"I didn't plan this, in case you're wondering."

"That much was obvious." He's let his hair grow out longer, you notice at the most inopportune time possible. It suits him, you think.

He sighs in frustration. "If we're going to work together, we have to be civil."

"Don't worry. I wouldn't expose how much of a scoundrel you are in front of your precious squad," you bite.

You feel a twinge of smug satisfaction as regret settles into his expression. Too little, too late.

"I don't want it to be like this, either," he murmurs. "Ignoring and avoiding each other."

"You don't get to tell me how to act."

"You're right. But it's been a long time. Can't we try to get along? Not for my sake, but...yours."

"Well that's not condescending at all."

"That's not what I meant. I know my team. If you're walking around resenting me openly like that, they won't trust you. And they need to, if you're working with us."

He's right, and you know it. But there's that deep instinct inside you, older than your bloodline, waking up after a long slumber. It wants him, snapping at the bit to give into him and do whatever he asks of you. The urge will consume you if you don't fight it every step of the way.

You glare up at him, hoping you come off as brimming with resentment instead of desire. "As long as you and your team stay professional, I can too."

He's not satisfied with that answer, but it's all you're going to give him.

"Fine." He steps away from you, and you pour all your willpower into commanding your body to stay still. To not chase after his closeness. You sway on the spot, dizzy with his scent after having gone so long without it.

"This hallway is a dead end, by the way."

You try, you really do. But it's hard to be around him without feeling the urge to touch him, to press yourself against him and inhale him like the most destructive drug possible.

Your only recourse is to stay as physically far away from him as possible.

You do your best to ingratiate yourself with the other operators. You and Calisto are fast friends: she's got a breezy confidence to her that's quite refreshing. It also doesn't hurt that you speak French, as well. There's a bit of kinship felt whenever the two of you are holding a conversation none of the others can understand.

Horangi's a different story, though. The initial courtesy he showed you is a bit more clipped, now that it's clear something is up between you and König.

You can't believe you missed it the first time, the way König's smell is all over him. It really has been too long.

The two of them must be pretty close. You give up trying not to fixate on the idea.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop on them, but you were curious. Even more curious when you hear your name mentioned.

"It's pretty clear you and Eden know each other. None of us are stupid."

You freeze in your tracks. The door is closed, but you can hear Horangi's voice, loud and clear in the room behind it.

"It's not relevant. She's just here to do a job."

"I think it's pretty relevant that she gets up and leaves whenever you enter a room, regardless of what she's doing. She can't get away from you fast enough."

You give a surreptitious look at your surroundings, then lean down slightly, pressing your ear to the door.

"You're not going to give this up, are you?"

"Hell fucking no."

You hear König sigh. "Fine. We knew each other before I joined KorTac. Back when I was in the Jagdkommando."

Do you want to hear this? Your painful history, relayed to a near stranger? Horangi's not a stranger to him, that's for sure.

"And?"

"We were...involved."

"You and a beta? Never took you for the type."

"Well, neither did I. But she was...special. Smart, pretty, deadeye with a knife. Wouldn't give me the time of day, of course. I was obsessed with her."

"Naturally."

"Give me a fucking break, okay?"

"Can't wait to hear how this ended."

"Not...great. I was a total dick."

You can say that again, you think.

"I was young. Real dumbass who thought he was hot shit."

"You still aren't."

"Shut the fuck up." Something twinges inside you at the hearty laughter the two of them share. You missed that laugh.

"Despite everything, it was the most stable relationship I've ever been in. We looked out for each other. She knew me better than some of my family does."

"How did you fuck that up, then?"

"I got too comfortable. Started thinking I could do better. God, what a fucking idiot I was. I loved her like crazy, but I didn't realize how good I had it until it was gone."

"She left you?"

"No. I was the one who ended things. In the worst way possible, too. I told her the relationship wasn't going to go anywhere, that we were never going to be a serious thing."

"Ouch. Why not?"

You squeeze your eyes shut. You remember that night, like a shard of glass buried in your chest. As hard as you tried to forget, you'll never forget the way you felt. Like the world was ending.

You'll never forget the decision you had to make.

"I told her I couldn't see myself with a beta long-term."

"...that's fucked up."

"I know. I know. I was too caught up in that shitty macho alpha mindset. I was fucking ravenous back then, and I thought only an omega could give me what I needed."

"I get it now. If I were her, I would have quit on the spot seeing you in that meeting room."

"Yeah. She's a better person than I can ever imagine being."

Well. It's nice to know he regrets it, you think. Not that it does you much good now. Quiet as a mouse, you make a quick exit before you can get caught.

You make it back to the the room you've been assigned to. They were nice enough to give you your own private quarters, something you deeply appreciate when you need to be alone with your own thoughts. Like right now.

It's a strange feeling, to sort of get closure like this. Not at the end, but at the beginning of something new. You still have to see each other. Does it help that you know how he feels? Maybe, but it doesn't ease your own guilt. In fact, it makes it worse.

You're not mad at him for telling Horangi. You're glad he did, actually. There are some secrets that cause more harm to keep than not.

You open a drawer and pull out the pill bottle, hidden underneath your other possessions, and stare at the label.

WARNING - SUPPRESSANTS. NOT TO BE USED BY ALPHAS. ONLY CONSUME UNDER PHYSICIAN SUPERVISION.

You would know.

BOOM! There you have it. (In case it wasn't clear, the suppressants are for omegas.)

@sprout-fics's omegaverse 141 headcanons series inspired me to write something based off the idea of an omega disguising themselves as a beta in the military. Please check out her series, it's great.

I was really into exploring how omegaverse dynamics can make complicated relationships even messier. I did consider writing this story without the omegaverse, but I think now it's kind of an essential element. (I also just. Want them to have crazy nasty omegaverse sex. Sue me) I can't picture König ever breaking up with someone he deeply loved and was obsessed with, unless he had a reason like that. Still not a great reason, but a little bit understandable. Eden being a disguised omega also adds a bit of spice to the exes-to-lovers arc, too: she could have just come out and told him she's not actually a beta, but she chose not to for the sake of her career. Oof. Ruthless judgement calls were made on both sides.

I put this out because this idea had me in a STRANGLEHOLD, and I just had to get it out before I burst. Hopefully my writing's still up to par 😅 As for Kingdom Come, part iii may take a little while longer because a lot is going to happen in it, so I hope this can tide you guys over until then.

As usual, comments and feedback are always appreciated! I would love to talk about this au more. And again, if you'd like to be tagged, drop a reply. And if you're in the taglist and would like to be removed/only tagged for Kingdom Come, please let me know!

@crowbird @poohkie90 @cumikering @iytatsworld @papaver-decervicatus @anxietyrain @riotakire @ax0lotly @cookiepie111 @kacchasu @no1runawaymilkdad @chthonian-spectre @backwards-readings @yxllowtxpe @garbau @hexqueensupreme @queenthorin1 @violetstyless @her-majesty-theking @vegan-peppermint @peonytarian @ghostslittlegf @euuuuuuun @e1x03 @kokonoiwife @deaddainish @dragonfang @teehee-47 @catluvwr @keiva1000 @waves-against-a-cliff @channelsoph @cutiecusp @itsagrimm @dins-riduur-anthe @mantishymns @lexuria

#könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #cod #cod mw2 #call of duty #mw2 #konig mw2 #könig mw2 #fic: now that we don't talk

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mybelovedwoo · 1 year

Text

i'm glad i have you with me

bff!san x f!reader

fluff, comfort, childhood best friends to lovers (slow burn) / wc:1.3k

warnings: cheating, crying, swear words, cuddling

note: so tell me how you liked this one. i am a bit nervous because this is my first non-wooyoung fic, but i really enjoyed writing it. please stay tuned in the future for other members' fics too. if you want to be tagged in any of my fics you can apply here <3

san masterlist - main masterlist

Sitting on a couch at a house party all alone with people you don't know, there's literally any other place you would rather be. Originally you came with you're boyfriend Seungjun, but you haven't seen him in hours. You weren't much of a party person, but this time you accompanied him, because he begged you for days for it, but now you are starting to regret it honestly.

You take out your phone from your back pocket, but before you open it, you look around once more to see if your boyfriend pops up somewhere, you are out of luck, so after you unlocked it, the first thing you open is your messages. Your fingers linger over Seungjun's name, but it says he's been unavailable for hours, no shit Sherlock, you think. Instead, you scroll down a bit and open the messages for your best friend, San.

You know well that he probably not gonna answer, because it's Saturday night, and he is most definitely out with his friends too. You don't care, you try it anyway, he is your best chance to rescue you out of this hell. "Hey, San." is the first you send, you're not sure what to write him, you don't want to bother him. "What are you doing?" you wait a few minutes, but he's not responding, his phone is probably on mute. "I'm kinda bored, I don't know where Seungjun went. I need your rescue ㅠㅠ." Nothing, no response. You feel really annoyed at this point, but not because San, poor boy did nothing wrong, it is just a bad moment. "You know what I'm gonna look for Seungjun. Don't worry and have fun." You lock your phone and put it back in your back pocket.

You look around the kitchen, then in the yard, but you don't see him anywhere. You are getting kinda worried that maybe he left you there. At last, you walk up the stairs, the hallway is full of kissing couples, who must have only met tonight. The moment you enter one of the rooms, you regret everything you did until now. Your boyfriend was there with another girl you had never seen before, doing things you never expected him to do with anyone except for you.

You didn't know what to do in the big shock, but you didn't speak up, maybe they didn't even notice you or just didn't care. But you turned around and hurried down the stairs, unable to control your tears. You just needed some fresh air, you had to get out of this place immediately. You crashed out of the entrance of the house and fell down to the stairs. Sitting there you didn't even think, you were already calling San. This is urgent now.

Your phone didn't even ring for two seconds when they already answered it. "Hey Y/N, is everything okay? I'm sorry my phone was on mute I haven't seen your texts. Have you found Seungjun? Wait, are you crying?" You couldn't even speak, though you wanted to tell him everything. "Y/N please say something! What happened? Are you hurt?" You took three big breaths to calm yourself down enough to talk a few words. "He cheated on me. Could you come to pick me up?" You didn't have to say more. "I've already sat in the car the minute I saw your messages, don't worry. I'll be there soon."

He wasn't lying, he got there in record time. You watched as he pulled up with his car to the driveway of the house. When he gets out of the car, is only when you get up from the stairs you've been sitting on. San rushed towards you at a high speed, so you didn't have time to move even an inch in his way.

"Where is that dickhead?" He asked with blunt words when he got to you. He seemed really angry, maybe even angrier than you, you had never in your life seen him like this before. You shrugged, implying that you don't know and don't care either. But that was not enough for him. "Is he still inside there?" You started to get a little worried.

"I think so. But please don't make a scene, let's just go home." You pulled him through his forearm when he already started walking to the entrance. "Wait for me in the car, okay? I'll be quick, I'm not gonna do anything he doesn't deserve, I swear." He said to you, while he stroked your face with his right hand. You hesitated, but who are you to tell him what to do, so you went up to his car and sat on the passenger side for like five minutes.

At this point you didn't care much about waiting a little longer, that's what you did all night long. San slammed the door behind himself, and somehow he looked even angrier than before. He got in the car next to you and when he looked at you his expression softened. "What did you do?" You asked him with a sobby voice. "I just showed him where he belonged. Let's just say he went swimming." You look down at his hands and you see it's all bruised up.

He started the engine. "San, I don't wanna go home. What if he comes there?" You didn't know what to do, since he had a key to your apartment. You couldn't bare to see his face once more.

"We're going to my place." He didn't even hesitate. You slept at his place many times now, but not since you started dating Seungjun. San was worried when you found out you are going to different colleges, he was afraid that you wouldn't spend as much time together as you used to. But you thought that was nonsense since you have been best friends since you were very little, you grew up together.

He never liked Seungjun, he always said he didn't deserve you. But he was your first boyfriend, and you were blinded with love, at least that's what you thought. Looking back, you also know that he didn't treat you well, but you don't know that when you're in it.

Entering San's apartment, all you could think about was that you needed to get some sleep asap. Weariness hit you the moment you got hit by the heat of the comfortable room. You didn't want to bother San with your presence, you don't know what plans he had.

You've been quite comfortable in here, so you decided to lie down on the couch in the living room. "What are you doing?" Asked San, entering the room with a glass of water in his hand.

"Sleeping. I'm really tired." You mumbled, not able to speak properly.

"You can't sleep here. Go to my room, there is my bed. I'll sleep on the couch." You sat up at his statement. "No, you can't. This is your place." There's no way you letting him sleep out here in the cold living room when he has his own warm bed just a room away. "Let's sleep both in the bed. I think it's big enough for the both of us." You said. It's not like this is the first time you sleep in the same bed, you always fell asleep next to each other when you were little.

"Are you sure?" He hesitated. "We are not so small anymore." The joke made you both laugh, it made his heart clench to see you happy again.

After you took a warm shower, he gave you a big shirt of his and a jogger pant that was definitely too big for you. You got under the cover, San was already there, lying down. He turned off the lamp on the bedside table, which illuminated the whole room until now.

As soon as it got dark your eyes started watering again, you remember everything that happened today. All of a sudden, you feel a pair of hands slip on your waist. San hugged you tightly from behind. "I got you." He whispered in your ears. He didn't let go of you all night long, you woke up in the same position the next morning.

#san #ateez #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez imagine #choi san #san x reader #ateez san #ateez san fluff #childhood best friends to lovers #friends to lovers #slowburn romance #san x you #san comfort #bff san #san imagine #ateez fanfic

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avatar-anna · 1 year

Note

hi! could i request something in which y/n and harry are childhood best friends and one day harry confesses that he is in love with her but y/n rejects him because she doesn’t think she’s good enough for him so she lies and says she doesn’t love him so that he will move on and find someone better, but instead he still lines for her and eventually she tells him the truth and they end up together? ty!

this is about as smutty as i get so...enjoy!

"I—You what?"

Y/n felt like her stomach had dropped all the way to her feet. She felt like she was glitching, like her brain couldn't compute her life as she was living it. Harry was standing in front of her outside her house, jade green eyes wide and earnest as he implored her to respond. His hair, which now curled all the way down to his shoulders, looked unkempt, like he'd been running a stressful hand through it the whole way to your parents' house.

Harry smiled, a small hopeful one that looked like he didn't even know he was doing it. "I love you. In—In like a not-just-a-friend kind of way. I know we've been friends since we could walk and that this might make things complicated, but I just had to tell you before I left for tour."

It was safe to say Y/n was speechless. All her life, she never expected that she would be in this position. Harry was her best friend, the boy she'd grown up with and did everything together. Until his career took off massively, of course. But even then Y/n and Harry considered each other best friends. It was all she ever thought they would be.

"I don't know what to say," Y/n finally said. Part of her wanted to run back into the house, another wanted to run over to Harry and launch herself at him. But her feet seemed to be rooted to the floor, frozen as Harry's confidence wavered.

"That...doesn't seem like a promising reaction," he said, trying to laugh it off. But you knew him, and she could already feel her heart breaking as his own closed itself off to her. "I—It's okay if you don't feel the same, I just—I just couldn't keep it a secret anymore."

Y/n bit her tongue, keeping a lid on what she actually wanted to say, what her heart was practically beating out of her chest to say. "I'm sorry."

Harry's face didn't fall, not in front of her. No, he was too good for that. He would never make Y/n feel bad, not if he could help it. She knew good and well that he would wait until his back was turned or he was in his car to let his face betray how he really felt. And she knew how he was feeling. She felt the exact same.

Since she could make sense of complex feelings, Y/n had been in love with Harry. She loved him when he got her in trouble for passing notes in grade school, she loved him when they exploded flour all over his mum's kitchen when they tried to make a cake for her brother's birthday. She loved him when he made her sit through his band rehearsals, and even when he auditioned for the X-Factor. And she continued to love him despite his other relationships and breakups and everything in between.

"I mean, there was a fifty-fifty chance you'd say you didn't feel the same, right? I knew that," he said. "I just feel like I wasted so much time, and—Shit, I had a whole speech planned and now I guess I don't need it."

Harry was always better than her, in so many ways. Y/n had always been the pale moon to his bright sun. He would get invited to things, and she would tag along because he asked if she could come too. She sat backstage while he performed for the whole world. Y/n had appreciated Harry as a friend growing up, had cherished his companionship, but in recent years she realized she was dead weight. As his friend, Y/n traveled the world, met the most interesting people, made the most amazing memories. Harry did it all for her, and what did she do for him, exactly? Harry deserved more, deserved better. No matter how much she loved him or how long, the best thing she could do as his friend was let him be with someone better.

"Harry, I—"

"No, it's fine, um...Listen, I know the next thing I'm supposed to say is that we can still be friends after this, but I think I might need some time."

"Of—Of course."

For the first time since they'd known each other, neither of them knew what to say. The last time Y/n could recall them not speaking was when she got her period for the first time and she was too embarrassed to talk to Harry. She had a feeling they wouldn't be talking for longer than a day now.

four months later

It wasn't uncommon for Y/n to not see Harry, but this time the distance felt different, quieter. There were no long text chains, silly Snapchat videos, no phone calls just before he had to go onstage. Her only contact with Harry was through his occasional Instagram posts or talk show appearances. She knew that was coming, Harry had told her plain and simple that he would need some time, but she didn't think the hole in her heart would ache so terribly.

Even when they were apart, Y/n could always count on him to be there for her. Now they were practically strangers. It was her fault, of course, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

"You're an idiot," Gemma said over the phone. Y/n had been avoiding Harry's family like the plague the last few months. She'd gotten away with it, probably because Harry wouldn't want to talk about what happened, either, but he must've, and now his older sister wouldn't leave Y/n alone.

"I'm looking at the bigger picture here, Gem," she said.

"What bigger picture? The only one I see is the two of you being disgustingly in love and everyone back home having to see it at Christmas."

It was embarrassing to say, even if it was the truth. "He's... He's outgrown me. There are people who would fit into his life much better than—"

"Really? This is about him being famous?" Gemma asked incredulously. "God, you really are an idiot sometimes, Y/n."

"Maybe, but I know he can do better," was all you could think of to say. "He'll get over it."

He'll get over me, she thought glumly.

Y/n heard Gemma's long, exasperated sigh. "Oh yeah? Is that what you think?" she asked, voice sharper now. "I don't know what you're afraid of, Y/n, but Harry is in love with you. He doesn't have a crush, he doesn't just want to have sex with you, he is in love with you. And you have been in love with my little brother for years. So pull your head out of your ass and tell him before he resents you for breaking his—"

Gemma's scolding paused, though Y/n wasn't really sure why. It was definitely deserved. She needed to hear it, especially from someone close to Harry. They hadn't spoken since he came to her parents' house to tell her he loved her, and she perhaps hopefully assumed that he would be okay afterwards. Hearing that he wasn't made Y/n feel worse, but it also made her realize that maybe she and Harry could work.

"Hey, I have to go," Gemma said in a rush.

"Why? What's—"

Y/n couldn't even get anything else out before the line went dead. She looked down at her phone, utterly confused. "Hope everything's okay," she murmured before going back to staring at the TV in front of her. She'd been doing a lot of that recently.

Later that night, Y/n was in her room getting ready for bed. She applied all her serums, and spent some extra time with her face roller, trying to ease the stress of her conversation with Gemma out of her forehead. As she did so, Y/n considered herself in the mirror.

She was pretty, she supposed. Not beautiful, like the models Harry dated or was friends with. She remembered feeling so intimidated and so insecure the first time Harry invited her out to meet some of his "industry friends." But now she was okay with the fact that she wasn't exotic looking or had fluttery eyelashes or a toned stomach. Y/n knew how to enhance the features she did have and was perfectly fine with not dating outrageously attractive individuals.

As she was putting crescent-shaped masks beneath her eyes, Y/n heard pounding on her front door. Startled, she carefully went downstairs, peeking through the peephole before opening it. Her eyes widened when she saw who was on the other side.

"Harry? What are you doing here?"

"Why did you tell me you didn't feel the same?" he said, not bothering with an explanation. "You stood there as I poured my heart out to you, and, what? Weren't brave enough to say it back?"

"I—"

"I just don't understand why you would just wouldn't say it if you feel the same way," he continued. "Do—Do you think it was easy for me to admit that I was in love with you? Because it wasn't. But I didn't anyway. I just—I just don't understand—"

"I was afraid, okay?" Y/n finally said. She couldn't stand hearing her best friend be so upset with her. "I've—I have...loved you. For as long as I can remember," she admitted, her hands shaking as she spoke. "Since we were kids, you know? And I knew...I knew you didn't think of me that way back then. And then you become this person that everyone loves, and I—I'm not like them, Harry. I'm not."

Harry took a couple steps forward, toward where Y/n was standing in the doorway of her home. He didn't look as angry as he did before, the harsh crease between his brow easing to a soft furrow. "Like who?"

"Don't make me say it," Y/n said. She felt ridiculous enough explaining it to herself. She wasn't like his model girlfriends or heiress companions or artist friends. She was Harry's friend from the small town he grew up in.

But she didn't have to say anything. Harry had known Y/n long enough to realize what she was thinking without her having to say a word. She was honestly surprised he never discovered how she felt about him all these years.

"You really think I'm that shallow?" he said, sounding hurt.

"You deserve someone who's from—who can—"

"I deserve to be with the person I love," Harry told her. "Stop trying to dictate how I feel. Just let it happen, Y/n love."

Harry's voice took on a tone Y/n didn't recognize. It was soft, delicate. Like a caress. And then he did caress her, one knuckle grazing all the way down the side of her face from her temple to her chin. He held her there, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip while he searched for the answer to a question she didn't even know he was asking. Y/n felt breathless as Harry looked down at her, his gaze heavy lidded as he took in every inch of her face. She caught the nearly imperceptible smile as he looked at the patches beneath her eyes, but his expression turned into something that made her stomach turn into knots when they finally reached her mouth.

When he began to lean down, Y/n froze. She'd wanted this so bad for so long, had sabotaged herself and Harry into thinking it wasn't possible. But she didn't stop him, didn't move out of the way or turn her head to the side or tell him not to. Just let it happen, he'd said. So she did.

"Are we really doing this?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"I—oh—I really want to. Please, Harry."

"Tell me how you want me, love."

"I..."

Y/n was slightly embarrassed by how quickly Harry had seemed to light her entire body on fire. When they made it to her bedroom, he was all over her—kissing whatever skin was exposed while his hands rid her of her clothes. And she let him, eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open the whole time. Harry was relentless as he kissed a collar of bruises around her throat, one hand bracing himself above her while the other cupped her breast so casually, like he'd done it for years.

It was hard to imagine that this was what Y/n was cheating herself of when she told him she didn't love him four months ago. No one has ever made her feel this good, and they hadn't even done much of anything yet.

But in the haze of her own pleasure, she wanted to make sure that Harry felt as good as she did. He asked her how she wanted him, and now that she'd taken a minute to think, she knew.

"Lie down for me," she said.

"You sure?" Harry asked, understanding what she meant.

Y/n merely nodded before easing him down against the bed with a gentle hand to his chest. She held his face in her hand, looking down at him and admiring the face she'd loved forever. He probably had somewhere to be, and yet he was here. With her. She kissed his forehead, then worked her way down, down, down. To his nose and lips, to his jaw and the elegant slope of his neck, to his chest, where her stomach flipped when she felt it beating hard in his chest. She kissed his stomach and all the tattoos on his torso, each hip bone and the waistband of his black briefs, and the bulge in them that was becoming harder and harder to ignore. But she continued on, kissing his thighs and all around them, unable to stop herself from making one little mark in the sensitive flesh.

"Y/n."

Harry was patient, his pants and breathy groans encouraging. When Y/n had had enough, she dragged her nose all the way back up to his underwear and began to tug them down, easing him out of them and tossing them unceremoniously off the bed.

And then she continued kissing him, loving him the way she'd dreamed about late at night more times than she cared to admit. Her focus zeroed in on Harry, on the sole objective of his pleasure. Nothing else mattered more than making him feel better than anyone had ever made him feel. Y/n got lost in it—in the noises he made, and the feel of him in her mouth, and the dull graze of her nails on the insides of his thighs.

"Y/n."

Harry's voice sounded strained as his hand reached for her hair, his grip gentle but firm enough to get her attention. She almost didn't want to stop, but she eventually did, smiling sheepishly when she met his gaze.

"What?"

"I don't think I'm going to last, and I—I need to—"

"Oh." A blush stained her cheeks.

"So get over here. Please."

Y/n crawled over to him, but not before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. She was about to awkwardly ask Harry if he wanted to be on top or not when he grabbed her chin a little harshly, pulling her lips down to his.

Every kiss until now had been slow, sensual, passionate but delicate. This one was bruising, toe-curling. Harry's tongue pushed its way into Y/n's mouth, his hand gripped firmly in her hair at the nape of her neck. She didn't even have the chance to whine or whimper, as he devoured each one in a kiss. His teeth dug into her lip, he sucked her tongue into his mouth, he pinched the inside of her thigh and soothed it over with his thumb. And all Y/n could think was that she wanted more.

"Promise me," she managed to get out. "Promise me you're mine." Y/n didn't think she could be with anyone else again knowing Harry made her feel this good. And she knew that part of it was because she loved him so much that enhanced every kiss, every touch of skin against skin.

"I'm yours," Harry promised, easing himself in. "I'm yours, Y/n."

He kept saying it. Over, and over, and over again. That first time, and the second and third that followed later into the night. He kept promising, like he knew she needed to hear it, needed to know that this wasn't going to be a fleeting moment.

And she said it back, mumbling into his shoulder as she clung to him, afterwards when they were just staring at each other because yes, they'd known each other forever, but they were something different. Harry was the boy she'd loved for as long as she could remember, but now he was the boy who loved her back.

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #long hair harry #lhh #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

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wingedjellyfishflight · 2 months

Text

Hunting Trip

"Have you even ever been hunting?" Ghost opens his mouth. "Animals, not people." His jaw snaps shut. "Yes, you can come with, but it's not like a mission. And you have to be nice. My dad and my brothers will be with us all week."

"I will play nice with your family, promise," he says, smirking down at you.

"I don't believe you when you say it like that, but I know it's the best I will get. You should be excited, though. I pulled really good tags. Moose, elk, and a black bear. I was not expecting the moose, or else I wouldn't have gone for the other two, but I can't turn down moose." He happily listens to you chatter away about the upcoming trip, your eagerness palpable.

"What will you do with the meat? And furs?" He doesn't really care, but he wants to listen to you talk.

"Oh, we have a guy that cuts it all up, and I'm old friends with a taxidermist. If I had more time, I would cut it up myself, but Captain said he can only give me one week, so butcher it is."

"Wait, wait, wait! You know how to cut up an animal? Why are you so bad at using knives in the field?"

"I hate using it against people. It's... too similar," you say with a small shudder before focusing back on the mission.

You catch a military flight back home three weeks later. You spend the trip curled up in the webbing and trying your best to nap after the week you had. Barely had time to clean up from the mission before you ran to the tarmac. Somehow, Ghost made it there long before you. Must be excited, you think, smiling up at the big guy.

Wrapping your arms around your dad and your big brothers doesn't feel like home, you realize with a pang. Not now that you are across the pond with the team. Price's gruff hug after a mission feels more comforting. Of course, part of it may be the glares they are shooting the "strange man" who walked in the door with you.

Introducing him isn't a disaster, per say, but for some reason, they had assumed you were bringing a woman when you told them a friend was tagging along. Luckily, tags haven't sold out since they assumed a woman friend wouldn't actually want to hunt, and you are able to get an elk tag for Ghost.

Your brothers mock him for living in a country without guns. The ribbing ends when he takes the rifle he is given apart for a thorough cleaning before putting it back together in record time. You know he is showing off and you also know that you won't have to clean the guns by yourself this year, which is a relief as your brothers and dad never seem to remember to clean them.

Your oldest brother talks about the moose he is going to get and the recipes he is going to make with it. You congratulate him on drawing a moose tag, too. He stares at you for a long moment before saying that he will be filling your tag and keeping the meat since you won't be able to take it all back.

"News to me. I got special permission and certification to bring back everything. I will be filling my tags and keeping what I get." Your brother looks like he's been slapped and opens his mouth to argue, but your dad steps in.

"Enough. You were supposed to ask, not make assumptions. She will be keeping what she kills, just as we have always done in this house."

The next morning, you wake up to see Ghost sitting and waiting in the chair next to your bed in the dark. The two of you sharing a bed had been an argument and a half the night before. It had only ended when you threatened to leave and stay at a hotel. You're more than capable of platonic sleeping, and you are old enough not to need to put up with their shit. It's still another two hours before the rest of the house will wake and three before you leave for hunting camp.

"Run?" You ask Ghost sweetly.

"Run," his deep voice responds. You manage good time, clocking in several miles before heading home, showering, and making breakfast. The bacon is finishing just as your dad ambles into the kitchen, dressed to go and yawning, but a smile on his face when he sees you cooking in the kitchen.

"You're up early, dear. Didn't need you to make breakfast for everyone," he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Oh, I didn't. Bruvs are on their own. Asshats kept opening my door to look in last night. They're gonna oversleep, I'm sure," you say with a frustrated smile. Your dad chuckles and claps a hand on Ghost's shoulder in good spirits.

"Ready to put in some miles, son? Could be a long day."

"Lamb warned me. We did a short run so we wouldn't be too worn out be day's end," Ghost says politely. You shoot him a glare at the use of your nickname.

"Yeah, so we-" you try to interject.

"Lamb? Like what? Lamb to slaughter? That doesn't sound..." Your dad flounders on what to say.

Before you can salvage it, Ghost jokes, "More like a lamb sending men to slaughter. Your daughter can hold her own in the field." Your elbow to his side doesn't even slow him down.

"Field? You are consulting in the field now? It's too dangerous to be around all those amped up men, sweetie," your dad admonishes you gently as the three of you sit to eat a quick breakfast.

"Just sometimes. You know how much I love my desk, dad. If I didn't work out with Ghost, I'd get fat," you joke. You know your dad is skeptical, but he worries enough without knowing the true nature of your work. You miss the glance the two men exchange. Breakfast finished, you rope Ghost into loading the last of the gear with you, trying to keep him away from your dad.

It's only minutes before time to leave when you see your brothers stumbling out of the house to the truck. You make sure to sit between your middle sibling and Ghost. Annoyingly, your brother manspreads, squishing your legs over despite your protests. Ghost is nice enough to let you rest your legs against his, giving you a little more room. At least it's only a few hours to hunting camp. You made sure to bring your own tent and gear, so you and Ghost will be cozy the entire trip. You knew from the start that you didn't want your family to see your newly acquired scars, especially the burns on your back from last year's incident. Roasted pork had been permanently removed from your menu after that one.

"So, you two fuckin or what?" Your middle brother asks out of the blue about an hour into the trip.

"Or what," is your flat answer. No matter which is true, you're not one to kiss and tell.

"You ever hunted an elk before, boy?" You grimace at your brother's terrible mouth filter.

"Not elk, no," comes the answer from your other side.

"Oh, sheep? Antelope?" You try to intervene, but you're not fast or loud enough to drown out Ghost's answer.

"People." The rest of the ride is mercifully silent with your brothers seemingly absorbed in staring out the windows.

Reaching camp, you and Ghost work as a well-oiled machine. After so many months and especially after the time spent together in the last month in the field, you work silently and smoothly. You help your dad set up their tent, your brothers gearing up already to hunt instead. Between the three of you, camp is set in record time. Your dad begs off hunting, claiming he is going to take a nap after the early morning and long drive there.

Having pre-selected your hunting areas as a safety measure, the two of you set off into your designated zone. You let your brothers pick what they considered the prime area, hoping they would bag out early and give you time to fill your own tags. Luck is in the chilly air, though, as you see sign of a black bear not far from the trailhead. Stalking it, you realize it is stalking a herd of elk itself.

Setting up a shot can be difficult. It's even more so when you are hunting a predator. When you shoot your bear, Ghost takes down a big bull elk, too. You send him back to camp to grab your dad and get the animals ready to move. Your dad switches off with both of you to help pull the game back. You load them in the back of the truck and hug both of them excitedly, happy with the quick start to the trip. Two tags done and two to go. Your brothers have no such luck, and they are less than thrilled with your first day success.

You almost laugh when your brothers corner you later, demanding answers. "How could you bring someone like him?!" Your oldest brother is indignant.

"It's not like I work with fucking girl scouts. What did you think spec ops guys do?"

"You never said-" your brother starts.

"I said he was a coworker. The fuck do you think that means, idiot."

"All you do is push papers, course we assumed he did the same," your younger brother interjects.

"Whatever. He's here now. Deal with it and stop being rude to him," you growl out.

The next morning, you get up early and drive into the local butcher to drop off the elk and bear. You come back and set off on an all-day scout to find a moose. You find mostly older evidence of them around, but also spot another elk herd and sign of deer. Your brothers get one deer between them, and they celebrate as if it was a world record animal.

The third day, you roll out of bed antsy. "Run?" Ghost asks with a grin. "Run," you answer easily. This time, you push nearly ten miles before calling it quits. Coming back, sweaty, and flushed gets your brothers riled up. Your response is simple. "Keep your hair on, lads. We just went for walkies. Haven't been getting enough exercise in and eating too well with dad feeding us."

They both bristle at your casual use of British slang and storm off to hunt again, unwilling to even talk to you. Your dad shakes his head. "They'll never see anything crashing around like that."

"Nope. Dad, you take our section today. We are going to push further up and try to glass a moose, and we saw some good elk out our way." By the end of the day, you're tired, but you did find fresh sign, which is encouraging. Just as your dad had predicted, your brothers didn't see anything all day. Your dad, on the other hand, had opted to be picky and didn't take any shots, but saw many animals.

Day four, you decide not to go for a run. It could be a tiring day if you get a moose and have to haul it down. With that in mind, you stage extra gear partway up to be able to move a moose back to camp more easily. You finally glass the moose you've been tracking near mid-day, getting eyes on it for the first time. It's a huge bull, well over the minimum horn size. Your hands shaking slightly, you take the shot. The bull goes down after just a few steps. Processing it takes longer than any other game you've done, but with Ghost helping, you get back to camp not long after dark. Your brothers managed to shoot an elk today, and you celebrate with them, happy that they are happy.

That night, you wake up to a hand pressed to your mouth and a gentle voice shushing you in your ear. Another nightmare, you realize. Your whimpers had woken Ghost, and he covered your mouth before the screams started that would have woken up the entire camp. You thank him with a shaky voice, and he moves his sleeping bag next to yours, wrapping around you. It's what the team has done for months when in the field as a warm body next to yours staves off the screaming and whimpering. Though it doesn't help with the nightmares themselves.

You get up extra early and drop the game off at the processor before heading back to camp. Today is your last chance to fill tags if you want to bring the meat back, so you move fast tracking an elk herd. It takes most of the morning, but you manage to find them and drop a good-looking bull. Hauling it back, you are elated to have filled all of your tags in time.

When you reach camp, you see that your dad has finally gotten his deer, but your brothers were empty-handed again. They complain about not seeing anything. Unable to help yourself, you say, "Maybe if you didn't sound like a pair of trucks crashing through the woods, you'd see something." This sets them off. They think you are making shit up, again, and talking down to them.

You decide they are a lost cause at this point, but Ghost offers to show them a few tricks on moving silently through the forest. He jokes that he isn't as good as you, but he's good enough.

"That's just because she doesn't move. She just sits there waiting for someone else to do the work." Ghost just shakes his head, knowing he can't tell them any stories. Your dad watches you closely, realizing that there is something more going on here, but unable to pinpoint exactly what that something is.

The next morning, Ghost goes with your eldest brother, and you take your middle sibling into your section. You hope that separating them will help increase their chances of filling tags. Your brother pays closer attention than you'd thought he would, and his walking quiets tenfold. He keeps trying to talk to you until finally you snap at him.

"Please shut up. You can talk after you shoot something." Mercifully, he is quiet. You spot the elk herd you've been tracking and move him to set up the shot. He tries to silently argue about where to move to, but you glare until he follows your directions. He settles in and nearly spooks the herd, stepping on a stick as he shifts his body around. Thinking quickly, you almost perfectly imitate a young bull's call, which settles the cows and brings the bull closer to where the two of you are standing, looking for the challenging bull. Your brother successfully takes the shot. And he is ecstatic, whooping and hollering as the cows all take off into the surrounding forest, leaving you far behind.

You help your brother break the bull down for packing out. He looks a lot nervous at the size of one of the packs, clearly not looking forward to carrying it out, until you shoulder it easily. His surprise doesn't surprise you, though. Your brothers hadn't paid much attention to you after they moved out, and basically, none once you enlisted in the military. Upon reaching camp, you find that you are the first ones back. You help him load the elk into the back of the truck and make lunch silently. He looks like he wants to say something, but he never gets it out of his mouth. He spends the time simply standing around, thinking hard and barely interacting with you, though he is watching you closely.

When you hear heavy footsteps coming through the woods, you hurry to meet your dad, helping him drag his big elk back to camp. "Surprised you hauled it back yourself, old man," you tease.

"I've been dragging elk out of the woods for twice as long as you've been alive, girlie." The grin on his face couldn't be matched though when you load it up by yourself, waving him off. The last to return were not successful. It seems your older brother decided that he would show Ghost a thing or two and refused any advice or tips. Thus, he didn't see anything all day. You shoot a look of sympathy at Ghost. That couldn't have been easy to handle silently. He just rolls his eyes back at you, tapping his fingers on his thigh. You tap your fingers back at him and go back and forth in Morse Code. He tells you about how many deer your brother missed seeing sign of or scared off because he wouldn't shut up.

You share how your other brother did, and he smiles at the success you had with him. He tells you that you should take your older brother for one last morning hunt on the sixth day. Maybe you can make him shut the hell up.

Sighing out loud, you say, "Bro, I'll take you out tomorrow morning instead of Ghost. We will get your tag filled." Your brother agrees and mentions that he will show you how it is done, which makes everyone laugh at him.

"Bruv, we are filling your tag. I filled all of mine already. Seems I need to show you how it's done."

He sputters, and your younger brother adds, "It took us just two hours to find a herd of elk. She knows what she's doing, bro. Better hunter than me, for sure." This makes your oldest brother glower, but he finally shuts up.

In the morning, he tries to tell you what to do, and you finally tell him to knock it off after about twenty minutes. He growls, "I'm the oldest. I'm in charge."

You laugh quietly and respond, "Whatever, if you think age is all that matters, you're an idiot. Let's go, and if you want that deer, you'll listen to me. Ghost told me how many you missed or scared off by being too loud and cocky yesterday."

"He what?! Why didn't he tell me? We could have filled my tag yesterday!"

"Probably because you're being such an asshole to him." You shrug like it's the clearest thing in the world because to you it is. Grumbling, your brother follows you. Gradually, he picks up on your mannerisms and his walking quiets, but it still sounds like a moose shoving through a bush most of the time. You stop suddenly, and he nearly runs into you, not paying attention. Grabbing a bit of hair from a bush, you show him silently before walking on quieter than before. Slowly, sign becomes more frequent, and finally, you spot the deer herd. Your brother gets his deer, a big buck, and you help him break it down and load it into the packs. You add both hindquarters to one pack, and he complains that you're trying to load him too heavy. When you shoulder the heavier pack, he then jokes meanly that you're just showing off.

"Just give me that one. I don't want to have to switch off partway down because you're tired," he crows. You ignore him and set off down the trail, too annoyed to even respond to his rudeness. A grunt follows you as he shoulders his pack. At the halfway point, he is nearly wheezing with the added weight of the head on his pack.

"I need... to... stop..." he huffs. "This pack... is too... heavy..."

You wave at him to stop, and when he does, you walk around him and unhook the head from the top of his pack. Hefting it over your shoulders, you use the antlers to keep it in place at the top of your pack. "Let's go. We don't have all day," you call back to him. You can feel his stare as you hump down the mountain, moving faster now that he isn't slowing you down as much. Luckily, it's only a few miles to camp because you're exhausted after hauling so much on your back. Your dad scolds you that you should have sent someone back to get the rest of them to help, and you shrug it off.

"No sense in wasting time, dad. We got it down just fine." Happily, the three of them already have camp broken down except for the makeshift shower area. You've mostly avoided using it, just wiping down with a washcloth, but the deer head bled on your neck and down your back the whole way. "Ghost, can you help check me for ticks," you ask quietly as you strip off your gear before walking to the shower. Your brothers grumble about the two of you showering together, but you don't care as Ghost is the only one you trust to do it and the only one that knows why you won't wear tank tops very often anymore.

When you're nearly finished, Ghost convinces you to put lotion over your burn scars as they are flaring up from the lack of it in the last few days. He walks out in just a pair of shorts and shoes to dig through your pack, ignoring the suspicious stares of your brothers and their stares at his scarred torso. You manage to bite back the moan when Ghost swipes over the first scar, but not the whimper of pain when he brushes the second, which is severely inflamed. He whispers an apology and continues, knowing that you hate pausing part way when treating them, even if it hurts badly.

When you walk out fully dressed and he is still in just shorts, your brothers shoot him similar dirty looks. "Couldn't keep it in your pants a minute longer, eh?" says your younger brother angrily.

"You're disgusting! Havin sex with my sister feet away from her family," adds your older brother.

"Shut up, idiots. He was rubbing lotion on my s-back. I needed it done, and I can't reach the dry skin there easily," you growl at them.

"We know you're lying. You're disgusting. Can't believe you, seriously."

Your dad sees the stubborn set of your eyes and the hurt beneath. His sons have gone too far, he knows. "Knock it off, boys. You've been nothing but rude this entire trip, and I'm sick of it."

"But dad...!"

"Sugar, just tell them. You've been stepping around questions and hiding yourself long enough," Ghost's voice cuts through the air.

"You gay or somethin? Would make sense, but you know we don't care," your oldest brother says as he just can't help himself. It makes you mad enough to about face away from them and rip your shirt off angrily, showing them your back.

"No, bruv. He means I should show you why I couldn't make it on the trip last year. The things I hide by telling you that I consult for the Task Force rather than telling you that I am a member of the task force. I... I haven't wanted to worry you, dad." You nearly whisper the last in the complete silence that follows. Ghost rests a hand on your shoulder, watching their reactions carefully. Their eyes trace up and down the burns that mar the middle of your back and dipping down below the waist of your pants.

"You called from the hospital," your dad says finally. The pieces are clicking into place for him. "I remember hearing the beeping in the background, and you sounded... stressed."

"It was a long recovery. They had to harvest donor skin, but luckily, I got to be a guinea pig on a new treatment that sped things up," you say quietly.

"How did this happen? Why weren't we notified? You didn't let us visit or anything?!" You're surprised to hear your middle brother sounding upset. You take the time to fix your shirt, thinking about what to say.

"I was on a mission. There was a complication, and it bollocksed up the whole thing." You pause as you think back to it. "Anyway, I got caught under some burning shit and yea, this happened."

The glare Ghost gives you has you rolling your eyes at the intimidating man. "You forgot the part where you held a burning timber up to save someone and crawled out on your own, refusing to medivac until the mission objective was completed. I think that adds a few important details to the whole thing."

"And...what were you doing when this happened," your oldest brother demands.

"He was shooting anyone who tried to come near us. Saved my life, he did," you say with a grateful smile up at Ghost.

"So, you've been lying to us about your job and getting hurt, and what else? How do we know what to believe now? You only make it back here once a year, after all." Your oldest brother sounds betrayed, his tone accusing.

You just shrug and shake your head, ignoring his questions and accusations. "You gonna shower before we go, or can we break camp and head home?"

"Let's go. I want away from you as fast as possible," he sneers, turning away from you angrily.

"Fine with me," you say in a flat voice. You take down the last few tarps and drain the water with Ghost's help. The trip to the processor and back home is silent in the car, your dad and brothers thinking heavily on what they learned today while you and Ghost simply enjoy the peace and quiet. As soon as you get home, your oldest brother leaves, tires squealing as he takes off in his truck. You just shake your head, disappointed that he's still got his head so far up his ass after all this time.

You pack the meat from the butcher into coolers for the trip home to London. "You should probably call Captain and tell him to pick up another freezer or two," Ghost jokes as more and more coolers are filled and packed into the back of the truck you rented.

"I had three delivered while we were gone," you grin up at him. "Good thing I got my permission ahead of time. Captain is dying to try this stuff."

"You think they'll let you on with it all? It's more than I expected, and I thought I had a pretty good idea of what to expect," he says, a little worried.

"Oh, I grabbed bribe jerky from the butcher. They'll be excited enough not to care once I pass it around," you say with a knowing smile.

"You know the way to a man's heart, luv."

"Yes, ordnance and explosives," you quip with a loud laugh, making him grin down at you.

Telling your middle brother and dad goodbye the next morning is hard. They both hold tightly to you, and you nearly have to pry your dad off when you go to leave, his worries making him want to hold you tight and keep you safe.

"I'll be back next year, I promise. We probably will need to hunt extra, knowing how much the team will love this meat," you assure him with a smile, pressing a kiss to his cheek. You drive back to the air strip, happy to have ended things on a better note.

"So, yer dad is the dog's bollocks. Brothers are shite though," Ghost says as you drive away. You laugh. It's all you can do. When you show up with a pallet of coolers, the flight crew is ready to deny you until you hand over your certificates and small box of jerky to share between them. They eagerly call over the forklift to load the pallet, and you spend the whole trip listening to hunting stories from their childhood and telling your own with Ghost listening quietly at your side.

Captain Price is there waiting on the tarmac when you land. His eyes bulge when he sees how many coolers you brought back. "I take it the hunt was successful then," he teases.

"Yeah, just a bit. Bet you thought the freezers were overkill, eh?"

He laughs, "You know I did. Set them up anyway. Welcome home, kids," he says, ruffling your hair as he wraps you in a hug and gripping Ghost's arm in a friendly squeeze. You smile up at him, happy to be home with your team.

#ghost cod #cod #cod fluff #cod x female reader #simon ghost riley

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