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sanguineterrain · 22 days

Note

Hi Sanne! I'm not sure if requests are open, but if you're up to it I'd like to request red hood x reporter! Maybe reporter reader is getting too close to a case and is starting to become a target and hood takes her protection into his own hands? ((Including lots of midnight rendezvous and rooftop bump ins))

i love this prompt sm! i've been thinking about a reporter reader ever since i read task force z :) thanks for requesting!

jason todd x gn!reporter!reader. tw: reader is attacked (but they're okay), guns, violence, fighting, jason being both a force to be reckoned with and a big softie. 2.5k words

****

"I don't need protection."

The Red Hood crosses his arms. You cross yours right back.

"Yes, you do," he says.

"No, I don't. I've lived in Gotham my whole life. I can take care of myself."

"Living around and being in the thick of violence are very different. You're already chasing this story; they will come after you."

And what a story it is. The story of the decade, at the very least. A task force of formerly-dead Arkham patients wielded against Gotham by a mysterious benefactor.

It's terrifying. It's dangerous. It's sure to win you your first Pulitzer.

And it all means absolutely nothing if the Red Hood keeps wrapping you in red tape.

Your jaw ticks. "This is my story, Hood. You can't turn it in, so I will. And I won't be scared off by some slimeball."

"Oh, please. You wouldn't even have known about this story if it wasn't for me, smarty."

Smarty. His favorite moniker for you because, according to him, you think you know everything.

Working with the Red Hood has been an unfortunate side effect of chasing your prize-winning story. Not only is he wanted in twenty-six countries (you Googled it) and is a ruthless crime lord (supposedly formerly, but you're doubtful), but worst of all, he's got an attitude to match yours.

He's also built like a tank, which is why you can't just. Outrun him.

"I can't just not publish the story," you say.

"I don't want to stop you from publishing the story. Hence the protection."

"I can't afford a bodyguard."

"Well, it's a good thing I already paid my rent this month."

You scoff. "The Gotham Gazette has a strict 'no armed and dangerous' policy. I'm afraid we all have to leave our gun-toting vigilantes at home."

You open the driver's door of your car, ready to end the conversation here and now. Hood calmly closes the door with his hip and leans.

You glare. "Get off of my car."

"Fact." He holds up a finger. "These kinds of people always strike before the story comes out. They know you're scared and stressed, and they wanna do it before the story gets out. Otherwise, it's obvious who killed who."

"And where did you read this fact? Crime Lord's Digest? We don't even know if they know I'm the reporter who broke into the lab."

"Listen, smarty, I've been in this game a lot longer than you. I know how they operate," he says, finally getting off of your car, only to lean on the hood. Jerk. "It's only a matter of time before whoever's behind this snuffs you out."

"I am not letting a wanted criminal nest in my apartment!"

"That's why I'd be there."

"I was talking about you, Hood."

"Funny."

"I'm not joking. Look, I appreciate your... help." You try not to show your exasperation. "But there's no way I'm inviting you over to my apartment. That'll set off more alarms. If anything happens, I'll call you. Until then, stay away. Deal?"

Hood looks you over.

"Hm. You're awfully comfortable with giving me orders, smarty."

Your adrenaline spikes for a second. But it quickly calms. You've worked with Hood for a month now. Sure, you were petrified the first week, but it quickly dissipated. You've fallen into an odd camaraderie with him.

It's actually kind of nice, having him on your side. No one at the Gazette gives you the time of day. You've become used to having a partner. Not that you'd ever tell him that.

"You take orders so well, I can't help but dole them out," you say, only a little smirky.

"Watch it," Hood rumbles, only half-serious. Probably.

You beam and wrench open your car door, sliding into the seat.

"See?" you say, turning the ignition. "No snipers waiting to take me out. I'll be fine."

He shakes his head and slides off the hood. "Ten bucks says they'll try by the end of the week."

You close your door. "You're on."

****

As it turns out, Hood doesn't need the end of the week to earn his tenner. Trouble breaks down your door the very same night.

You're on your couch with some well-earned Lebanese takeout when your door is ripped off of your hinges. You shoot up from the couch, chest immediately tight.

Your assailant is masked and isn't that typical, giving masked men everywhere a bad name.

You run to the kitchen, hoping you can grab a knife. But you're grabbed before you can get there. You slip on the carpet and trip further into your assailant's arms.

"Keep still so I won't make a mess," is all he says.

You start screaming. He covers your mouth and you bite his hand. That earns you a thump on your cheek, so hard your vision blurs.

Bang!

You freeze, expecting the warm drip of blood and the excruciating pain to accompany it. Instead, your assailant falls to the floor, clutching his ribs. You stumble backwards and see Hood at your door, gun still aimed. He stalks over and kicks the assailant in the chest as he does. The assailant groans.

"You okay?"

You're still staring at the man who very nearly killed you a minute ago. Blood roars in your ears. You think you might be close to fainting.

"Hey." Big, gloved hands hold your face. You flinch and hold the owner's wrists. Hood comes into view once more.

"Are you okay?" he asks firmly. "Look at me, look at me, sweet. Breathe. 'S okay. Does anything hurt? Did he—"

Hood cuts himself off as he touches your cheek, where you were hit. He lightly runs a thumb over what is probably a budding bruise.

Hood lets you go and whirls onto your attacker. He hauls him up and presses a gun to his stomach.

"Go ahead, shoot me!" the attacker shouts.

"If I shoot you, it won't be out of mercy. You won't get a quick death. You don't deserve it," Hood snarls, and you suddenly remember all of your good reasons for fearing the Red Hood.

"I ain't telling ya shit!"

"I don't expect you to," Hood says, and fires again.

The man crumples to the ground, but he's clearly still breathing. Still alive. Hood drags him to the door by his collar.

"You go back to your boss. And you tell 'em that they're fucking with the Red Hood now. And, in case I'm not being perfectly fucking clear through all that blood loss—" Hood grabs the man by his hair and wrenches his head back. "If you come for my reporter again, you'll wish I was kind enough to put a bullet in your head."

Hood hauls your attacker outside. You hear a car start a minute later, and it tears down the street.

You look at your guardian angel, spattered in blood.

Not nearly as much blood as I expected, you think manically.

Your body aches and shakes with adrenaline. You can't even get enough control to move to the couch.

"How–how did you get here so fast?" you ask, staring at your now cracked coffee table.

"I've been monitoring your apartment since you got home. One of the traffic cameras picked up a stolen vehicle turning onto your block, so I came here."

You look at Hood. He seems very collected, all things considered.

"You—how did you find my apartment? Have you been stalking me?"

"Please. Lend me a little credit, smarty. I don't need to stalk you to find where you live," he says, holstering his gun.

"Are you insane?!" you burst. "That is such a gross invasion of privacy! What the hell is wrong with you?"

Hood looks at you.

"What's wrong with me is I just saved your life," he says evenly. "And on that note, you owe me ten bucks. Maybe even fifteen, considering it took less than a day for them to do exactly what I said they would."

Your lip wobbles. You don't know what triggers it; maybe it's your scratched up door or torn sofa or the fact that the Red Hood is in your living room right now with blood on his suit.

The tears form quickly. You can't stop them.

You cover your face but a sob claws out of your throat. Soon, you fall into big, heaving cries.

"Whoa, hey." The floorboards creak under Hood's unsure footsteps. "Hey, I didn't mean that. Shit. I was just kidding about the bet part. Aw, don't cry, smarty."

A hand lightly touches your shoulder. You lean in, but don't dare to initiate more contact. So Hood eases you into a side hug, awkwardly patting your other arm. He's extremely warm and solid with muscle, but his chest is soft enough to rest your head on. He unclips his holster so it doesn't dig into your body.

"I was just kidding," Hood says quietly in your ear. He rubs your arm. "'M sorry. Didn't mean to make y'cry."

You sniff and shake your head. "No, it–it's not that, I'm just—God, I'm t-terrified, Hood. What the fuck am I supposed to do now? They're gonna kill me! I'm gonna die before I win my first Pulitzer!"

You try to suck in deep breath but it's not working. Hood leads your unsteady feet to the couch. You sit, fingers gripping his jacket. Hood carefully loosens your grip.

"They're not gonna kill ya, smarty. I won't let 'em. C'mon, let's have a seat. Where's your kitchen?"

You point, lashes still thick with tears. Hood leaves and returns shortly. A glass of water is held to your lips. You drink it, breathing stilted.

"'S okay. Take it easy. Breathe. That's right."

You swallow half of the water, and he sets the glass down on the coffee table. Hood hands you a wad of tissues.

"This is pathetic," you say, wiping your tears. "Can't believe I'm being nursed by the Red Hood."

"I think nursed is a strong word. But it's more than I usually do for my informants. Then again, they don't usually burst into tears."

"Don't make fun of me. I'm fragile."

"I wasn't making fun of you," Hood says, gentler than you've ever heard him. He puts the tissues aside and rests a hand on your shoulder. You turn into it, appreciative of the weight. "You handled this better than most people would. You didn't even pass out. Hell, I've passed out."

You're sure that Hood is leaving out important details behind that anecdote, like fighting off a hundred men or being swallowed by a whale beforehand. You're grateful nonetheless.

You turn to him, fresh tears in your eyes. "They're gonna kill me, Red."

He shakes his head. "No. Listen to me. Nobody is gonna do anything to you, okay? I'm not gonna let 'em hurt you, smarty pie."

"That's an impossible promise," you say. "One of these days, something will happen. You can't be everywhere at once. Especially not while I'm at home."

Hood tilts his head. "Well..."

"Well, what?"

He rubs his throat. An old injury, he'd once told you. The pain flares up sometimes.

"I could call in a favor. Get you into a safehouse."

"You would do that for me?" you ask. You probably shouldn't ask. Shouldn't look a generous vigilante in the mouth. But you can't help it.

"I can't very well publish the story myself, can I?"

You shrug. "I doubt that. You have your ways. Once you have the evidence, you don't need me."

"That's not true," Hood says fiercely. "I do need you."

Your eyes widen. Hood fumbles for a moment.

"That—I mean for the case. Obviously. I don't have any journalistic links besides you. And I wouldn't want the story to fall into the wrong hands."

"Oh." You have a strong urge to wrap your arms around him. Weird. "Well, um, thank you. I appreciate it."

"Don't thank me yet. It'll take me a few days to get the safehouse," he says.

You deflate. "Oh. So I have to stay here until then?"

Hood is quiet for a long time. So long, you briefly revisit your original theory that the Red Hood is actually an AI remotely controlled by a billionaire.

"Hood?"

You reach to touch him. He flinches, a tiny movement. You immediately draw back.

Nope. Still a man.

"Sorry," he says, hand slipping from your shoulder. "I was, uh, going over options. No, your place is toast until we find whoever's behind this. But, um, it would be possible for you to—if you want to, 'cause if you don't, y'know, I understand, but I—it would be doable for you to, uh, stay with me. Until I get the safehouse."

"Stay... in your apartment?"

"'S not far from here. And it's a hell of a lot better protected than your place. And, y'know, I'd be there most of the time, so like..." Hood clears his throat. "Uh, yeah. It'd be safe. I promise."

"I wouldn't want to impose," you say, nervously scratching your arm.

"Mm. If you're scared of staying with me, y'can just say so. I won't take it personal."

He does kind of sound like he's taking it personally.

"No, Hood, it's not that. I don't... I'm not afraid of you. That, uh, went away a while back," you say. "I just... I don't want to burden you. After all, it's your space."

He makes a sound that tells you he's rolling his eyes behind his helmet.

"Saving your life is important, smarty. Why you don't think so, I'll never know."

You make a soft, pleased sound. "Got a real bleeding heart there, Red."

He sighs. "Yeah. I'm working on it."

You grin. "Thank you for rescuing me."

"Part of the job. If you don't wanna stay with me, I could..." Hood hesitates. "With your permission... I could get the Bats involved. Ask one of them to house you."

"You mean Batman?"

Hood grunts. "Preferably anyone but him, but yeah, if it comes to that. He'll probably get involved anyway. Fuckin' busybody."

"The Bats would protect me? But they don't know me."

"Don't matter. If I asked them to, they would. If that's something you want."

You think. Is it something you want?

Sure, any reasonable person would prefer Nightwing or Batman to protect them.

"I don't want to stay with them," you say. "I'd rather stay with you."

He jerks like you've told him the sky is falling.

"You do?" he asks.

"Well, yeah. I know you, Red. And I know you'll keep me safe."

"At any cost," he says.

That simultaneously frightens and thrills you.

"Then I'd like to go home with you," you say. "If you'll have me."

"'Course, smarty. Anything to keep you safe. Go pack some stuff. I'll be out here. You're okay?"

"I'm okay." You stand and turn before he can see what he does to you.

Yes, it's an odd thing, being partners with the Red Hood.

You're starting to fear that you can't have it any other way.

#jason todd x reader #Jason todd x you #Red Hood x reader #Red Hood x you #Red Hood fanfiction #Jason todd fanfiction #Jason todd imagine #Red Hood imagine #dc fanfiction #batman fanfiction #batman imagine #dc imagine #Jason todd x gn reader #inbox #blurb

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fillinforlater · 4 months

Text

Friends that can keep a secret

Male Reader x Jo Yuri (ft. two male friends)

Length: 3.500 words

Tags: foursome, gangbang, MMMF, drunk sex, seducing, a faux game of spin the bottle, making out, sharing a girlfriend, rimming, face fucking, double penetration, anal, spanking, rough sex, anal creampie, riding, cowgirl, protection, not_your_girlfriend!Yuri

TW: there are other male OCs in this and you fuck a girl in all her holes, I dunno, if you don't like that, feel free to leave

Inspiration: @breach12 for the request/prompt

(A/N: here is something I promised to write quite a while back. It's finally finished. I changed the prompt quite a bit, but I hope the person who requested it likes it (and y'all too))

“Should you knock or I knock.”

Daehwi grins and you roll your eyes. He can never make things easy.

“Dude, just fucking knock.”

You and your friends recently finished another semester in college. You really had to think, was it the fifth, the sixth, the—no, it was the sixth. It felt like forever since you enrolled in that university with it’s unimpressive name and even less impressive campus. In the end, you made it through this time without impressive grades or interesting stories, but maybe this is your ideal life.

Calm and uninteresting, at least to others.

Your friends are a bit different. On one hand there is Daehwi, the crazy one. He is like a wild animal, free from every and all constraints but a slave of his desires and instincts. He gets a lot of girls, hookups, relationships, break ups, scandals—nothing ever slows him down. No matter how stupidly crazy his ideas are, they always work out and in the end, even his grades pan out. Daehwi has either figured out how to live a perfect life or he is just insanely lucky.

But he is a good friend in time of need.

On the other hand is Junseo. He is one hell of a cutie-patootie, caring for every one of his friends, colleagues, even profs. No bad word ever comes from his lips and he is always punctual. Literally always. He trades loyalty for loyalty and is the perfect example for genuinity and consistency. It is only fair that he got the most beautiful girl as his girlfriend.

Junseo is a great friend, but sometimes Yuri takes up all his time.

Yuri is the rock star on campus. She can make the entire university fall on their knees by grabbing a mic and singing her heart out. She is talented, smart, gorgeous—the crush of many, until they find another girl to smash. Yuri was never ready for one night stands, and so it was only fitting that Junseo and her fell in love gradually. No hookups, just pure, romantic love.

Love without you. You watched from afar as your best friend fell in love with your crush. That crush on Yuri that everyone has at least once in their campus life, it still lingers in your heart. You have to suppress it almost daily, but it is a tiny stain on your otherwise good life. Suppress it for Junseo, especially today when you get to celebrate another successful semester at his place.

"Oh hey guys, come in!" Junseo opens the door with a wide grin and a surprising pink hue on his cheeks.

"Yo!” Daehwi shouts until his chest vibrates. “We bought beer, let's celebrate—damn, did you start drinking without us?" Daehwi puts down the two six packs and starts to aggressively pinch Junseo’s cheek. You start to laugh as the two playfully fight like two lion cubs.

“I brought some snacks,” you shout and try to get their attention. Fun is good and all, but you’re still standing outside and the cold air is brushing past your sensitive calves. "I got them for you, but if you don’t move, I’ll eat them all alone."

The three of you finally make your way into the flat and onto the couches. You feel the good vibes radiating throughout the room and it only gets progressively better. The first step to make such a celebration unforgettable is good beer and surprisingly, the cans Daehwi bought (at least you hope that he bought them) are filled with it. You down two of them easily, Daehwi is already on his third while Junseo reaches for a Soju bottle to create an intoxicating mixture.

“Damn, I didn’t know you got Soju,” Daehwi groans in ecstasy as he takes a swing straight from the green bottle. “Your grades must have been terrible.”

“Nah, it’s not that,” Junseo responds with a pout. “It's because this might be the last time we have a celebration like this.”

“Huh, how so?” you protest and get a handful of crackers into your mouth, not willing to accept that such a well-kept tradition would end tonight, without warning.

“It’s because, next semester, I’m done, so the party is gonna be bigger. And afterwards, with work and all, I don’t know if it will work out like this again.”

“Shit, life is really catching up to us.” Daehwi clicks his tongue and you can already see that his drunk, a bit more melancholic but still wild and direct self appears. After all, he can’t keep himself from downing liquor.

“If only I knew,” you sigh, angry that you forgot that Junseo was already here when you started to study. He was always ahead and now he will be the first to leave behind college life and become a truly normal person. “I would have brought stuff to make this more memorable.”

Junseo grabs the hem of your shirt and there is this drunk grin on his face as he babbles: “Don’t worry, I have things planned.

“Yuri, dear, you can come in now~”

Honest to God, you forgot about her for a split second—you will never for the rest of your life. Yuri walks in, the walk of a supermodel. Her high heels clack on the wooden floor, her hips sway in that stupidly short miniskirt, her eyes sparkle when she winks at you. You’re staring everywhere at once, to the point your throat goes dry again and you quickly need another drink. Luckily, Yuri brought more Soju and hands you a bottle.

“Congrats on beating another semester,” she says with a saccharine smile that stuns you, glues you to the couch, all to the amusement of Junseo beside you. “You gonna take it or not?”

“Su-sure, thank you.” Grab the bottle like an idiot and drink from it like one. Daehwi isn’t any better, dry lips stuck to his can while his eyes are glued to Yuri’s back. She makes sure to stick out her ass for him to see the nice curve. The green plaid skirt is barely long enough to hide her cheeks as she kneels next to him, hands on the table, searching for crackers or chips.

“Yuri, you are gorgeous,” Junseo compliments his girlfriend with a wicked grin and Yuri responds with an expression so sly and sexy, you almost drop your bottle and spit out its contents. Those two must have been drinking before Daehwi and you arrived, otherwise they wouldn’t be so bold.

“Damn, what the hell is going on with you two?” Daehwi bluntly asks them, but all he gets are glances from the couple and a confused shrug by you. “I bet you two are drunk already. Better stop now before any accidents happen.”

“There are no accidents tonight,” Junseo says firmly and makes room in the middle of the table for an empty Soju bottle. “No accidents, no boundaries, no questions asked. Do you two understand?”

“Well, that is a question,” you try to respond with wit, but it’s quickly forgotten when Yuri spins the empty bottle.

“Whoever this bottle lands on gets to have a free wish—kinda like truth and dare, except everyone else has to accept the dare and what you want to do to them.” Yuri’s words have your mind rotating faster than the bottle; is she for real? No limits, no boundaries? No one will ask questions? Can you just—go for it? Ask her to love you for this one night—no Junseo, just you?

Your wish fades to black when the bottle stops and points straight at Junseo, who does not hesitate and grabs his girlfriend at the wrist. Blink once, blink twice and she already sits on his lap, right next to you, and he is ready to stick his tongue into her eager mouth.

“My wish is that everyone fucking loosens up and just watches.”

The most tense thriller could not be more engaging for you. To see Junseo fondle Yuri, her tight little body, her covered boobs, her flawless back, down to the edge of her skirt has you sweaty all over. All over, again, he doesn’t stop and goes for that long, blonde hair and combs it back. Yuri moans and her nails dig into the back of the couch. Then they go back to making out, provocatively loud and Yuri’s top almost slips over her boobs.

You’re not the only one starring. Daehwi gets into position behind them, and he shamelessly looks under Yuri’s skirt—what he finds must be utterly mind melting, because he quickly grabs the bottle and points it at himself. He clears his throat to get everyone’s attention and for a second, the silence is heavier than a black hole.

“I-it’s my turn.” Daehwi gulps, the couple pants. “Can I pull down your skirt, Yuri?”

“Sure, just let me get up.”

With a final kiss on the cheek, Yuri leaves her boyfriend’s lap and stands in front of the kneeling Daehwi. She reaches for his hands and places them on her hips. This was the final straw, the last chain that held back the savage animal. Daehwi roughly yanks down Yuri’s skirt; with every gasp, more of her lower body is revealed until—nothing but a skimpy thong. You get to see it from behind only for a second, because Daehwi immediately spins Yuri around to knead and lick her cute butt cheeks.

You’ve only heard stories of Daehwi’s sexcapades, the endless rounds of loud smashing, of groaning, of cumming—you never knew he could become so feral at the touch of two small round buttcheeks. It seems to work however, Yuri is definitely feeling herself, hands in her hair, head thrown back as she moans profanities towards the ceiling.

Suddenly, the head of a bottle crosses your vision. Juseon has the green thing pointed at you, on eye level and you don’t let him even start his sentence before uttering your own wish. It’s a bit desperate, but totally accurate to your situation and pent up feelings.

“Yuri, I—I want to make out with you, o-on my lap!”

“Oh yes, for sure~”

Followed by the still manically kneading Daehwi, Yuri climbs on top of you and goes straight for your mouth. Her tongue, still glazed in liquor and tiny chips particles quickly turns into the most delicious treat you have ever had. Yuri engages the kiss, starts off what could have been an equal dance but she quickly succumbs to your sudden dominance.

Call it a return to your monkey brain, anything but civilized. You fuck her mouth with your tongue, play with her hair lovingly while tormenting her slender frame with rubs and squeezes. Yuri’s giggles urge you on more, you become bolder, reach into the top of her bra—there is no bra, just bare tits to fondle and knead the way only Daehwi would, though he has transitioned to eating Yuri’s ass, thong pushed to the side.

You’ve lost sight of Juseon, but who the fuck cares when you can stick your hands down to where the sun doesn’t shine and find Yuri’s pussy. She is laughably wet, her juices dripping on your finger while your teeth move to bite her collarbone. She moans and hugs your body, pressing herself further down your length which has been an issue in the tight confines of your jeans for way too long—

“Yuri,” Juseon suddenly shouts. “I think you’re the last one to make a wish.”

You pull out your fingers from those drenched folds and even Daehwi backs off from the feast that is Yuri’s ass. Everyone listens closely when Yuri finally gets her wish out.

“I want you three boys to finally get your cocks out and fuck them into my tight holes until I can’t walk anymore. Don’t think, just fuck me.

“I’m your semester trophy tonight.”

Juseon suddenly stands next to you, feet in the cushions of his couch and his pants meet them quickly. He whips out his cock and as if her lips were magnetically drawn to it, Yuri starts to kiss and lick over it. From tip to base, she does not leave out one spot. Equally sudden is Daehwi, who’s pants you can’t even see anymore, but his cock is clearly pressed against Yuri’s cheeks and then on the ring in between them.

To your surprise—not that you ever actively thought about it—their cocks are just average in size, maybe even below that. Yours might be bigger, but they get girls and relationships all the time—your thoughts shouldn’t become so weird, especially because you have already pulled out your own dick and begun to stroke it to the hardest it has ever been.

Yuri, while her face is getting fucked slowly, her boyfriend’s cock entering and leaving her lips, gently places an unwrapped condom into your sweaty hands. Good thing that they are prepared, because you of course did not bring something like this to what could’ve been a harmless party.

Harmless college parties? Yeah, no, who are you kidding. Just roll the plastic contraceptive over your hard shaft and then try to find Yuri’s pussy. Those hot folds, they are right there—further down. You rub along her midriff, navel, even her crotch but are unable to find it.

Yuri pops Juseon’s cock from her lips and smiles at you while her hand continues to lazily jerk the throbbing, wet thing. She reaches in between your legs and finds your thing poking her belly.

“Should I help you?” she asks and you avoid her eyes in embarrassment—only for a second thought. Something draws you to their sparkle, lewd and thrilled, while she tries to adjust on your lap until—

“Ah, fuck, Daehwi, wait!”

“Wha-what is it?” he asks with a somewhat annoyed growl, hands wrapped around Yuri’s waist, cockhead perfectly aligned with her asshole.

“Give me a second. I want all of you to thrust in me simultaneously. I never felt something like that.

“It’ll be great.”

You gulp when Yuri gets you to the entrance of her light pink cavern. This is it, the moment you’ve been waiting for for a long time—not really waiting, just dreaming of. Luckily, you don’t need to dream anymore and just focus on not exploding the moment you—

“Now, fuck, now.”

The signal sends your hips upwards in a thrust. It’s not a full thrust, only half of your cock fills Yuri’s insides. You couldn’t commit to all of it; you need to flex your thighs to keep yourself from cumming too quickly. Daehwi and Junseo do not seem to care about that: both went all in from the get go, filling Yuri’s mouth and ass to the brim with their dicks and their thrusts don’t stop.

Daehwi’s rough, feral pumping gapes Yuri’s ass and you feel every second of it. He is on the other side, careless, just like in the stories from the countless one-night stands that loved his enthusiasm. This is not enthusiasm, more unbridled sexual desire. He chases his own orgasm every time her ass meets his crotch.

For Junseo it’s similar. He seems to really enjoy Yuri’s drool running down her chin, sometimes even stopping the thrusts just to spread it all over her face with either his tip or a finger. You totally understand why he indulges in the way Yuri looks, all messy and silly, but you’d love to hear her moan louder—you want to see the strongest kind of bliss on her features.

Instead of your own pleasure, you try to find Yuri’s spots and poke your cock against them purposefully. You’re a lot slower than the other two, but your stamina does not decrease at all. Unlike Daehwi, you don’t need any brakes to catch your breath. You just continue to fuck Yuri in this mesmerizing rhythm that has her humming on her boyfriend’s shaft.

“Is this good, do you feel good?” you ask her in between deep breaths, arms around her torso, while she finds stability on your shoulder again.

“Yesh, yes,” she mumbles as Junseo flops out of her mouth. You see him shaking, losing his mind when she starts to twist his tip with two fingers. “You can go faster, harder—don’t think of me. I’m just the reward.”

“Too bad.” Whisper in her ear. “All I can think about is my reward.”

Yuri’s expression shifts, like she is trying to challenge you, like she doesn’t believe that you really care about her, like she—and then she can only think of Daehwi again, who goes on another rampage in her back entrance, while covering her ass with hard spanks.

A tender pain on your lower lip when she bites it. You halt your thrusts, but Daehwi makes it feel like Yuri bounces and rubs on your entire cock. You hear both the guys scream profanities while your own profanities are stuck, unable to come out because of Yuri’s bite.

“Yuri, babe, I’m—” Junseo can barely stand. “I’m so close.”

“In my mouth?” she asks, cutely-lewdly.

“N-no, I want to… finish on your ass.”

“Great idea.” Yuri jerks his cock harder and starts to stick out her ass which seems to trigger another orgasm. Instead of politely asking, Daehwi just growls like a wolf to the moon and Yuri feels his thick cum flood her rectum. “Yes, fuck! Fill that ass, creampie me!”

Now that wasn’t cute at all. Just lewd. Lewd like her fucking face when Daehwi’s cock loudly pops out and Junseo sprays his cum all over those red buttocks. She looks thoroughly satisfied with all the white on her skin, in her hole—maybe she isn’t thinking yet of the mess on her couch, the carpet or on her clothes.

“Fuck, guys, that was—

“Why haven’t you finished yet?”

Yuri looks at you, as if she expects you to just burst from the look in her eyes. No, she underestimates you. Your stamina is still going strong and your enjoyment of her cunt hasn’t diminished by a single percent.

“I-I can still keep going!”

“Really? Let’s see about that.”

As if you had fucked a million times already, Yuri’s riding and your upwards fucking synchronizes instantaneously. When she crashes down, all of your cock fills her hole and when she rises, you’re right at her entrance, ready to repeat what can only be described as heaven—an entry to happiness.

But happiness isn’t a dominant emotion right now, hell, you don’t even want it. You just want Yuri and her snug pussy always around you, hot and milking you with that flawless texture. The pink thing should accept you the entire night and with how eagerly she slams herself down on your manhood, she wants it too.

Maybe Yuri feels happiness, maybe that is your wishful thinking blurring with her mindless expression, mindless moans, mindless tongue that suddenly searches for yours and you engage in a tornado of kisses that leads to Yuri resigning. Her body is all yours now, yours alone, and she is begging to cum. Trophy this, award that, in the end she has her needs and you will fulfill them.

Hold onto her waist and like in the final battle of a video game, use all your knowledge and skill to stimulate the inside of her pussy. Nothing can stop you, not the cum from her gaping hole that drips on your balls, not her weight laying on top of you, not the shocked gaze of Junseo—he must have never seen his girlfriend get fucked so well.

“Fuck, I’m-I’m,

“I feel so good, don’t stop.”

Yuri’s whine feels like a victory. You know she will climax before you do. This is all you’ve ever wanted. After this, you can let your feelings for her die in peace. But for these last few thrusts, she is all yours. Her entire body and mind is occupied by you, and so you claim her with a gentle kiss and a not-so-gentle flick on her clit.

“Who makes you cum?”

“You! You, you make me—ah!”

That scream is so long, so good; she is so tight, so perfect. Yuri trembles, electric shocks of pleasure surge all across her body. Her cunt is so tight and hot, you don’t feel the condom anymore and release your seed into it with lazy pumps. Yuri mewls when she feels the hot sticky mess which sadly misses her hot, messy holes and instead sticks to your dick.

“Okay, fuck,” Junseo sighs and sinks onto the carpet. “That was hot, that was crazy.”

“I knew you’d like it,” Yuri weakly says, a bright but tired smile on her lips as she looks back to her boyfriend. She turns back to you, face in adorable scrunches “Lemme, uhm… clean up.”

“Oh, yeah.” You quickly try to get your composure, because you’re still balls deep inside her. “Fuck, sorry about that.”

“Don’t apologize.

Junseo can never hear that. He never will. And Daehwi is long asleep. Those following words are just for you.

“That was the best thing ever.”

#kpop smut #female idol smut #girl group smut #male reader insert #izone smut #male reader smut #yuri smut #jo yuri smut #izone yuri smut

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 10 months

Note

Hiya! I’m so happy your requests are open omg your writing is impeccable. So I’ve been with this concept in my head for so long since I read this prompt somewhere: what is with your weird fascination with me?

And just immediately my head started creating a story about reader having the nickname ‘Death’ because she has the highest body count known, skilled as no other and, also, imposible to know on a deeper level because she is like a wall, not letting anyone in. Until John Price needs her for a mission and is, as the prompt says, fascinated by her (and feeling other things he doesn’t want to admit), and is able to break her a little when he gets hurt in a mission after months of working together.

Glory to the Reaper

PAIRING: John Price x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: He was strange, you admitted to yourself. Always around even when you didn't want him to be. But perhaps the Brit just might surprise you.

WORDCOUNT: 5.8k

WARNINGS: Angst, blood, death, gore, canon typical violence, avoidance tactics, fluff, pining, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: I switched around the codename but it's still the same plot! Enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your eyes slip over the file on the table, slowly caressing the parchment with easy and careful consideration of every word and comma—searching. Focusing. You hum under your breath and slide the page away to spy on the one behind it, the room quiet and the air cold. Outside the window the entire compound is asleep, only the light of the street lamps illuminating the land; inside this office, your feet barely shuffle over the tuft of the rug.

Clicking your tongue, you go to the next document in the pile.

The still-warm body flinches and jerks below you, but you barely notice—he hadn’t put up much of a fight; wasn’t memorable. Sighing and itching over the mask along the bottom of your face, you snatch the last six papers from the desk and fold them four times, stuffing them into your vest pocket.

Stalking with sure steps, you press into the radio on your gear as you step over the body and head to the door. Bloody bootprints follow behind you like a crimson shadow of surefire death.

“Actual, intel secured. Heading to Evac now.” Laswell was listening intently on the other end, your Op of the highest priority.

You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, surely. The small click from the other end greets you as you shove open the office’s door and saunter down the hallway paved with glints of marble and pools of viscera like a Roman horror story. Eyes numbly slide past the scores of bodies; necks slit and stomachs burst from bullets fired through silencers.

“Good job, Tomb,” Laswell utters, voice fast and serious as always. “What’s the clean-up status?”

Your lips flinch upward, “I suggest fire and a prayer, Actual. But no one knows I’m here. Main house is neutralized.”

A small pause later and a huff of dull amusement.

“Copy, Tomb. Your ride is waiting—best not to miss it, we need you back sooner than later.” The structure of your lungs rearranges in a small chuckle that echoes off the ceiling; molten silver from the moon slips over your darkened form. The patch upon your right shoulder is illuminated in steady intervals, the familiar image of a mausoleum and a guarding Sphinx.

Alone, that patch is, with no other dark affiliations beyond that demonic cause. Many see it right before they meet their end, but the insignia was entirely left to ruin—no one sees it and lives besides other soldiers.

“Copy.” Your voice is easy and bland as the curtains from the single open window shake in the breeze. “Tell the boys I’m on my way.” You pass the window and slap a gloved hand to it, hearing the squeak of the frame as it hits back down before you turn the corner, slinking away to reform into a figure that evokes grim glances and sliced sentences.

—

You stare into blue eyes with a sheen of disinterest coating your own, hands stuffed into your pockets and gear heavy on your chest. From your shoulder, the strap of your rifle sits as you speak, tilting your head, “Captain Jonathan Price of Task Force 141.”

The man was tall, you admit, fit and formed to harsh military life. Undoublity he’d been in the service for decades. You’d seen his face before—the brunette beard and the strong jaw; small eyes with wrinkles, it’s how you had ID’d him. Plus the bucket hat. Laswell had told you he’d been inquiring about your file and you’d done your own digging off the books.

John grunts a greeting before nodding.

“Pleasure. Tomb, was it?” On the tarmac, you glance around with stiff shoulders as the blades of the helicopter slow down behind you. Morning was just on the horizon, and you hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep on the flight back.

Lips thin, before your vision slides back into place. John’s hands are crossed casually, but his blue holds glints of intrigue. You don’t like that. “...The one and only. Excuse me.”

Walking past, you move like a crane, legs taking long, steady, strides. A hand comes up to scratch at your cheek through your face covering. Laswell was expecting you immediately.

And those feet at your side were not supposed to be there. Your eyes shimmer lowly at the shadow of John as he follows.

“Should tell you that Laswell’s in building two, then.” Pace halting, the Captain continues off on his own as your sharp gaze burns into his neck. He spares a glance over his expansive shoulder before adjusting his course to the East. “Told me to bring you to her. We need to have a little chat, yeah?”

You stay silent, watching John travel to the larger building where Laswell was apparently now waiting for you. After a still minute where you listen to the birds waking up and the scent of dew is in your hidden nostrils, you sigh deeply and roll your shoulders before beginning to walk behind.

“Hm,” Garbled grunts are only heard by you as you stay well enough back from the man. Cautious as you stare at his head.

He holds the door open for you when you finally make it, and you stand blankly from the opening as John’s calloused hand clenches over the door. When you don’t enter, the Captain shakes his head and releases a deep chuckle.

“Alright, then,” he mutters, shuffling through the door first. You follow the strain of his back until you look away and reach for the barrier, pushing it back from you. Making your way inside, you sigh and wonder what you’re getting into.

“Laswell said you don’t like strangers,” eyes peek back at you as the buzzing from the overhead lights echoes in your ears. Your throat releases a hum; shoulders showing a picture of wound ease. “Can’t say she’s wrong, now can you?”

Watching another soldier pass the two of you, you tilt your head to make sure the stranger’s footsteps turn the corner before you answer John’s question with a raised brow to mirror his own.

“Did she also tell you that I don’t plan on joining One-Four-One, Captain?” His bearded smirk catches you slightly off-guard, perplexed by not even the hint of shock in his gaze. He’d done his research.

John grunts as his eyelids narrow, amused. Your muscles tense.

“Affirmative.” The meeting room door is opened and this time he allows you to ease your paranoia by slinking in first.

In the room sits an occupied Laswell, a long table, a projector, and black-out windows. Confused but used to last-minute changes, you simply enter silently and pick a chair with your back to the wall and a good view of the room.

“Laswell,” you utter in greeting as the woman hums a hello, shifting through numerous files. In your breast pocket, you pull out the files you’d stolen and toss them onto the wood. John stands near the entrance with crossed arms, hips shifting every so often as his feet re-situate themselves.

He blinks down at the papers and then back to you with a careful glance at Kate.

Your Station Chief chuckles when she looks at you, tilting her head before she snatches the prize.

“Good work as always, Tomb.”

“Why is he here?” You get to the point, one hand going up to brush over your hair as the other sits limply on the seat’s arm. Your gear sits heavy on you, but that brutal tic of curiosity blooms.

John’s lips twitch before he answers, “An offer. Knew I wouldn’t be able to meet if Laswell wasn’t the mediator, eh? You’re bloody difficult to track down.”

“Offer?” Small talk never mattered to you, hadn’t since you’d signed up, and probably never would. You didn’t understand why people beat around the bush—just say what you need to say and get it over with. There was only so much time in a day.

It seemed John Price carried part of that opinion as well.

Blunt, you admit to your opinion of the man, and sure of his strengths.

“I need your skill set.” Kate looks back and forth between you two before she focuses on her work, multitasking. John continues, pointing a hand at you in demonstration from their hold on his chest. “Mission in three days. Turkey…” He watches you closely as if gauging your abilities. “You in or out?”

You wait in a dim silence for a minute or two before you tilt your body to Laswell, eyes still stuck in stormy blue and pale wrinkles inlaid with dirt.

“Kate?”

“Totally off the books,” the woman says confidently, pen sliding over paper. “Two targets in Bursa. There’s a file in your office.” Raising a brow, John hides his cheeky smile behind a bored mask.

“Take your Lieutenant,” you glare, “Ghost, was it?”

Price shakes his head, hat flinching along with it. “On assignment. I’ll need an answer today, Tomb. Time’s ticking.”

Your jaw clenches in annoyance, “Capture or kill?”

John shrugs nonchalantly, “Either. Is this a yes or a no?”

In this game of cat and mouse, you find yourself slipping. Your obligations as a soldier call to you to take the mission immediately, but for the simple fact that this Captain was unknown to you—and apparently, you weren’t unknown to him.

John was checking all of the boxes of people you didn’t like to be around.

Your voice grits out, eyes burning in their glare, “...When?”

His smirk makes you want to storm out.

“Tomorrow. 1300.” The air in the room is thick, tense like a thick layer of molasses was overtop everything. Under the table, your foot taps to the steady beat of your heart, your face tensed, and the layers of your facemask suddenly too formed to your neck and chin.

Twitching your nose you dig your eyes into John, peeling down his expansive shoulders and chest to take in the layers of packs and other miscellaneous items. His thigh holders and the way they hug his legs. You end with one last dead-on look into his eyes, trying to pinpoint intentions and flay the lines of his brain.

Most people glance away, but John returns the look with a casual tilt of his head and a raised brow. Not at all off-put.

Your hand steadily clenches over the chair.

All you give him is a firm nod—nothing more than a mere jerk of your chin. Kate sighs from where she’d been watching.

“Perfect. John,” she points her pen at the Captain as you both stare off. John grunts before his eyes flicker to the side, leisurely roving back moments later. You blink and rub your forehead. “You have your answer. Now would the both of you get the fuck out of here?”

“Copy, Kate.” John sighs, and you huff; standing as you plan out the amount of time you have to clean up and sleep before you have to leave. With an easy brush of your shoulders, your form shimmies past the Captain with dull enthusiasm.

You weren’t happy about this, but fine. You’ve been through worse.

As you shuffle down the hallway to the armory, your ears quirk when the footsteps ring in the drums of your ears like a hiking beacon. Already you’d memorized the walking pattern.

The thump-bump, bump-thump, of boots and the clink-clank of metal on metal. Shoving down a growl you hiss out into the air, not turning around.

“Problem, Price?” A gruff humph bounces.

“Negative, Tomb.” His shadow comes to conjoin with yours, large body standing side-by-side. Eyes flash to the side of your face, hidden from all by the cloth—like a bored cat, you continue to pave your way to silence; hoping whatever thought this man had in his head would disappear. “Just curious, see.”

“Curious?” your brow raises, the make of your muscles showing your unease. “Can’t help you with that.”

“No, probably not, eh?” John grunts and reiterates as strange emotion spikes in the lines of his face as he glances along you. “Tomorrow. 1300. Don’t be late.” With nothing more, he halts and pivots, peeling back to leave your side as his sudden absence leaves you devoid of heat.

Confusion breeds in your chest, but your steady legs carry you on until your tension leaves. Under your breath you utter a question as you enter the armory, shuffling your rifle off of your chest. “What the hell was that about?”

—

Price and you stand inside the safehouse with fast hearts and narrowed eyes. Blood was dripping down your hands, the black gloves flooded with gore that sure as hell doesn’t belong to you.

“Fuck,” John growls, guttural reverberations echoing off the walls. With stiff ribs, you go and lightly peel back the fabric of the nearest window to study the street below; looking for any suspicious figures. Frowning, you see nothing and let the curtain fall, eyes wafting to the Captain.

“We either lost them or they have surveillance on the building. Best for you to not leave either way.” The mission had gone sideways—apparently one of the targets had an ID on John as a member of One-Four-One. One thing led to another and resulted in you sticking a knife into some man’s gut to get away when he’d been spotted. You blink at his agitated expression, the black beanie on his head ruffled as he runs a hand over it.

But you don’t say anything else. Peeling off your gloves, you listen to him as a rain of blood splatters the carpet.

“This sets us back—since when does bloody fuckin’ Metin Baydar know who I am?” John’s hands are clenched, jaw so tight you wonder if his molars will crack under the pressure. A smirk twitches your lips at the thought. “Tomb,” you slowly tilt your eyes to him. The man sets his lips and crosses his arms, the brown casual wear in his chest bunching. “I’ll need you to be my eyes on this, yeah? If I leave this position I jeopardize your safety.”

“My safety?” you huff a laugh and push your gloves into your loose pants. “Captain, I don’t need you to worry about my safety.”

He seems to pause for a moment, and with a shake of his head his blue eyes shutter closed. A deep, tight, breath is taken and those tiny lids are forced back as you lock gazes. You send a blank look his way and he nods firmly.

“Keep low.” Is all he grunts, feet standing apart and his stare intense. “Copy?”

A swirl of amusement dances in your gut—you tap the earpiece in your shell with a stained streak of blood on your fingers. John stares, unreadable.

“I’ll leave when the streets cool. Just keep on the line so I can relay my intel, Price.” After a moment of silence, your eyes tighten with intrigue. “How do you wonder Baydar knew your face?” Standing by the window again, you peek out and keep John in view. His form shuffles, and he scoffs before walking beside you. Over your shoulder, he also views the buildings and businesses below. You still at the sensation of his breath on the back of your head, hand twitching over the curtain. It ruffles your hair for a moment before you snap out of it, eyes blinking rapidly. “Your Task Force isn’t exactly known,” you finish your sentence, voice strained.

Clearing his throat, as if realizing how close he’d gotten with only the intention of gazing outside, the man’s form jerks back; taking a step or two away to give you distance. Your far-gone eyes blankly continue to look outside but your chest gains some tension to it. You don’t know why.

This Brit is strange. You frown, watching a cat traverse the concrete far below. Not that I really have much to go off of.

“Haven’t a clue.” John sighs again, one hand going to itch at his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine. One thing I do know is that we have to fix this. Now.”

“You should tell Laswell,” you mutter, turning around and walking past him to stand around your packs—all of which hold your gear. Your knife was set into a small sheath inside your shirt, leather wrapped around your waist as you stopped near the coffee table. You pull the lip of your clothes up and grasp at it before peeling the metal out with an inquisitive eye.

If there was any breakage to the tip, you’d be furious.

John watches from across the room, catching glances at your bare skin riddled with scars and burns; unmarred flesh foreign. He feels his breath hitch before you drop your shirt back down and bring the blade into the light.

Holding it parallel, you gaze along the edge and tilt your head, eyelids half-closed.

“Kate?” Price answers you, clearing his throat. “No, it’s better not to create any more shite. She’ll be good off not knowing, yeah?” The brunette’s brow raises in question.

You hum and don’t reply.

The rest of the mission was spent with the two of you conversing over the open line of your comms as you scoured the streets for any sign of the target, feet carrying you over the city as the chill of the late afternoon set in. Presently, you didn’t know how to feel about your situation. Working with others was a strain on your focus—on the walls you’ve built up; John had obviously noticed that you didn’t exactly play well with others. It was plainly stated in your file, after all.

“—attitude, or lack thereof, is a detriment to the structure of any team/unit/platoon that she is placed into under all circumstances. Recommended reserved operations to limit drawbacks.”

Having a pleasant attitude wasn’t your job.

Stalking around the corner, your ears twitch to John’s voice. “Sitrep, Tomb. What’s it looking like out there?”

It was strange, then, that the man over the line was so eager to speak to you. Your sigh hits on deaf ears, and you respond as you carefully walk past civilians making their way home.

“Quiet. No sign.” The silence re-settles and you gradually loosen again. Like a cat, your ears twitch to hear the muttering from the commuters; eyes sliding with watery film across faces.

Baydar owns a restaurant as a front for funding terrorists. Anyone exiting from this direction could be part of it—

“You said you’d never join One-Four-One,” John’s voice makes you shove down a flinch, ripped out of your focus. In your pockets, your hands close into fists, and a deeply annoyed mask fits itself over your expression. “Why’s that, then?”

“What is this?” Your voice goes cold, “interrogation time?”

“With a record like yours, you’d get pick of any Task Force or SOF in country.” The Captain seems to ignore your hiss and jab as his deep voice continues; accent low. You hear the drag of a cigar and the puff of smoke. Internally, you’re thankful for the casual yet attentive acknowledgment of your skills—how the man doesn’t seem in the slightest worried about you. “Why is it that you’re always alone out ‘ere? Couldn’t wrap my head ‘round it, truthfully.” A tobacco-slick chuckle, “Bloody hell, people would kill to get you on a mission like I did, eh? No doubt.”

For a long time, you don’t answer, leaning against the wall across from your target’s restaurant doing recon. Frown tight and face stiff. John’s voice fizzles.

“Ah, fuckin’ forget it Love, just a man’s curiosity speaking for ‘im. I’ll leave you to focus.” Before the line can click, you open your lips—as if the things have a mind of their own.

“People are unpredictable.” The Captain’s breath is gently puffing over the line. He listens and you know he hangs on every word; it was a strange feeling to know that. From under you, your feet shuffle. “They do things that don’t make sense. I don’t like dealing with it.”

A grunt. “Well, can get behind that…” John had a smirk on his lips, you can hear it. “You’d lose your head if you met MacTavish.”

Your focus waning, you blink, getting sucked into this strange interaction with an even stranger man.

“Yeah?” You wonder, head tilting to the side. “One of yours?”

“Hm,” he affirms and the chill of the night caresses your skin. John chuckles. “Sergeant. Bloody good shot, but can get into trouble faster than his fucking gun can fire.”

Your mouth quirks. “Sounds horrible.”

“Makes my job a living hell,” John admits and you shock yourself by listening. “But no one better to keep by my six…You’d ease up to him.”

“I’m not joining, Price,” Your voice mutters out like how a dragonfly snaps its translucent wings on still air. “This is it.”

In the safehouse, John hums under his breath, staring out the window at the blinking lights of the city as you watch the restaurant with far-off thoughts. A smile twitches his lips. For some reason there was something about you he wanted to figure out—something to unravel. You were like Ghost sometimes, but more… fascinating. Darker.

And you knew how to get the job done better than anyone.

John wanted you on his Task Force, your expertise, and the only way to get that was to take you apart like a puzzle of razor blades. Study you. Learn you as the edges cut up his flesh. The Captain had no idea what picture you’d make when everything was in its proper place, but he’d be willing to try with the very tenacity that had gotten him this far.

But there was something else there, too. Some kind of tightness in his chest when you looked at him; he'd gotten it when he’d seen you on the tarmac back not so long ago like some schoolboy. Those blank eyes of yours…why did he want them to light up?

Why did he want to see your laugh?

John wasn’t immature enough to not know his own feelings or attractions, but this was an entire section of its own. Blinking, the man grunts to himself and smirks. “Well, better make it last, then.”

You feel your eyelids carefully pull in surprise.

“I…” Your voice starts but dies off, swallowing saliva down as your mouth clacks shut with a connection of teeth. Closing your eyes, you steady your heart, which had suddenly created a concerning skip in its beats.

John places the cigar back to his lips and takes a long drag, leaning out of the window to watch the smoke disappear into the twinkling lights. Lips peeling his beard hairs back.

—

As it turned out, the mission in Turkey wasn’t the only time you’d have to deal with John Price, and it certainly wasn’t the last time you’d see his face in front of yours. One mission turned into two—two into three and so on. You hadn’t exactly wanted it, but you found you couldn’t turn him down either.

At whichever base you were stationed at, all of a sudden he’d just show up; standing on the tarmac with his arms crossed and that casual set to his shoulders. The first time you’d seen him after Turkey, you had half convinced yourself he was a mirage. And then he’d smirk at you and tilt his head and you’d have no control over your words.

It was pathetic…disgusting…it was…it was…

You shake yourself back to the present when a bullet whizzes past your head, a sharp call from across the utter warzone you’d found yourself in the middle of.

“Tomb, what in the hell’s wrong with you?!” John’s voice is harsh, and you lock onto it. “Get your gun up!”

You sigh, unperturbed. Peaking past the large crate you use as cover, your eyes glare at the enemy soldiers across the dock, fixing your finger’s position over your M4A1. The small unit you’d been dragged into by John was mostly dead—only four of you remaining from the ten.

It wasn’t supposed to go down like this.

Jerking back, a splintering of wood explodes in front of you as the next fast piece of metal nearly takes your nose off. With a grit of your teeth, you flick your safety off and swivel your shoulders.

Popping from the top of the crate, your sharp eyes lock onto the first visible body before you press your finger to the trigger with practiced ease as the word shrieks all around you. Recoil is eaten into the padded kevlar of the junction of your shoulder and arm.

When you dart back, the body has yet to hit the ground.

“There she is!” John calls, and you look forward with a steady stare as the brunette laughs from behind his own crate a few feet away. “Keep your head in the game, Tomb.”

You frown, normal facemask back over your chin hiding it. While you loathe to admit it, John had grown on you in these…what was it…? Months? Yes, that seemed about right.

Months of joint missions. You could hardly believe that he’d dragged you out like this.

“Tell the others to flank,” Your voice whisps over the line like smoke, “Left side—there’s a gap in the crates.”

John looks you in the eyes and blinks, eyelids twitching. With his beard covered in gunpowder, the man looks across the open space between the gunbattle to the left. Sure enough, right before he’s forced to snap back down to cover, the Captain spies a very well-hidden gap in the defenses.

He smiles viciously like a dog, and barks a laugh to you, nodding, “Good eye! Boys,” the two don’t pause their assault but call their questioning voices over the line. You don’t listen, occupied with giving off bursts of gunfire and trying to avoid the eyes of your fellow dead soldiers. Your lungs are compressed inside of your ribcage like prisoners. “Flank left. We’ll cover you!”

“Sir!” Steadying your breath, you avoid John’s confused glances and scoff to yourself, resituating your clammy hands.

When all’s said and done the four of you are the only ones left. Letting your gun sit on your chest you use the body as an armrest, allowing it to hang off the side from the trigger-guard. Your fingers twitch, and as John speaks to the two men, you stare silently at the gushing bodies of your fellows like phantoms spring from their chests.

John’s voice slows when he sees you apart from them, glancing at the soldiers at your feet before ordering the remaining men to get to the evac point. They try to argue everyone should be going together, and on all accounts, they’re completely right, but John won’t hear it.

“Go—that’s an order.” Reluctantly, the two glance at each other and speed off.

You jolt at a call of your name, head turning to face stormy blue as they gaze at you with concern. Stopping a few feet away, John stands still and folds his arms, face going rigid with concern as he glances you over for wounds.

His head slightly leans in, chin down.

“...You alright?” Hand flinching, you clear your throat.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” You ask, fixing the position of your feet and forcing away the images of dead bodies and blank eyes.

You’d seen scores of men dead before—friend and foe—but you had thought you’d never have to see more of your own fall. It had been a long time since you’d felt the distant lull of numb horror in the back of your brain; like some ocean wave that drowns you under every time it comes back. It always comes back.

John narrows his eyes and frowns deeply, glancing around and hiding the slight way his right arm sags.

“Tomb?” He says it so lowly that you really have to focus, ears straining. That gravel was back, and you found yourself latching onto it. “Eh, you just focus on me, yeah? I’m right ‘ere.”

“I know,” you snap, eyes shuttering away only to find more vacant stares. You flinch back and look up into the sky; a sudden burn in your brain that you need to quell.

The man grows even more concerned with you, taking a step forward and clenching his jaw. He studies you, your shaking tension and the clench and loosening of your fists—attention always on you but roving to the dead men all around. Something clicks with a violent inhale.

John moves to you without a word and grasps you around the shoulders quickly. You gasp at that, immediate reaction to shove away, but only gape at the warmth that he brings you instead—the steady presence and chest to lean on. As the Brit drags you, you focus instead on calming your breathing.

The Captain lightly shimmies down your facemask and you suck down tight air as you go limp into his side.

“C’mon, Tomb. It’s alright. I’m here. I’m right here.” He’s muttering to you, disguising his pained grunts in favor of taking care of you.

That strange affection for you had grown in your time together…not that he’d said anything. It was more proper of him to watch out from a distance, not sure of your own feelings or the probability of you gazing back at him with the same amount of concealed longing. Many a night he’d sat on his bed and wondered. Wondered how an animal so extraordinary and remarkable took the form of a woman with a black sphinx patch and sharp eyes.

John had heard you laugh once through your expeditions together—sniping in Greenland. Once had been enough; if he never heard it again, he could still recall the pitch and frequency to the yawning of his soul. He didn’t need to hear it again.

It was locked into the fabric that made up your skin and speech, and every time he stared at you he could find it in your eyes.

The Captain puts you down near a crate around the corner, letting you lean into it as he turns and captures your neck from either side. You shake under him, blurry vision stuck to his dog tags as they wink against his chest.

“Tomb,” John says again, and with a lick of your chapped lips, you carefully turn your head up. Blue eyes crease worriedly. The thumbs on the sides of your neck caress up and down your rapid pulse steadily; calluses creating stimuli. A small smile meets you. “There we are, atta girl. Focus.”

Tears dribble down your cheeks, and you flatten your lips, whispering out brokenly, “I said I don’t like teams.”

John’s heart breaks.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” his hand captures the back of your head and you’re brought into a deep and firm embrace—gear pinching and prodding but neither of you care.

When was the last time you’d been held like this? The feeling makes your mouth quiver, your face stuck into the junction of the Brit’s neck and shoulder.

“John…” You whimper out and his arms around you only tighten—his tense nose shoved into your scalp as his eyes closed tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, heart racing, “I’m so, so, sorry.”

You don’t know long he holds you there, the air filled with blood and death but just so soundly resting atop his vest and limp to his gentle swaying. The tears dry at some point, they always have to. Sniffling, your burning face takes in the scent of beard oil and gunpowder and you find yourself calmed by it.

Calmed by John.

The man holding you waits a moment more before he slightly leans back, staring down at you intently; nervously. You lick at the tears drying into the line of your mouth to taste the saltiness on your tongue as fingers grasp at your chin.

Angled up, your face is on full display.

John sighs and the drowned keratin of your lashes flutters, embarrassment flooding you. His eyes crease before his hands come up to take away your sorrows with a soft brush of his digits. The man clears his throat tinily, voice deep with emotion.

“Better?” Your eyes dip away from his, knowing you’d been staring.

“I…” Glancing over his right shoulder absentmindedly, you only get a word off before you see a fountain of red. Blinking away the last of your tears, John’s finger on your cheek stops moving as you freeze—stiff to the touch.

His panic spikes again.

“What’s going on—”

“When did you get hit?” Your voice is hard and laced with something you can’t name. Shaving back from John you frantically grab at his arm. In an instant, the Captain is whirled around and shoved back into the crate; he grunts loudly, eyes snapping wide.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He grumbles, but flinches when you peel at the bloodied layers of his compression shirt. John smirks, letting your touch rove him as your nose scrunches. He represses a shiver at the bite of your nails, whispering out, “If you wanted to throw me ‘round, Love…all you had to do was ask.”

You blink rapidly and turn your fast gaze to his eyes as you stutter, fingers covered in blood and holding apart the fabric of his outfit to show a bullet graze to his pale upper bicep. John’s cheeky smirk grows and against all the pain and the dark corners, you feel a bubbling in your gut.

A small chuckle snakes out, like twinkling bells.

“Shut up,” your smile leaves him breathless, smirk falling to a small open-mouthed screen of obvious admiration. A hum marks the back of his throat, eyebrows loosely curving upon his forehead.

You look over and find him like this—his gaze trapping you like his arms had. Like music, it takes you into its melody. Staring, your smile, gradually too, leaks out.

“What are you doing?” Your question is breathy. "What is your fascination with me?" John’s eyes stick with you, the shining, shimmering, blue. There are tempests held there and if this man was anything, he was a storm of intentions and promises.

“Looking,” John answers lowly. "Just looking."

You take down a breath, “At what, John?”

He chuckles at you, face close and pleasant, “Y’know, I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, Love.”

Blindly you wonder how the world can still turn while you both stand here—was it, even? How can life go on when such things are uttered to light? When they’re buried deep into your marrow like the dirt on top of a grave?

How can the Reaper knock at your doorways when love exists in such quantity…in the fractures of his eyes? Only when his lips brush yours do you understand.

It’s all here, and then it’s gone. Nothing can truly be as it was in the past, and therein lies the small, glorious, deaths. Both a blessing and a curse.

Your lips press deeply into one another and the blood of old wounds dries.

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