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horrorartsworld · 1 month

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Clingy ass Valentino…HEAR ME OUT PEOPLE!PUT THE PITCHFORKS AWAY!

He just adores his little pornstar so much,he buys her whatever she wants.her dressing room might be more expensive than an art museum

New nails? Done.Wanna get your hair done? He’s already given them his card

She just gets so used to being spoiled that she’ll start to get bratty when he won’t get something,and then that leads to a brat being out in her place…(IF YOU KNOW WHERE IM GOING)

I LIVE FOR THESE KIND OF ASKS!! EATING THIS SHIT UP FOR BREAKFAST HONEY 🤭🤭 Also can you tell I have fun writing for Valentino…it’s DISGUSTING

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ ⁺

spoiled rotten

clingy valentino/spoiled pornstar f!reader

warnings: smut obviously, HEAVY brat taming, oral (m receiving), rough dom!valentino, brat!reader, unprotected p in v, spanking, grinding, face fucking, orgasm denial, creampie, pet names, daddy kink, lots of dirty talk cause when doesn’t val talk dirty lol, soft valentino??? at the end

A low strum of a knock is heard against the door of your dressing room where Valentino now stood with it all the way open. “Doll?” His voice following shortly after, sounding a bit tired though it still had the alluring presence that was always intoxicating.

Huffing, you see his tall stature from the reflection of your large vanity mirror, ducking his head as he came through the doorway not bothering to wait for some kind of gesture from you to come in.

Red eyes immediately catching the new things you’ve bought probably in the last week or days even.

Various articles of clothing with high price tags still on them strung and obviously thrown onto a big luxurious pink sofa that sat on one end of the room, an assortment of shoes adorning the other with plentiful shelving space to display most of them, and lets not forget the jewels that you had laid out like magazines on your coffee table that were so sparkly they hurt when he glimpsed at them.

All of it was making Val very overwhelmed and most importantly uneasy. It was like you were gonna run him dry of all his hard earned porn money, seeing you spend it all so carelessly only to buy pointless things that you think is cutesy or fun in the moment, but that feeling would always subside when the girl he adorned more then himself would give him the time of day….and of course you knew this all too well once you became spoiled.

Taking advantage of it when you could to get the things you want, wearing tight little mini skirts that would show your panties when you bent over or putting on your big doe eyes when he was being even a bit hesitant with your request. It was always the best too when you’d catch him in a big meeting, your delicate figure sauntering into his office letting his colleagues gawk at you in the new outfit you’d bought that showed just about every inch of your assets, causing Valentino to almost loose his shit seeing them look at you and he then has to deal with you quickly, shooing you off with his card in your hands to get whatever your little heart desires.

Which is the exact reason why your hair and nails were always done at almost every shoot, making some of the other girls quite jealous of you seeing the princess treatment you got from Val that they very much lacked, but who were you to care? You the porn studios sweet little prized possession and nobody could change that.

“What do you want?” You hiss annoyed while applying mascara to your long lashes, taking your gaze away from the tall moth man as he approached you, large hands resting on your shoulders, giving a small kiss to the top of your head.

“I just wanted to check in before your shoot..make sure everything’s okay with my favorite little estrella,” He rests his chin on the top of your head, his chest rumbling with a low purr as he spoke watching you so prettily apply your makeup in the mirror. “Well the shoot is just gonna have to wait tonight, i’m going to a party at the club,” You say nonchalantly as if nothing could persuade you not to go.

Val raises an invisible eyebrow at you. “Party? Oh no baby you gotta be here, the men banking on this is gonna pay us millions to distribute it..” He pauses for a moment standing up straight to take out his box of cigarettes before continuing, “…besides we both know your closet would struggle if you missed out on this kind of opportunity..”

Gawking at him in the reflection you couldn’t believe the insult he just threw at you, making you act dramatically by throwing your chair back letting it clatter to the floor as you turned to face him. “Listen here Valentino..This industry would be nothing without me and this cunt between my legs, now if i want to go to a party i’m going to go to that fucking party! Whether some perverted pricks like it or not, they can reschedule for all i give a fuck!!” You spat then stomping away from him till you were on the other side of the room where you flipped through different pairs of bottoms on a rack, not believing how unfair he was being towards you when you’ve worked so hard to get where you’re at. The scent of his now lit cigarette clouding the air made you feel like you couldn’t breathe, a low tsk is heard from behind you till that feeling of your breath slipping from your airways got more prominent until you were tugged back making you fall onto your ass.

“Don’t forget who owns you..” He snarled, the coolness of the metal collar that had suddenly appeared around your neck reminded you of the soul contract he had over you, the feeling leaving a bad taste in your mouth, along with the vice grip he had on the end of the chain that he just pulled to make you fall.

“Matter of fact turn around for me..”

“Valentino..i-i didn’t mean-“ You try to apologize, but you were cut off by another tug on the chain, this time more harder than the last making you choke.

“I said turn around now.”

You quickly turn around, resting on the backs of your heels on your knees, looking up at the moth man with a gaze akin to that of a deer all while he towered over you. To your dismay your look of innocence only turned him on more, letting go of the chain that held you till it dissipates in mid air and the coolness of the collar is gone, wasting no time as he undos the large heart buckle sat at his midsection and pulls down his white dress pants till they’re pooling at his ankles. He was already so hard that when his cock sprang free your eyes immediately met his leaky tip that was a deep purple from its usual color, he then takes it in one of his hands and taps it against your lips. The pre smearing into your freshly applied lipstick.

“Open princess..” Val cooed through gritted teeth, the end of his cigarette wiggling in his mouth while he spoke.

You start shivering when you feel his claws racking against your scalp, too caught up in what was happening Valentino presses the back of your head down on his cock forcing the tip to push past your lips, taking him in your mouth fully without a moment to adjust and it immediately hits the back of your throat earning a soft gag from you and a low chuckle from Val. Once you catch your bearings from the unexpected sensation, you began to bob your head like the pornstar you were, sucking and licking like you were starved.

“Mmm..that’s my good girl..daddy’s good girl huh…” He hums out a gruff moan, a hand snaking its way down to caress your cheek that was full. Your eyes flutter up at him catching him in such a sinfully good angle that made you whine against his cock, cigarette barley hanging from his lips, the buttons on his shirt opened showing off his rather lean built body, muscles flexing and the white fur around his neck fluffing up when you used you flicked your tongue against a vein in a certain way getting him closer to his already building orgasm. “Taking it so good aren’t you baby? It's okay, hhpmh..you don't gotta talk with your mouth full, I know you fucking love worshipping daddy’s cock..”

The tears start pouring down your face, ruining your mascara in the process as his words along with the filthy sounds of you sucking him off made your cunt throb with an unbearable need. You scoot closer in attempt to grind against his leg, whimpering when the heat from his body, combined with the friction from his leg and the fabric of your panties rubbed deliciously against your sensitive clit.

"M gonna cum doll..Swallow for me yeah? Every last drop, do you fucking hear me?” Valentino growled suddenly his frustrations over taking him, putting out his cigarette(finally) as he fisted your hair proceeding to take control completely, bucking his hips relentlessly into your mouth as he face fucked you. Drool leaking down your chin as you tried to continue your grinding against his leg trying to match his speed until he came down your throat. Pulling you off his dick with a little pop to let you swallow, Valentino lightly tapping your chin, letting red smoke spill from his mouth as he leaned down to your level. "Atta girl…lemme see."

Seeing that you obediently swallowed his seed, he roughly yanked you from your position on his leg, eyes disapprovingly glaring down at you from behind his sunglasses. “You think you can get off on my leg without permission?” He scolds like an owner to its pet. “If you’re gonna cum cariño, it’s gonna be with you squirming on my dick.”

“B-but..” You sniffle, only to be silenced by Valentino with just a finger signaling you to. He then throws you on the couch not caring about the high end clothes still on it, crawling onto of you shortly after.

“Shhh not another word,” He shushes you, leaving kisses down your neck feverishly, while his hands worked at pulling down your skirt and panties in one quick motion. Slamming into you before you could even mutter out a protest like the brat you’ve grown to be. One of his hands reaching above you to hold onto the arm of the couch as he fucked into you with a dizzying rhythm, pounding relentlessly into your cunt just like he did to your mouth. “Fuck princessa, I should just let them record us…Millions of sinners seeing you get your brains fucked out by the man who really owns you…owns this pussy..”

“Y-you own this pussy daddy…” You babble out, whimpering when he hit that particular spot that drove you crazy to the point your clit swelled.

A primal instinct ignited in Val when he heard you say that, making his thrusts stutter for a minute until he started fucking you like an animal once more. “Say that again baby..”

You were too focused on the pleasure that you didn’t hear him, earning a good smack to the side of your ass snapping you out of it with a pitiful whine.

“Tell me who owns this pussy..” He husked in your ear for another time.

“Mm daddy does..” Valentino could tell just by your voice and the way your cunt was sucking him in that you were getting close, and it only excited the man more for what he deviously had planned. Pulling you closer to your orgasm by adding hand to rub circles at your soaked clit. “Yeah he fucking does..”

You let out a meek moan at his prideful exclamation and the overwhelming feeling of pleasure that was coursing through you. You should’ve known better that this would’ve been the outcome of your little tantrum from earlier, but secretly you loved the punishment. Being used like a fuck doll for Valentino to use. Your mind going dumb on the thought causing your cunt to clench with your needed climax, a pout forming on your messy lips.

“G-gonna cum, please Val!” You practically begged feeling your tears come up again.

"Not until l've had mine, princessa." He huffed breathlessly, burying himself deep inside you with one finally thrust, wings fanning out and fluttering while he spilt his cum all inside you.

The feeling of being filled made you desperately want your own climax so much more, but he quickly pulled out of you, killing that mood within an instant, leaving your legs shaking and your lower stomach aching for release.

"I changed my mind," Valentino said with a smirk, but there was a hint of admiration dotting his red eyes. "I think you don't get to cum today. Not even at work i’m rescheduling the shoot for another day since you decided to show your ass.”

He began to clean himself up, picking up his pants from the other side of the room and slipping them back on. You wanted to pout again, especially because he was basically back to being so unfair, but you knew better to not otherwise that would result in another denial of your orgasm. Once he was back to his normal overly sensual self, he turned to you, red eyes having a more stone cold look in them with his lip curled seeing you still shaking on the couch. You had been rid of your panties and mini skirt, leaving you just in a skimpy little top that was jostled around by Val with one of your tits hanging out of it. Makeup smudged and battered, along with the consistent drip of Vals juices and your arousal from your used hole falling onto a unworn dress that was nestled under your bum.

"Now what do you remember from today?" He asked one set of hands on his hips as the others were crossed over his chest.

The way Val stood over you so authoritatively made your core throb once more, but you tried to push it to the side as you gathered what ever thoughts you had of the lesson he seemed to try to teach you just now.

"I need to remember my place and not talk back," You mumbled quietly.

"And?" Valentino added quizzically raising his chin to tell you to proceed.

"To listen to you." A smile pulling up at the corner of your lip as you knew he was fucking with you now.

"Good girl…Also, you might want to get that dry cleaned cariño," He gestured to the dress underneath you making you look frantically till you saw it.

“Oh whatever!” You say rolling your eyes playfully giggling at him.

#☆⋆｡𖦹 my writings #☆⋆｡𖦹anon’s #☆⋆｡𖦹 valentino #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin imagine #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin valentino smut #hazbin valentino #hazbin valentino x reader #hazbin hotel valentino #valentino x reader #valentino smut #valentino

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meownotgood · 6 months

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WEEK ONE — masturbation + aki hayakawa, 18+, gn!reader, jerking off, pillow humping, sexual fantasies, edging, a hint of degradation, aki just can't help his feelings for you

kinktober masterlist

Everyone knows Aki has a crush on you.

It's as obvious as it could possibly be. He's always staring, always coming up with any excuse he can to slip away from work for a while and come talk to you. He leaves frequent gifts on your work desk: notes in his handwriting, flowers or snacks or souvenirs he got for you from Hokkaido.

He's unusually awkward when your name gets brought up in conversation, he's jittery whenever you're around — The last time you tagged along on the division's monthly drinking night, Aki was practically a mess, choosing to drown himself in as much alcohol as he had the pocket change to order, simply to keep from losing it because you'd sat next to him. Of course you had to sit right next to him.

You've kept him infatuated for forever now. The thing is, Aki doesn't care if he's obvious. You're so pretty, he thinks. He's thought so from the very beginning. You're pretty and interesting and smart and it isn't his fault; he really can't control how his heart flutters and his head goes dizzy every time you talk to him, it just happens. You just have that effect on him.

He can't help but feel shy every time you call his name in that sweet voice of yours; so polite, sticking to Hayakawa-sir even though he's told you before that you can use his first name. You grin every time, and you explain, But you get embarrassed when I call you Hayakawa. He can't help it when his face turns red all the way to the tips of his ears because you're teasing him, giving him a hard time for how stuttery he's getting.

You were particularly teasing today. Aki knew you must've been in a good mood from the moment he arrived at headquarters. You held him by his arm, you cooed praises into his ear for how hard he's been working lately. Told him if he ever needed a break, he could come to your office any time he wants to and you'd give him a massage or make him some coffee. You insist.

Maybe that's why he can't sleep right now.

He's tried to get some sleep this time, he seriously has. He hates when he's like this. When he finds he's unable to stop thinking about you, he'll try everything he can to wind down and make himself forget. He'll go for a run to try and get his energy out, take an ice cold shower, smoke until his lungs are burning to attempt to quell the noise in his mind, and yet tonight, none of that has worked.

Nothing can chase away those thoughts of you, those memories of your pretty face and your teasing hands. Nothing convinces his heart to stop pounding within his chest. Aki tosses, turns. His sheets rustle and his mattress shifts underneath his weight.

It's a real conundrum. He's felt hot all over ever since he climbed into bed. His face is warm, he's practically sweating. Turning again, he takes a quick glance at his alarm clock, the screen reads 11:54 which is several hours since he first attempted to sleep and a few minutes since he last checked it.

You were touching him so much today. So much, more than he's used to, even for you. No-one else ever touches him like that, nobody ever hugs him, holds his hand, makes him feel wanted. He wonders if you know how worked up you get him, if you can tell his heart is racing, or know the reason why he's shifting is because his slacks are getting tight.

11:56, now. Aki's head is spinning.

This is stupid, wrong of him, even. He's not super close to you. You're just one of the Public Safety office workers. If he wants to be technical, he could be considered your superior, actually. A superior fantasizing about one of the little devil hunter assistants. He's terrible.

Aki can't help but yearn to feel your touch elsewhere, everywhere. He needs it, needs you, warmth buds in his core and there's a steady ache between his legs. He was short on breath before, when you'd grabbed his arm and pressed real close, and even now, just from thinking about it, he's —

Fuck. Aki twists, rolling from his side onto his back, he rubs his knotted up temple with his finger and his thumb. It's too much. You're going to be the death of him.

His breath comes out heavy and shaking and loud in his ears. His chest rises up and down, his trembling fingers slip under the blanket, then underneath the waistband of his sweats, and his heart begins to pound faster in anticipation, hammering against his ribs.

He hesitates for a second. In the end, he gives in like he always does. Shame pools thick in the pit of his stomach, but it isn't enough to stop him from working his hand down — His palm brushes the soft fabric of his briefs, he gropes the shape of his cock through his boxers and he's already stiff. He sighs, he lets his head toss back.

You'll forgive him for this, right? You'd forgive him for getting hard when all you did was barely touch him, and for using thoughts of you to get himself off, wouldn't you? He's just so lonely, so stressed out, that's all this is. You have to forgive him, you have to understand. Aki swiftly decides you would, because he can't wait any longer; he's been needy like this for hours upon hours now and at this point, it's far too late for him to stop.

Aki pushes the blanket away, he tugs his sweats and his briefs down to his thighs at the same time, he hisses when his cock comes free. Slowly, he wraps his palm around, and he brings his thumb to the head, rubs it slow, feels himself throb steadily in his hand.

He's already dripping, precum beads in droplets at his slit and dribbles down to dirty his knuckles, each of his fingers. There's wetness sticking to his palm. A disgusting sound echoes as he pumps himself, up and down nice and careful, his bottom lip drawn between his teeth.

It feels so fucking good. Aki groans in pleasure, immediately forgets how perverted this is, he closes his eyes, thinks of you. He isn't the type to do this, he's never felt this way about anyone, he doesn't even touch himself because he's never had a reason to — but you've changed everything.

You're the reason for this, and when he's got his cock in his fist, you're all he can think about. He imagines your touch, your voice, your warm breath on his skin. Aki tries to picture how it'd feel to kiss you, to press his lips on yours and have your tongue in his mouth. How it'd feel to hold you, to have you be the one to jerk him off.

Your hands are so perfect; Aki's memorized the way they look, the way they fold when you're writing or grabbing his arm or holding your drink. They're dainty compared to his, they'd probably feel softer, so much gentler. Ever since a few weeks ago, he's fallen into the habit of using his left hand to touch himself as opposed to his right. It's clumsier this way, but it's easier to imagine his hand is someone else's, yours.

Your soft hand around his dick, stroking him just like this — Aki doesn't know if he'd be able to last. If he'd even be able to look at you, let alone talk, let alone do anything but plead your name.

Your fingers are so pretty, you'd complimented him once, Aki remembers how you sat next to him and intently watched him sign paperwork like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He'd shaken his head and written you off then, but he wants to know if you'd compliment him again, if you'd still think so when his fingers are cradling your face or pushing past your lips.

Would you still think he's as pretty — his fingers wrapped around his cock, his hair down and how you like it, his earrings you say you like so much glinting in the low light — if you saw him like this?

He wonders if you'd tease him the same as you do at the office. Oh, Mister Hayakawa, you've been wanting this for so long, haven't you? You're so fucking dirty. How long have you been jerking yourself off every night to the thought of me? So damn needy, you just want me to take care of you, huh?

Yeah, he's dirty, he's rocking his hips into his grip, he's whining and sighing soft gasps of pleasure, louder than he probably should be. He's pumping his fist faster as he pictures your face down between his legs; you'd look precious with your hair tucked back, your lips would feel as plush as he'd imagined and you'd stare up at him with such an innocent expression, your eyes practically sparkling as you take his cock in your mouth.

He can't take it. Aki pants with weight behind every breath, he twists his wrist and squeezes, pumps even faster and thinks he just might lose his mind right here — and then, he takes his hand away.

He lets go, his dick falls against his stomach and he keeps one hand in his hair and the other beside him, despite how badly his nerves are screaming for him to keep touching. He allows his breath to even out, stares at the ceiling and waits for his mind to clear.

He doesn't want to cum yet. Not when it's only been a few minutes. If he cums now, he'll probably get too exhausted to cum a second time. So he can't, not right now, not when he has more he wants to think about.

Twisting over on his side, Aki brushes his bangs away when they fall messily around his face. He presses his palm to his forehead, feeling the sweat trickling from his skin. His fingers twitch. He debates what he's about to do for a few seconds.

He shouldn't, it'll be a hassle. But when he knows how good it's going to feel, he can't resist. Hurrying, he lifts his head and grabs his pillow from underneath, he adjusts, burying his face in the sheets when it starts to feel warmer. He situates himself on his stomach, pillow firm between his legs.

Deep, slow rolls of his hips cause him to forget any of the sense he was still holding onto. He exhales hard, shakes even harder. Aki fists the sheets in a tight hand, he leans his head into his forearm, he grinds his aching cock against his pillow until his thighs are beginning to hurt.

If he was more confident, confident enough to tell you how he feels, maybe he wouldn't be in this mess. Maybe if you knew, you'd let him fold you over his bed and fuck you just like how he's been dreaming of, slowly and dizzyingly tender, enough to make him forget about everything else. Maybe. If he's good. God, does he even deserve it?

Either way, it doesn't matter what he wants. He'll do whatever the hell you ask him to, whatever you'd be willing to give him he'd be happy with — He'd be content just fucking the space between your thighs, or having you talk to him while he gets himself off and humps his pillow like a pathetic idiot; anything you want, whatever you want. As long as you're there, as long as he can hear your voice and feel your touch, and not be so alone.

The smooth cotton of his pillowcase is slick and wet with his precum. His cock is throbbing incessantly, pleasure spreads through his entire body and he doesn't care that his mattress is squeaking, that he's losing rhythm. He breathes heavy with every rut of his hips and imagines you're here, you're beneath him.

Arms strung around him tight, you'd lock eyes with him and he wouldn't dare to look away. Feels so good, you're perfect, Aki, you'd praise, and he loves your praises, You wanna cum? Oh, but you can hold out for a little longer for me, can't you?

Aki shivers. Of course. If you're the one asking him, he just has to. Especially when you call him Aki.

Aki, that's it, keep going. You're so sweet, so good for me. I belong to you. I'm all yours, forever and ever. Does that make you happy?

You're his, all his. You'd sound so perfect moaning his name as he bullies his cock into you. His first name, his and no-one else's, no extra politeness or honorifics. You'd say it softly as he slides inside, say it when you're begging him to fill you deeper, repeat it when you're telling him he's got to beg for you if he wants to finish.

C'mon, Aki. Cum for me. Give me all of it.

Yeah, Aki mumbles out loud to himself, his voice is breaking, he thrusts his hips with reckless abandon, I'll give you everything, oh, f-fuck, I'm gonna cum, I'm gonna cum…

He shoves his face into the bed as much as he can manage to muffle his noise, his fragile moans and loud whimpers. His shoulders tense, muscles aching. A few more shallow movements and he's done; he chants your name over and over again as he finishes, cumming all over his pillow and his sheets, thick ropes of white dirtying the fabric, making a mess.

Falling limp, Aki lays like that for a while, catching his breath. Everything begins to fade, working through to tiredness. He should get up and shower, wash his sheets and his pillowcase, but he's so exhausted he can't even manage to move.

He feels warm all over again, just less intense this time. Aki realizes he was saying your name as he came. Embarrassing. He can only hope he wasn't loud enough for anyone to hear.

He'll fall asleep now, at least, with warm thoughts of you to fill his head. A date with you would be nice sometime. Nothing too crazy. He'd take you anywhere you wanted to. He also wouldn't mind taking you back to his apartment and making you something for dinner, whatever you'd like.

If you were here now, he'd hold you as close as he can get you, breathing soft and slow while drifting off silently, his arms wrapped secure around your waist.

He's almost asleep. But —

Ah. He'd forgotten he has to work at the office tomorrow. So he's going to have to face you, first thing in the morning.

The next time he sees you, he doubts he'll be able to do much talking. But he'll get busier soon, there's a lot of devil hunting missions coming up. Who knows when Aki is going to see you next, so if he doesn't tell you his feelings soon, when will he?

He's decided. Tomorrow, he's going to ask you out.

#aki hayakawa x reader #aki x reader #aki hayakawa x you #aki x you #aki hayakawa smut #aki smut

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koiibiito · 1 year

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— fly (me to your heart) •°. *࿐

pairing: Neteyam x f!reader, platonic!Lo'ak x reader length: 5.1k words ✧ genre: fluff, romance, slight angst warnings: mild language. summary: Lo'ak wonders if Neteyam knows that he flies the highest when he is with you. tags — childhood friends to lovers, reader is half omatikayan and half tawkami, kid fic (at the beginning), does not follow the events of atwow, sully fam stays at high camp and their lives continue peacefully (as they should be), golden child neteyam + ultimate middle child lo'ak + you = an inseparable lil trio, mostly bc kiri is off doing her own thing, grandma mo'at makes some appearances. a/n. that one scene where tuk is playing with the plants in the forest with the biggest smile on her face. that got me picturing how happy younger neteyam would look, exploring the wonders of pandoran forest, free of any responsibility and fear. could NOT get that image out of my mind. so here we are ♡

Neteyam is five years old when he learns the hard way that bringing his dad’s name into arguments does not always guarantee victory. Sure, his dad was toruk makto. He doesn’t even know what those words necessarily mean, but he knows that everyone in the village thinks his dad is the most powerful na’vi.

“You can’t fly, nobody can!”

“Except toruk makto, he is the only one who can fly.”

“I bet you can’t fly even though your dad is toruk makto!”

“Well, my daddy can fly, so I can fly too, just watch!”

He’s five years old with blood on his knees, and tears in his eyes and the horrible realization that, maybe, he can’t fly even though his mommy said he could do anything if he tried hard enough.

“Hey! Are you okay?”

Neteyam looks up through tear blurred eyes and sees a girl, not much taller than himself looking down at him worriedly. Before he knows it, there’s a huge leaf being used to wipe away the blood from his scraped knees and elbows (and nose too, apparently) with little care for how much pressure is being applied. The boys that encouraged him to "fly" are long gone, leaving him on the ground bloody and just a little upset with this new stranger that Neteyam wants to call friend.

“I’m—” He sniffs back a horrible mixture of blood and tears as he tries not to bawl something terrible. “I’m okay. Just wanted to fly but—“

It’s at that, the realization that he cannot actually fly like he thinks his dad can, despite his greatest attempt, that finally makes the torrent of tears tumble from his eyes. The bruises and cuts are nothing compared to the crushing realization that sometimes there are things that he can’t do. It’s a messy and ugly cry, and Neteyam is pretty sure that there is more snot and blood on his face than there is anything else, but it doesn’t matter to him at that point in time. All that matters is reality taking hold and crushing a childish, but very true, dream.

“That’s okay, my mama said we’re all good at something, maybe you just have to find what you’re good at.”

They are wise words for someone so young, but Neteyam likes how friendly you sound, even if he doesn’t quite understand what it is that you were saying.

You stay with him on the ground, holding the dapophet leaf against the wound on his knees with each of your hands and smile on your face. You are coaxing him gently and trying to make him laugh by telling him the story of the first time you fell from a tree as well, but Neteyam is too distraught to really remember it. He enjoys the soothing feeling of your palm on the leaf as it works its magic, and it nearly has him quieted down by the time his mom comes to bundle him up with warm hugs and quiet words of question.

His last sight of you is of you sneaking off into the bushes, mumbling something about washing his blood off your hands by the river, as he is carried away in his mom's arms.

Neteyam is five years old when he meets you for the first time, but he doesn’t even know what your name is.

—

He thinks he will catch you around, however as it turns out, the last time he would see you is the morning of the next day when your mother hauled you up onto her ikran. He remembers thinking it's strange how there were so many people gathered by the edge of the cave as he ran up to the crowd. Making his way to the front, he notices your hair—your face! and decides to join in with the others to wave goodbye to you (if a goodbye can count as a snot-faced child standing on the tip of his toes in order to appear taller so you'd notice him amongst the crowd. he isn’t sure if you saw him, but he can swear with his whole heart that your smile was directed to him).

He soon forgets about broken skin and blood on his teeth, though your kindness lingers in his memory for some time.

He still dreams of flying, every night. Draws pictures and tells his grandma about how he will one day have wings so that he doesn’t fall. “Like an ikran!” He says, cheerfully, chubby fingers pointing at his mom and her banshee, soaring about the sky that they can see from the outer edge of the high camp.

He tells Lo'ak about his dream, almost expecting the younger boy to tell him that there is no way to fly without an ikran, but his brother just thinks about it for a moment, face serious, before he looks at Neteyam very seriously and tells him that, when he does learn to fly, he has to teach Lo'ak because he would very much like to fly as well. They could go on their own adventures together.

Neteyam’s dreams of flying are crushed when, one day, sitting next to his grandma, his dad and some adults come in carrying a boy a few years older than him, injured and screaming in pain. It turns out he has failed his Iknimaya and plunged down into the heavy mist of Hallelujah Mountains. Lucky for him, he landed on one of the floating mountains, narrowly escaping death with some broken ribs, it seems.

The injured boy’s guttural screams of pain and agony is enough to scare him into contemplating his dream to fly. He crawls out of the tent and finds his brother, eyes wide, and fearfully explains that flying may not be such a good idea after all.

—

“My name is (y/n). What’s yours?”

They are sitting outside, laying on their backs under the tree and hiding from the warm summer sun when a shadow passes over them. Lo'ak immediately grumbles about it, but they both sit up in alarm, confused look on their faces. You are standing before them and Neteyam swears he has met you somewhere before.

“Um, Neteyam.” He pauses a moment, hand shading his eyes to get a better look at you. You’re tiny and almost fragile looking, eyes wide and cheerful as you hold out a hand to them. Neteyam takes it while nodding his head towards Lo'ak who is now standing up on the grass, eyeing you curiously. “That’s Lo'ak, he’s my brother.”

“I thought we could be friends, you look like you're around the same age as me.”

“No way, cuz you're a lot shorter than us.”

Neteyam kicks Lo'ak’s leg, a scowl on his face. The furrow of your brows makes him annoyed at his brother for some reason, he is only ten and he is quite sure no one should be that pretty. “ Don’t mind him, he’s the shortest in our family anyway.”

“Am not! Kiri’s hair is just poofy on top!” Lo’ak gestured to the top of his head before turning to you to explain, “Kiri is our sister, who is the same height as me.”

That makes you laugh, your whole face lighting up in a way that has Neteyam momentarily mesmerized. Yup, no one should be that pretty.

“I believe you,” you reassured the younger boy, seeing how he looks so defensive. “Anyways, you guys have the best place to hide from the sun.” There is that smile again, too bright and Neteyam has a trickle of memory but he can’t catch it fast enough, so he just shifts to make space for you and motions to the newly opened patch of shadow to you.

He offers you a smile of his own. “There is room for one more here.” He ignores the snicker from Lo'ak (the one that he got when trouble was going to abound) and instead focuses on the thank you and the smile from you as you plop yourself down to the grass. You stay there, sprawled on the ground under the tree, for the better part of the day. You are the same age as Lo’ak, a year younger than Neteyam. Your mother is of the Omatikaya people just like they are and your father is a young Olo’eyktan from the Tawkami Clan. You were born and raised in Greenhome, a village deep in the Pandoran jungle. Your father is no longer... (you trail off and your tone gets quite hushed there, and Neteyam knows well enough to leave that alone for now) so your mother brought you and moved back here.

By the end of the conversation, Neteyam has decided that you are going to be their new best friend, because he and Lo'ak are a packaged deal, and the younger one doesn’t fight it either (he seems to have fairly warmed up to you and your inviting smile, or rather, he is simply happy to have someone else around them who is shorter than him, for once). Besides, he knows you’ll get along well with Kiri. The more the merrier, right?

When you walk past their grandma’s tent later that night, the tsahik is surprised by the joyful shouts from Lo'ak and Neteyam, who both normally stick to the boys in the clan, barely interacting with other girls their age. She doesn't find it in herself to be annoyed at your bright smile that greets the shouts. She just hushes the boys and motions for them to keep eating, otherwise the food is gonna get cold and yes, yes you are allowed to join them for dinner tomorrow if your mother allows you to, now please get back to eating.

Neteyam doesn’t tell you about his dreams of flying, not yet, but he watches you move across the forest with a sense of wonder because, if anyone could fly, it is you.

—

The three of you become inseparable. You meet up with them almost every other day, whether it be exploring around the village or to play around in the science shack. Even when you quickly become friends with some older teenagers (Neteyam is not jealous of how Tarsem is always acting like your guardian and picking you up, nestling you on his shoulders without breaking a sweat, or how easily Spider makes you laugh. Nope, not even a little bit), you still see each other several times a week.

You play and study together. But Neteyam learns everything with a passion that nearly blinds anyone who sees it. The elders praise him for his skills and propose to his dad that he should start his training as soon as possible.

So when he breaks the record for the fastest time and the youngest hunter to complete Iknimaya, no one is at all surprised. What does surprise you, is his constant refusal to go ikran riding with the other hunter trainees every single time they ask him to. He simply smiles and says thank you, but he wants to hang out with you as his training lessons have left him with less time to spend with you, his best friend (despite you insisting that he go, so that he can be closer with the other trainees and form the friendship that is actually worth his time) and he is more than okay with that.

You call him a skxawng, but are secretly relieved because you are not sure what you would have done without the older Sully around. You still spend your days with Lo'ak, and Spider has been joining you guys increasingly frequently. With Neteyam not being around as much as he used to, Lo'ak gets you in trouble more than ever, especially with the human boy around. Those two can talk you into doing anything. Mostly though, it's because you have to keep your life amusing from the boredom that follows Neteyam's absence.

You wonder if you cross his mind. Ah, he must be too excited about training that you are probably forgotten by now.

For him, even just seeing you and having a quick ‘good luck’ whispered to him in the morning before his training session seems to be enough to get him through the day. And they can be long days indeed.

—

It is Lo'ak who starts to notice it first, the way that you and Neteyam circle each other like a star and a planet. He briefly wonders who is which and voices it out to Kiri, but she tells him it is pointless, and what is really important is the way you both light up around each other. The way the two of you seem to move together so easily and completely.

It is in the forest where you and Neteyam seem to come alive though. You compete, always racing each other—in a friendly way, with laughter and lighthearted teasing. What you don’t notice is that Neteyam likes to purposely fall behind sometimes, just to take in the sight of you in his young, curious eyes.

You are a natural in the rainforest, fluid limbs and inherent grace that reminds him of waves; something delicate yet full of vigor at the same time. All cresting water and powerful crash in the midst of something so calm. Whereas Neteyam is all strong steps and confidence in his beats, power and elegance as he brings so much life in his movements.

Lo'ak sometimes sits back and watches with amusement as his brother and best friend leap through the branches, synchronized footsteps like bass thrumming in the heart of the forest.

He remembers Neteyam telling him, when they were little, that he always wanted to fly. He wonders if Neteyam knows that he achieves that, fights against the gravity pulling them down, and achieves true flight in his happiness the most when he is with you.

He never mentions it to you, just lets the two of you be, literally, around each other. It’s not the wonder of the forest that is responsible for the change in dynamic between you and Neteyam like Kiri believes, because Lo'ak starts to notice it everywhere, like during your weekly dinner with the Sullys (how quickly Neteyam stands up to fetch you a cup of water when you choke on a piece of food, how you lean into his touch as he brings the cup to your mouth while rubbing your back to soothe your sputtering cough) and even in the science shack (the most unromantic place in the world, Lo’ak rolls his eyes). Sometimes he isn’t sure how neither of you have ever noticed it. How could you not feel a pull like that?

—

Sometimes Lo'ak wonders if his brother is a complete skxawng.

Actually, he doesn’t wonder, he knows. Because there is no way that two people so completely, obviously, and wholly enraptured with one another could possibly be so blind to each other’s feelings. And to their own, for that matter. It simply is not rationally possible.

“Where are you going with Spider?”

You blink and stare somewhat owlishly at Neteyam. “Um, we're going to the Utral Aymokriyä?”

The look on Neteyam’s face lets it be known exactly what he thinks of that plan of action. You cannot possibly be serious right now. Have you not spent enough time with Spider? That boy is always with you and Lo'ak whenever he is gone for training, already well on his way in replacing his spot in your little trio. Are you going to replace him with Spider too?

He walks up to you and stops right in front of your face, all the while staring down at you incredulously. “But Spider doesn’t even have a kuru.”

Lo'ak rolls his eyes and turns back to his book. Knowing his older brother, instead of being honest about his jealousy, Neteyam is going to make it all about the human boy’s lack of neural queue. He really wishes that he’s not here right now.

“It doesn’t matter! Spider said he’s happy to keep me company,” It is almost comical how small your voice gets when faced with a disapproving Neteyam, but there is still a defiance in you, a fire that is not about to be cowed by a furrowed brow and some anger. “Besides, you went there with Ro’ate last week!”

“That was different! That was a date!”

Lo'ak snorts and looks up just in time to see your eyes widen and you fidget somewhat uncomfortably. What does the skxawng think he's doing by saying that?

Adding fuel to the fire, that's what.

Neteyam is fifteen years old when he finds out what jealousy is, the dark yet haunting rage that consumes him for reasons that, at this point in time, he does not understand. He is fifteen years old when he has his first fight with you, one that lasts two weeks and makes everyone miserable (and the coldness doesn’t fade until nearly a month later, after he overheard you turning down a random Omatikayan boy’s invitation to go ikran riding together).

Neteyam is fifteen years old when he discovers that he might be better at falling than at flying, but he is too young to really understand what it could mean.

—

“You know, when I was five, my mom told me I could do anything I wanted to.”

You make a noise in the back of your throat to let Neteyam know you are indeed listening, eyes still on the sky, body warm next to his as the two of you lay on top of one of the floating mountains nearing eclipse.

You are seventeen and eighteen respectively, and it is time for you to return to Greenhome. Your grandparents have been asking for your presence for you are nearing the age of adulthood. Neteyam doesn’t really know what to do about it. It’s been forever since he has been with you (at least, to him it feels that way even if it has only been eight years) and he doesn’t know how he and Lo'ak are going to cope. Spider too, and Kiri and Tuk, for that matter. Or maybe it’s just him that feels like there is a hole opening up in his chest every time he thinks about your departure.

It feels like he's a toddler all over again, falling to the pull of gravity and knowing, mid-fall, that it is going to hurt like hell when he hits the ground.

And, like when he was five, Neteyam doesn’t really care until he realizes that he can’t really fight this force and, unlike what his mom said, he really couldn’t do anything he wanted to. He couldn’t figure out the tightness in his chest, or the fact that you are leaving, going farther away than you ever had in all your years together, couldn’t—

He must have been quiet for too long, because you finally turned your gaze from the sky to look at him, one eyebrow raised as if to prompt the other.

Neteyam finds it funny that he has known you for this long and has never told you his childhood dream. He laughs and sits up, and after catching a glimpse of your wide eyes questioning him, he tries his best to not look at you.

“You know what I always wanted to do?”

You pretend to think. “Be the best warrior in the clan?”

Neteyam shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Nah,” He tilts his head back to look at cotton candy colored sky, heart heavily lodged in his throat for reasons he can’t quite fathom. “I wanted to be able to fly.”

—

You leave with promises to come back and visit. And you are good with keeping your word, you visit them a lot, though not as often as Neteyam would like you to. Because whenever you came to visit, you are busy showing Lo’ak the special toys and weapons you brought with you, or you are too preoccupied with showing Kiri the different medicines and plants you had to learn during your lessons with the Tsahik of the Tawkami Clan (one who happens to be your grandmother, coincidentally. She is one gentle yet very fierce old lady).

Unbeknownst to Neteyam, you are most excited to see him, wanting nothing more than to share stories of your life at your other home, to tell him all about the wonders of Greenhome because oh, how much you wish he could come with you to see it for himself.

It doesn’t stop Neteyam from pulling away little by little, doesn’t stop him from fighting the force of gravity for a bit longer, just because he can. Because he wants to delay the pain of hitting concrete a bit longer.

He fails as he dismounts his ikran one day, after a hunting session with his dad that he set up on purpose in order to avoid seeing you one more time, only to see Lo'ak leaning against his own ikran, a scowl on his face.

Lo'ak walks up to him, just in time to hear the last part of their dad’s sentence: “... been distracted today. Dismissed.” The Olo'eyktan, upon walking away, turns around to yell to his sons, “And get ready for dinner!”

Lo’ak walks beside Neteyam without a word, but continues to scowl at his older brother as he puts his hunting weapons away. It is uncharacteristic of him to not make any snide remarks that it is making latter uncomfortable, for the silence is a little too loud. He finally faces the other and it takes everything in him to not roll his eyes, because he just knows that Lo’ak is up to something.

“What?”

Lo'ak scoffs. “Don’t give me that bullshit, you know what. Why are you doing this to her?”

Neteyam is silent, refusing to acknowledge that he even knows what Lo'ak is even talking about, despite it being on his mind since forever. He decides to feign confusion and puts on a puzzled face before shaking his head and trying to walk away.

He is stopped by a hand, stronger than he is expecting on his shoulder. “You're being a dick and you know it.” Lo'ak opens his mouth, words on the tip of his tongue, but he stops himself at the last second.

“Have you seen Neteyam anywhere?” you asked Lo’ak, breath short and puffy, an indication that you had been running around in a rush. And indeed you were, you had been all over the place in search for one boy in particular. You had not seen your 8-foot-tall best friend at all for the past several times you went back to High Camp to visit.

“Dad took him out to go hunting,” Lo’ak shrugged. The disappointed look on your face did not go unnoticed by the young boy. “Dude, you have the worst sense of timing to come visit.” he joked, an attempt to cheer you up a little. You laughed.

“It’s fine. Dealing with one Sully boy is already too much work for me anyway!”

“Bro what’s that supposed to mean?!”

He knew it was not a coincidence that his brother had been gone for nearly the entire day. The first time it happened? Sure, it was perfectly understandable given who their dad is and his strict training sessions. The second time around? Lo’ak’s suspicion started to grow, especially since they had just gone hunting the day before. This time? He was pretty sure he literally overheard Neteyam begging their dad to take him hunting further out from the Hallelujah Mountains.

Lo’ak internally sighed, praying to Eywa for Neteyam to get his ass back to the village as fast as possible before he hears it from Lo’ak himself. “They’ll be back soon though, don’t worry! You’ll get to see him today.”

You shook your head, “Maybe next time, I have to be back before eclipse.” Though the sadness that stemmed from your longing for Neteyam lingered, you were overtaken by the fear of getting home late. The thought of disobeying your grandmother’s stern words—you shuddered. You dare not risk arriving home late, for the consequence was that you would not be allowed to visit at all. And you absolutely had to be back for another visit, perhaps you would get to see Neteyam the next time you come.

Neteyam is unconsciously frowning, trying to get his wits together when Lo'ak’s words stop him cold.

“You do not fly as high without her, skxawng.”

Neteyam is eighteen and does not know reality could hurt this much without blood on his body.

—

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Neteyam is cornered, stuck in the confines of his tent (his bedroom, as he calls it), covered in sweat and bruises (he curses that his mom just led you here without question. so this is why she asked where he was and for him to get home immediately. he wanted to punch himself in the face for being so oblivious). She must’ve told you exactly where to go to find him as he throws himself into fishing to forget about your breathtaking smile and beautiful eyes.

He has not forgotten that you are back for a visit. Rather, he does not see a reason to lie to his mom of his whereabouts. He has been careful this time, no more training with dad as both the said man and his skxawng of a brother has now figured out that he is only doing so to run away from you.

He doesn’t want to answer your question, so he doesn’t. He sighs heavily and turns away from you, the perfect picture of his stubbornness that has you cracking a small grin.

At least certain things never change.

After a moment of silence you sit yourself in front of Neteyam and look more defeated than he has ever seen. It makes his chest tighten painfully, but this time he knows why; and it makes him feel even worse.

Neteyam is nearly nineteen when he admits to himself that he is in love with you, his best friend, and has been for far too long and it hurts because he doesn’t have words and doesn’t think he deserves you and doesn’t—

“You know, when I was really young, there is this little kid that I remember meeting,” You are not looking at him, instead you are focused on a photograph of you, Neteyam and Lo’ak, teeth blinding through smiles that are as wide as they can be, as the three of you struggle to hold a really big fish with your small hands. You remember that day like no other, Jake had taken you and his sons to the river and Neteyam caught a fish on his first try.

Neteyam, the Mighty Fisherman.

Neteyam, who excels in everything he does.

Neteyam, the golden child, who easily succeeds at doing just about anything.

“He was pretty banged up, blood everywhere because he tried to fly,” You try to stifle a laugh. “I thought he looked oddly strong, standing there covered in blood and trying not to cry. I helped him, got in trouble because I got blood everywhere on me and my mother got so worried, but—“

Neteyam feels like he can’t breathe, memories bubbling up of big eyes and a soft presence.

“He told me he wanted to fly.”

You finally look up then, a dreamy smile on your face courtesy of the sweet memories as you turn to face him. “I told you that you were good at something, remember?”

There are no words, so the only thing Neteyam can do is to settle with a nod, lump in his throat.

“Turns out you’re good at everything. I just… I just didn’t think you’d be good at making me—”

“I love you.”

It comes out of nowhere, spilling out of Neteyam’s mouth before you can finish whatever it is that you are saying. And he doesn’t know why he says it then, why he waits until you have started to drift apart before he tries to fix it. Maybe because he just realized it himself, realized that sometimes there is something more painful than hitting the ground. And that was hitting the ground all alone.

Then again, maybe he has already reached that point. He has inevitably crashed to the ground head first and it is painful.

When Neteyam looks up, he doesn’t know what to expect. You look stunned, mouth still open and eyes wide. It takes a moment for you to even blink, as he can see that you are processing his words. And you are taking forever—how hard is it to understand three simple words? He knows that you know what the words mean. His dad tells his mom those very same words all the time. It’s a phrase from the sky people, is what Neteyam was told, and it holds a great significance about your feelings for another person.

The smallest of smiles tugs on the side of your mouth.

“What do you mean, Neteyam?”

He sighs heavily and shakes his head. This is the point of no return, he realizes. He will have to try his best to explain what he means, make you understand that he is in—

“love, I mean uh,” Dammit, why is his brain and his mouth not cooperating right now? “With you, I just can’t. You make it hard for me to— you just—“

You laugh, light and free like heavenly bells ringing that makes Neteyam’s cheeks heat up and stomach churn. But if he thinks that is thrilling, like the feeling before gravity takes hold, it is nothing compared to the feeling when your lips crash into his, laughter smothered between the two of you.

It’s awkward and his lips are chapped and rough, and neither of you really know what you are doing, but that doesn’t stop it from being the best damn kiss Neteyam will ever experience. It’s falling and flying and soaring in the sky all at once and the exhilaration is overwhelming.

He has no doubt that he looks completely stunned when you pull away. Taking a deep breath, he decides to try again.

“I see you,” Neteyam whispers, very tenderly, as gentle as zephyrs blowing below the violet.

You look at him with unwavering eyes and your hand finds his, intertwining your fingers together. As if you’re enchanted by his whole being, his voice, his determined gaze looking into your own. “I see you, Neteyam.”

You have to resist the urge to lean in, because all you want to do right now is to kiss him, to feel his lips on yours again.

“And you know, I love you too.”

Neteyam is nineteen when he finally knows what flying feels like.

a/n. haven't written anything in like, over a year and a half. im rusty and i needed quite some brainpower (ಥ﹏ಥ) got this idea during winter break vacation but couldn't start writing until i got back. here we are 2 days later with this the outcome.

#neteyam x reader #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #neteyam #avatar 2 #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam imagine #neteyam x you #atwow x reader #neteyam fluff #neteyam sully #˚· neteyam ༉‧₊˚#˚· lo'ak ༉‧₊˚

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hollyhomburg · 3 months

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Before I Leave You (Pt.66)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

Tags: Blood, Guns, violence, near death experiences, everyone lives nobody dies...but someone does die this chapter, horror, non-lethal injury, talks of death and dying, a bit of body horror, Trans! tae, Tae is briefly dead named in this, implied/referenced intimate partner violence, flashbacks, brief suicidality.

W/c: 8.3k

A/N: ahhhhhh <3 we're finally ready for this part of the story <3 i wonder what your guys reactions will be, i'm really glad i decided to split this chapter into two peices! it's much cleaner this way. don't be 🥲 too mad at me.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

(Four years prior, Hoseok)

Today is the day that Hoseok will meet his future pack, he just doesn’t know it yet.

It always feels like a bit of betrayal but the worst and best days of your life often come close together. Maybe just for contrast. A bit of good in the bad. A slice of cake in a feast of raw meat.

This starts as just another bad day in a long stretch of shitty days. The kind of days were anxiety bubbles up and how afraid you are is all you can think about. Taking one breath and then another like just staying alive means you're guaranteed to get better.

The only place to go from rock bottom is up, and hoseok's sneakers are firmly on the concrete, standing outside of the record store in the rain with no place to go.

Hoseok has been afraid for a long time. He can't really remember even if he thinks hard, the last morning he woke up not afraid.

What hoseok really needs is a day off, but he really can't fucking afford it. He can't afford anything- certainly not a one-bedroom apartment on his own. If he's really really lucky maybe he'll be able to find a closet room somewhere that will cost almost his whole paycheck. Because after today-

After today, Jung Hoseok will be homeless, packless, and alone. His pack dropped the news on him last night…or well ex-pack.

He doesn’t expect that he’ll be moving into the pack's house on this rainy day, he doesn't expect that by the end of the week, he won't be worrying about where his next meal will come from because Jin will be there with it ready. Jimin sometimes too.

He won't be worrying about where he'll sleep because the bed in their spare room that smells like tae tae tae will be his. He'll roll around in it when the door is closed, shy about it because Hoseok has never liked other alpha's scents so much before. And when he comes home and Jungkook has made a nest in it, it will feel like a bit of an impossible silver lining, a bit too much- to have an omega making him a nest, making something special just for him

It takes three weeks for Namjoon to make him a house key for himself. After he gets left outside in a very similar storm to this. The doctor will touch his cheek, thumbing at the dimples that they share. how special is it that each smile gets cradled like a crescent moon? the heavens have left imprints on both of their skin. Freckles for stars and dimples for moon's.

"I don't want you to get sick pup."

"People don't get sick from wet heads anymore hyung."

"They don't. But I want to keep you dry and comfortable in my den. i know you still want to look for apartments but...what if you didn't?"

But neither the weather nor Hoseok knows to prepare for good news. Right now the heavens open up and release its deluge, thick rain the way that only happens at the start of summer. Worms and other wriggly things crawl their way out of their holes to find a good spot to die next to Hoseok's shoes. Worn fancy sneakers that his pack-omega had gotten him a few months ago for their anniversary. They're the nicest thing he's ever owned.

His ex-pack omega.

It's hard to rewire your brain, especially for alpha's. Hoseok is a lone wolf. He hasn't been without a pack in so long, it feels weird to not have someone to call, someone he needs to trail after and cling to. He checks his phone but he doesn't have a single notification from them.

He doesn't have a single notification from anyone.

Hoseok is glad he doesn't feel his instincts as keenly as other alphas do. Otherwise, he might be inclined to gnash his teeth at the people who pass by him on their way to work, umbrellas almost bumping him, perceiving even closeness as a threat. So vulnerable without a pack (lone alphas are always the first to starve in winter).

Hoseok shivers even though its summer, he's soaked to the bone after a few minutes.

He has a key to the record store. He could go inside. Granted- he should be inside already. Opening up shop, making coffee, and letting the place warm up. But standing out in the rain feels too much like penance.

Hoseok likes the rain. The smell of it. The way it makes the whole world ache and go still. He feels every drop on his dark hair, soaking through his thin hoodie. It's cleansing almost, letting the rain soak him through.

(The end of relationships is always hard, let alone the end of abusive relationships, they’re downright terrible).

Hoseok keeps replaying their words in his head, with every slosh of a nearby car, every honk of a taxi. The stoplight red and green bleeding onto the wet concrete. Yellow flashing in contrast with hoseok's dark memories.

“You’re welcome to stay here until the lease runs out, but the four of us need to move back home. You understand Hobi don’t you? We’re just omega’s- we’re just girls- and we think this could be a clean break for all of us. We just don't want to lead you on any longer.”

The worst part is that Hobi had sort of known, had sort of already realized what was happening. he’d seen it in their looks; distant and despondent. Their touches that did not linger longer than necessary, cheeks turned as he comes in for a kiss. The phone calls hushed in the other room that cut off abruptly when he entered.

The lease on their apartment ends today. The place has already been professionally deep cleaned and Hoseok's things are packed in his car in plastic bins. He has 6 of them to his name.

He doesn’t have a place to go yet, he might just sneak into the back room at the record store and sleep there until he figures something out. Hoseok drove to work early because he didn't have another place to go.

This version of Hoseok is not the one you know, this version of Hobi is 23 and hopeless, can’t think about moving back in with his parents a city away, with nothing but a rusted-out Corolla that barely gets him to work let alone through the 200-mile trip. It will die on him in about 6 months and Namjoon will be thankful that Hoseok no longer is driving around in a deathtrap.

He hadn’t even gotten this job by himself, his pack omega- his ex-girlfriend had gotten him this job almost 4 months ago after his last one didn’t pan out. Temporary work for temporary people.

Nothing feels like his. Not his body and certainly not this job.

Hoseok hasn’t smoked in months, but something that feels an awful lot like self-disgust worms under his skin and he can’t resist. Not today of all days. Smoking is something that he doesn’t indulge in often, and hasn’t indulged in since… becoming an alpha to someone. But he guesses it doesn’t matter now without anyone to complain that they don’t like the smell.

The cigarette mixes with the smell of petrichor and Hoseok’s own acidic scent. The smell of a terrified alpha draws him more than a few looks but he pays them no mind. He's thankful for his soaking face, at least the rain keeps out the tears. Cool and soothing against his face.

Hoseok just wants- Hoseok just wants to call them. To talk to someone.

Ending relationships is always like this. You want to keep being good, keep being what they want, but that’s impossible. You can’t act or behave right and dupe someone into loving you. Sometimes the love just isn’t there. (A smaller shyer voice says it was never love at all, you can't possess love, only be given it and Hoseok feels like a cast aside possession. Love and abuse cannot coexist).

Hoseok should have known. He keeps replaying the moments in his head. He’d seen them exchanging knowing looks when they thought he wasn’t looking.He thought he was just being paranoid, until yesterday morning when they’d taken him aside.

“You knew this had to end one day Hoseok" "You knew one day we'd move on." "As much as we appreciate what you’ve done for us, we think it’s time for us to move on.”

“What do you mean? I thought we were leaving next week, you really left me with only a day to find a place to go?”

“We’re sorry Hoseok, your last rut was just too much to deal with. We think it's best if we just stay on our own. It's a clean break this way.”

"Wait, please- I love you."

"We know. We're sorry."

Hoseok is too much for anyone to deal with. He doesn’t call his friends (he hasn’t met up with any of them or returned their texts in months thanks to several pointed words from his pack omega). He doesn’t go inside yet because he deserves the rain. He sits out front of the record store, smoking a cigarette that will probably end up killing him down the line, and thinks Good.

He tells himself the irritation in his eyes is just because of the cigarette smoke blowing in his face, even though he knows it's not. He's not even inhaling right because his breaths come all hitched and pathetic. Anyone would be sad if their relationship of several years had ended. Anyone would be devastated.

Hoseok checks his phone again. Nothing.

Most people on the crowded street ignore him. Though the thick throng of people going about their business, probably going to work at their 9 to 5 jobs that pay enough to afford apartments and packmates. Hoseok is the one soul that stands stationary.

Until one, someone a few feet back stops, tipping their face through their hood to look at him. The only other person without an umbrella.

Hoseok knows his face and his name. It’s just Min Yoongi- his coworker and sort of friend who's coming in for his shift. Hoseok doesn't love Yoongi yet but they're sort of friends already. They might be better friends if Hoseok could get over his admiration and jealousy.

Yoongi has this way of quietly taking care of the people around him. He picks up Hoseok's jacket when it slides off the hook at work, asks him if he wants coffee and even pays for it when he goes to the coffee shop next door. He compliments Hoseok's music tastes when it's his turn to play something, he gives Hoseok the aux frequently in a way that feels a little bit like flirting.

The only two good things about Hoseok's job are the music and Min Yoongi.

He even laughs at Hoseok's shitty jokes when they're stacking new inventory saying cryptic things like "they can't be worse than my omega's jokes."

That's why Hoseok's jealous. Yoongi gets packmates, five of them who make him lunch even when he's only got a four-hour shift. that often linger outside to walk him home or pick him up in their shiney not new not old cars.

(Yoongi's packmates certainly have better things to do than send Yoongi to work with a second packed lunch. "Jin-hyung caught a glimpse of you through the doorway, the only thing that he hates more than Namjoon's snoring is skinny Alpha's.")

Min Yoongi has that look that people do when they're well-loved by packmates. Hair ruffled and neck dotted with bruises that might as well be mating bites for a beta. Beta's don't mate, but these ones certainly keep him close. He wears their scents like a shield. Sometimes so thick that Hoseok can't even smell any of his chocolate scent.

Right now, staring at Yoongi a few paces into the street, all Hoseok can smell is the rain.

When Hoseok had been introduced to him it had felt strange just by virtue of Yoongi's sub gender. A beta? Working somewhere so normal? Weren’t beta's supposed to be like- financial advisors or assistants to the president or something? Betas are supposed to have more important jobs than pushing vinyl and bumping Hoseok's shoulder playfully.

(Hoseok hasn’t seen it yet, the way that the owner hands over little white baggies to people who come in looking hungry for a high that cigarettes or alcohol can’t fix. Hoseok hasn’t yet realized that the record store isn't just a record store. This is just one front business of many that the family has organized across this city and the country for distribution of some of his most precious inventory). Yoongi has worked her for the last year, takes calls in the back for the family. The owner only bows to him when Hoseok's not around.

They only hired hoseok for tax purposes. Having three employees looks less suspicious than just two.

The beta looks concerned, and Hoseok knows he can’t hide the fact that he’s been crying as the beta steps up and pushes Hoseok back under the awning. Out of the rain and into the warmth of the doorway. This kind of movement would make any alpha snap, but not Hoseok. Hoseok just tucks his chin down and starts to cry.

“Oh Hoseok.” Hobi sniffles, and wipes his runny nose on his sleeve. Yoongi's hand curls against his throat, chocolate scent spiking to soothe. “You’re soaking wet."

Yoongi grabs his wrist and Hoseok almost keens at the gentle touch. Whole body shaking, shoulders curling in Yoongi's direction. Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line and then tugs him inside.

~-~

(Now, You)

You hold your breath. Still peering around the corner, watching and waiting for the man to spot you.

But he doesn't, after a breath where his soft footsteps echo, you wait, but nothing happens. You peak back around the corner.

You absorb and catalog the details as fast as you can; the black ski mask, covered by one of those traditional Korean masks, wooden with red lacquer. This one is a little different than the one that Jimin had; not twisted with thick eyebrows in a snarl. This one is white with red splotches on the cheeks, like a ghost sent down from above to rob you of your humanity.

The bulletproof vest stops at the collarbones. The gun itself is a black generic model. The long end is extra bulbous with something that might be an attached silencer. His hands covered in black nitrile gloves, leathery at first glance. There is a knife at his waist along with a barrage of other small things; rope and a knife, duct tape and handcuffs. His heavy boots look steel toed and reinforced.

The man (because it is a man you realize; tall, maybe taller than Namjoon) trains his gun at the landing on the top of the stairs. Pointing it in the direction of Hobi, Tae, and Jin’s hushed voices.

Hobi giggles and it sounds so bright. Echoing off the walls and filling the house with his musical laughter.

There is a phone cord tangled in your hands, long and white. You grip it tight.

This man might be silent but you’re quieter as you slide your bare feet across the smooth floors. Your strides are so quiet. You take one step and then another until you're behind the man, mirroring him.

You remember when Yoongi redid the floors, it was one of the few things that he did right away; before the pack came to live here (to love here). It took him weeks and weeks of sanding before he got them to his liking. Days more of brown dark stain that colored his hands ruddy until the soft matte finish stuck. Every pass with the belt sander and dirty rag a movement of love, a meditation for it.

Yoongi made every inch of this house with the same loving intent; to make it a home for all of you. a place to be safe and nurse your wounds and hearts. You won’t let it become a grave. You won’t let this person stay here and ruin it.

Most people get it wrong; In order to kill it is not a matter of elegance or effort. There is no such thing as a perfect kill either. Emotionless and analytic isn't enough and being justified only gets you halfway. There is no way to do it cleanly. People die just as they live, messy and hopeful and dirty.

Murder isn't a matter or wanting or wishing, It’s a matter of rage.

It’s always been this way. Rage has been chewing a hole through you from the moment that you pulled the trigger with Geumjae. From the moment you said ‘I do’. Rage that these violent things have been done to you, that they continue to happen, that you can’t just get away from all the hurt and trauma.

Rage has eaten you clean through to the bone. Rage has made you skinny and starving, rage has made you timid and fragile. But now you're the hungry one. Right now, only three words run through your head;

How dare she.

How dare she send this man into your house. How dare she point a gun at the upstairs, in the general direction of your nest and your packmates. The altar at which you so desperately cling to, for sweet dreams and sweeter worship (There is no deity above the god of love, not even death. Death cannot take the love from your chest, someone dying does not make you stop loving them).

How dare she even think about hurting the people you love.

There is no courage, no bravery, no thought in your head about how stupid it might be as you step closer behind the man. You are not a trained assassin. You’re just an omega.

The adrenaline rush is an old friend, a thrall both intoxicating and unnerving. Your heart beats loud in your ears. You grip the phone cord in your hands and take a quiet steadying breath. He doesn't see you, he doesn't hear you, he doesn't know that you're behind him.

Wolves always go for the throat, whether they’re cornered or hunting.

The assassin’s foot ascends the bottom step. You don’t let him get to the second before you’re moving, hurtling forward. Footsteps no longer light. Your hands go over the man’s shoulders. The cord no more than a white flash across his vision before you draw it tight across his neck.

The pain and panic are instant as you’re suddenly tethered to a six-foot-four assassin and struggling to stay on your feet as he stumbles back. You’re pulled off your feet and down the stairs, but you keep it as tight as you can and you don’t let go. Fighting to keep your makeshift garrote tight as he scrambles to get his fingers around where it digs into his skin. Spluttering loud.

The hard wire digs, cutting easily through plastic and then your skin as he tries to pull you off. You don’t let go until he backs you into the entryway wall and slams you against it with a dizzying clang of bone and body hitting something solid. Your head narrowly avoids one of the hooks that the pack hangs their coats on. An inch to the left and he'd have impaled your skull on it. An inch to the left and you'd be dead.

A single inch.

His head slams into your face, and you feel something in your nose pop, flooding your mouth with blood so thick you choke.

He slams you against the wall once, twice, and then a third time until your grip goes slack and slippery with blood. It knocks the breath out of you, and he finally throws you off. You both fall to the ground like stones. Both of you gasp and struggle for breath. At least one of your ribs it broken, but because of the adrenaline you can't even feel it.

When the man lifts his black gloves to his throat, they come away glossy with blood.

(It’s crazy how you never notice the change from the day to day, one day you are begging for a reason to hold on, a reason to live, and the next you’re fighting tooth and nail to keep going. Just about gnawing your own arm off to get out. To survive and live to see another day. Another sunrise.)

By that time the air has returned to your lungs it’s enough for you to scream. “Jin! Jin! There’s someone in the house there’s-”

You try and inhale through your nose and blood makes you choke. You push at the floor with your hands, struggling to stand, fingers slippery and tacky with your blood.

The man tries to scramble up the stairs but you latch onto his legs and make him drop. Doing everything in your power to keep him from going up to them, to your packmates. Hugging his ankle to your chest to slow him down (the same way you’ve hugged Namjoon’s arm and Yoongi’s, the way you held Hobi in the nest on the couch just a few shattered days ago).

The man turns the gun on you, pointing it to your head, you flinch, waiting for the shot-

and open them as He heaves a frustrated roar before he wheels away and turns, aiming at the top of the stairs instead of right in your face.

You could have died right then. could have and should have, but you didn’t. Your brain is too messy with adrenaline right now to make sense of it.

Why didn't he shoot?

The gun goes off, a bullet whizzing by Jin’s head. His face, scared, on the stairs flashes ever briefly. Ducking for cover just in time. The doorframe explodes in a cacophony of dark wood splitters. The doorknob sparks and bursts into a million pieces with another shot. metal clanking against the ceiling, the walls, down the stairs.

One second, you’re holding onto his heavy leather boot, and the next it’s colliding with your face and you’re out like a light.

Getting hit in your face is always such a disorientating experience. You’d never gotten used to it, even with Geumjae. Granted it’s hard to get used to the stomach-churning low vision feeling of weightlessness, like vertigo only worse.

"Hobi! don't- jesus fucking christ-"

You’re not quite sure what happens next only that you can’t see for a moment after the boot hits your face, and you take big breaths through your mouth. Blood, you taste blood. And then your vision comes back. Black spots and all and there’s Hobi’s face in front of you. No assassin, just him, helping you up from the floor. You're not on the steps anymore but at the bottom of them.

“The kitchen, the kitchen," Blood rushes over your bottom lip. Hoseok wipes it away, inhaling a jagged breath. "He’s-”

He pushes at your shoulders. “The car- get to the car.” It feels impossible. This can be happening in your house. Are you about to have a shoot-out in the street? On your quiet cul-de-sac? But then, in the corner of your vision dark movement.

You tug Hobi’s head down the second that the gun goes off- probably saving his life, definitely saving it as the bullet tears through the banister and ends in a hollow thump in the wall. he may not have shot you but he has no quams shooting at Jin and Hobi. The bullets hit the wall- Maybe 6 inches above your bent heads. Too close, close enough that Hobi trembles in your hold. And he rips something- a piece of the doorway, out of his arm with a wince before he covers your body with his own.

The volley of gunshots are so loud, so vicious as they blow things apart, tearing holes through Yoongi’s coat, the doorway, the banister, and the narrow stairway rungs. Pieces of wood hit your curled forms. Hobi shoves your head down when you try to look.

There is wetness, hot, something hot on your hands, your neck, you know it’s blood before you look. You think it’s from you until the Gunsmoke clears and you realize- fingers skimming across hoseok's forehead, a gash above his eyebrow.

A bullet graze by his hairline thats bleeding profusely. head wounds always bleed a ridiculous amount.

There are more bullets behind you but it’s just Jin returning fire.

Jin’s got Tae behind him. Her face ashy and pink from the shower and panic, her mid-length dark hair such a tangle, cowering behind his back. Jin's gun is so much louder without the silencer. Did he bring one upstairs? Or did he get it from Jimin’s stash?

Jin nearly drags Tae to the three of you, and she clings to you. Your hand finds her face. Fingers are red and bloody smudging against her cheek, blink and you're back there a million moments in the past; dotting red blush across her cheeks with a brush- your fingers- kissing it into place with your lips- painting a line of maroon across her eyelids to bring out the lighter flecks in her eyes- Watching her twirl in a red dress. Pressing your red lips against hers in a quiet dark moment in the library room. With her in Hobi's red car- Everything red.

If it starts with red, maybe it's fitting that it ends in red too.

Jin doesn’t give you time to reminisce. Pushing her shoulder down hard. His bare chest splattered with splinters from the door. Covered in wood fragments that stick to his black sweatpants and damp feet. Shouting, “All of you get down!”

You follow your pack omega’s words. Hobi and Tae With their damn alpha instincts blanket you as Jin fires again. The shots are so much louder in the small space. Another shot, another thunder strike. tae grips your wrist tight, your hands.

When you look down, they look mutilated. you can see bone in one place, deep gashes across the centre of your palms.

Your ears ring and you can't make sense of anything over the noise. Jin returns every bang with a boom of his own, bright flashes lighting up the dark staircase. Casing after casing tinkling down to the floor, rolling across the floorboards

But then, for a second- the gunfire goes quiet.

The house creeks and the three of you hold your breath. Jin's still half-concealed. The air heavy and clouded with gunsmoke and the smell of blood.

Hobi tentatively gets onto his knees and then stands when he doesn't immediately get shot at. You make a small noise in your throat, the loudest that you dare, but he’s looking after Jin, standing in the darkness, hackles raising his angry scent of burning sugar acrid in your nose. His hand slides out of yours, your blood on his palms.

And then you hear the rush of boots, echoing in the living room, near your nest- you’d never unmade it after you and Hobi fucked there. You'd been too busy taking care of Jimin. Hoseok bears his teeth.

Hobi turns, sliding out of your hands quicker than you can grab him. Quicker than you can tell him that he’s being dumb, that he’s being suicidal.

“Not my girlfriend! You asshole!”

The world is a dizzying cacophony of gunpowder, pain, bullets, and shouting. Jin yells Hoseok’s name. But the alpha heads after the assassin regardless of your cries. Jin narrowly keeps him from running headlong into no mans land. the open area by the door that would leave Hoseok a sitting duck.

Tae’s standing up on unsteady legs as you all spill out of the stairs into the narrow hall. Out from her hiding place cowering behind the banister. Your attention isn’t on her it’s on Hobi. Neither you nor Jin are looking at her. You’re running after him on shaky legs. Jin holds you both back, trying to corrall you. The air is cloudy with Gunsmoke, hazy and heavy. Her eyes are wide and pretty like dark marbles as she watches Hobi.

They’re just as pretty when the gun presses to the back of her head.

Everyone turns and goes still. The man has Tae in his arms, hand in her hair making her neck arch. The gun pressed to her jaw. Finger on the trigger.

Her body trembles and she doesn’t turn, frozen still in fear a shallow whine building in her throat.Jin has the gun trained on the man faster than you can make to step in Tae’s direction. But it’s no use.

He must have gone around, run through the livingroom through your pantry. A similar path that you took to surprise him. He must know the floor plan of the house, must have studied it to prevent situations like this. You have no upper hand here with tae in his arms.

Tae’s mouth is buttony and parted, but it settles into a resigned line.

Jin’s never been a good enough shot- not for one like this, even barely 10 feet away. He might hit Tae. Shaky, Jin takes his finger off the trigger and stoops down to put the gun on the floor. His other hand is up, already surrendering when the man jerks Tae's head back by her hair. Rougher than he needs to be.

“Don’t shoot her, please don’t shoot- please.”

The man juts his chin at the gun on the floor. “Kick it away now, be a good omega.” Jin grits his teeth but does as he says.

The man’s voice is rough as gravel. Dignified, but with no obvious accent. Not the quiet cadence that you’ve come to expect from the family. Neither posh nor lowbrow. Something in between. Flat and monotone. You're sure that you've never heard his voice before.

“I have to admit, your file said you’d be resistant, but it said nothing about you being dumb as fuck and a poor shot to boot.”

Jin licks his lips and bares his teeth, “Put that gun back in my hand and then say it again.” The masked man cocks his head to the side and then shrugs as if Jin's fury doesn't mean anything to him.

But He’s bleeding, it trails down to the floor so the words can't be genuine. It's a small wound, a graze on his right thigh. Red bright and hot that drips in onto the floor from his pant leg.

His hand tightens in Tae’s hair. “Line up against the wall. Now. Or I’ll blow her brains out in front of you."

You move first, eyes trained on Tae. But he snaps, eyes unreadable behind that mask, “No- not you. I’m not here to kill you.”

He tosses something to Jin and he catches it. Handcuffs that jingle and clink. Your foot hits an errant bullet with a similar tinkle. “Handcuff Jin to the stairs Hoseok.”

Your names, he knows your names. Your mind races over every detail, every moment trying to piece together a way to get out of this. a way to save them.

“Why are you doing this?” Hobi’s trembling, shaking. “Did Jimin-”

“Jiminie did nothing.” The man croons dragging the barrel of the gun down Tae’s cheek leaving a dark smudge in its wake. It's red on her face, the barrel must still be hot, your blood crusty around her lips.

“Honestly though, you should know he was a shit assassin. Truly piss poor even by industry standards. They always threw him the easiest kills."

The three of you are quiet, if he was hoping to elicit a reaction or more of a fight You don’t give him the satisfaction. Although jin grits his teeth, gnashing anger and an omega's feral instinct to protect their pups.

You step forward hands open, barely two steps from Tae. If you can just get to her maybe you can-

“Please- please don’t kill them."

He cocks his head at you, and you can hear the grin in his voice. “Oh no, you misunderstand me I’m not going to do any of it.”

He taps Tae’s head once again with the gun and Tae starts to truly struggle. You tremble in fury and horror as you realize what he means with a sickening lurch in your stomach.

“This is how it’s going to work Y/n” You still at the sound of your name. “Taehyung here is going to shoot Jin and Hoseok. And then once we’re sure they’re good and dead, I’ll kill her.” He tosses you another pair of handcuffs, these ones are meant for you.

You take one step closer; Jin's gun is between your feet now. But you couldn't pick it up or else he'd shoot Tae. Time, you just need a minute to figure out what to do. How to get them out of this.

Yourself now, that's a different story. If you where in Tae's position you'd turn your face to the side and bite the mans hand.

“And what about me then? If they're all dead what’s to stop me from fighting?” he seems to consider it only briefly, the gun in his hand tilting so that you can see the dark oval where the bullet will come out, where it will rocket through Tae's skull and take all the little worlds she dreams of, all her poems and words and make them nothing.

“You think you're so precious? I’ll just kill you.” he says it like it's nothing. like you're nothing. He nods to the others, appealing to them and not you. “What do you want? All four of you to die? Or just three? What will hurt Namjoon the least? Do you think Yoongi will survive loosing his mate? What do you think Jinnie?”

You think of Yoongi's mating mark, the spot on his hip where your small curved semi-circles sit. You think of them turning black- a brand of a dead mate. You think of Hobi's eyes opening and never closing again. You think of Jungkook nesting without Jin and you. Of Namjoon holding out his hand and having no one to take it without Jin there.

You won't let any of this happen.

The others shoot each other unsure glances but you shake your head. you shake your head because earlier on the step, the man didn't take the easy shot, the easy kill.

If he really had orders to kill you, he would have done it then.

you step forward and shake your head. “I don’t believe you. I know your orders are to take me. That’s what all of this is about isn’t it?” The man doesn’t drop his weapon. Just presses it tighter to Tae’s jaw.

“Handcuff Jin now Hobi. Or else I’ll-”

You see the darkness settle in Jin’s eyes and before you know it he's turning to you, eyes flat. Endless in their darkness, the way they might if-

You don't let yourself consider it. You won't let it get to that point.

“Pup-”

You guess it does make sense, having you kill each other as opposed to the assassin doing the dirty work and implicating Moonbyul. If you really are on that ‘no kill list’ like Yoongi said at the hospital, having you take out each other is the only logical course of action. Once Tae kills Jin and Hobi, she'll be free game. This is the only way retribution won’t fall back on her. This is so similar to what she tried and failed to do with Jimin and Jin. This is a second attempt.

Only-

Only this time, you have a bargaining chip.

You step forward, in front of Hobi and Jin, blocking them from his line of sight. Barely a pace in front of Tae, but from the way he tightens his grip on her you know that you can go no further.

“You can take me; I’ll go with you. Willingly.”

Jin makes a noise in his throat and tries to move, but dares not when the man tightens his grip on Tae’s hair hard enough to rip a bit of it out.

“That’s what she wants, isn’t it? If you just let them live I’ll go with you.”

The man is silent for a second. Hobi trembles and so does Jin. For a second, you truly think that he’s going to take the bait.

But the mask is directed towards the floor, then back up at you. “Those aren’t my orders.” His finger is on the trigger so close to Tae’s head. “Now cuff him, I don’t want Jinnie getting any ideas.”

Hobi’s hands are shaking as he unwillingly shackles Jin to the steps as slowly as he can. He's buying time too. Every second and every heartbeat is precious. Both ends loop around a single rung and click closed. The rung itself is a little loose from a bullet that blew it apart near the bottom, it’s got to be the loosest one. Hobi turns, and you see the pre-meditation in his eyes; he chose that one so that Jin could still get free if he tried hard enough.

Everyone is trying. Everyone is defiant. The quirk of Jin's eyes as he settles, staring with rage at the man, his voice a quiet croon when he says what might very well be the last words he ever speaks.

“Tae you can close your eyes honey, it’s okay.”

"No I can't" She struggles harder against his hold, but it only gets her part of her hair pulled out with how rough the man jerks her, tears clouding her vision. "I can't- don't- please-"

Tae's soul has always been butterfly soft and flower tender. She's not made for this. She's not made for murder or pain or anything that lacks softness. She's never been a killer; Jimin was always that side of their coin. Saint and sinner.

Your body goes cold and for a second, you think you just might pass out, especially when Hoseok grips your wrist. One final squeeze in what can only be goodbye before he steps away and in front of jin. Hair puffed up. Jin is lowering his eyes and no no no.

No.

Tae is staring at you, eyes wide and scared, but you watch in total powerlessness as her eyebrows lower. You see the moment Tae thinks it. Eyes meeting yours, lips mouthing something that you can’t read. Maybe I’m sorry no.

I love you. Sorry.

The truth is that Jimin drilled this with her years ago before she left for college and he couldn’t follow. When Jimin first realized that for the first time in their lives she’d be without him as a constant protector. Delicate delicate Tae with her delicate pink soul. So vulnerable to the world and all its wickedness.

Tae didn't confront him about it until the nightmares were waking him up regularly. They were simple nightmares back then; images of Tae hurt and mugged. Tae beaten and left in an alleyway. Tae stalked through the night. Simple, but enough to keep him awake. Enough to torture him in his wakon hours as well as the nighttime.

If Jimin saw her now he'd pull the heavens down and demand something truly awful in exchange. He'd take one of the knives from the kitchen and gut him from belly button to addams apple. He'd eviscerate him- and Namjoon might help.

Hut there is no one here to do any of that, there is only Tae in the man's hold.

“What are you so scared of?” She’d asked one morning, trailing endless patterns on his chest in an effort to soothe him back to sleep.

“Something happening to you while I’m not there, mostly.”

“Would it make you feel better? If you taught me the basics?”

Jimin's pause is telling, more telling are his eyes, hopeful when he looks up at Tae. “Yes, it would.”

It’s been years and years since Jimin Tae have bothered to drill any self-defense sequences it at all. Since he stopped asking her to refresh the basics with him once a year just to make sure. Jimin never thought that Tae would have to use those skills. Like with most things, you just sort of hope you don't have to fight.

But Tae knows you did fight. It's written all over your bloody face and your bloody hands, tightened to fists by your side. If you fought tooth and nail to save them she should fight too.

Tae has written fight scenes like this before. If she survives the press of the gun to the back of her head, she’s gonna have one hell of a personal experience to pull from for her book. The content will be endless.

She seems to swell in the space, alpha shoulders settling back. Her mouth is moving, mouthing words her eyes on you. Just in case this is the last thing she ever does.

I’m sorry, I love you.

“Be a good boy and pick up the gun Tae.” Tae bends down, syrupy slow. Intentional with her every movement. One heartbeat. Another. Tae's fingers are maybe an inch from the gun when everything goes haywire.

When she's about halfway bent she uses her momentum to hurl her body back, slamming her head into the gun and then into the man’s face. Cracking the mask and from the sound of it, the man’s nose. Tae's almost knocks herself out with the force of her own head colliding with the man’s face.

She turns, she’s not finished, not even close. She might be a woman but she’s an alpha too. Alphas always always fight to protect their pack. She turns and swings.

And drives her elbow as hard as she can between the alpha’s legs.

Hobi can’t stop his flinch. That has to hurt.

The assassin’s gun goes flying, skittering across the dark floor and under the bookcase and Hobi ends up lunging for it. You go after it too but you end up holding Tae instead, crumpling to the floor without anything to hold her up. She’s holding the back of her head, eyes watering.

The traditional mask lyes in pieces around you, shatered by the force of tae's headbut. The man clutches his nose, features still covered by the ski mast. Growling out- "Bitch- fucking bitch! I'll kill you. I'll fucking kill all of you-"

Jin struggles yanking his cuffed hands down as hard as he can- in another minute he might get loose, but not quick enough as Hobi finds the gun and raises it. The bullet hits the molding beside your pantry, missing the man by inches as he dives away to safety. A lucky shot by any standard, let alone for a beginner. Hobi shoots off after him. knocking into the wall before he's up and chasing it.

“Are you okay, Tae, Tae- look up at me.” Tae is clutching the back of her head. Blinking rabidly. That fucking hurt even if it was worth it.

“I’m fine just-” She leans over your legs and vomits, retching loud and horrible. Concussion- she must have given herself a concussion. Namjoon told you months ago how to read the signs of them shortly after the first time Jungkook ever had a seizure in front of you.

You hold her shoulders, watching Jin try and break himself free, yanking his wrists hard enough that it has to hurt. Moving to try and help him.

And then Hobi makes a noise in the other room, a pained ghasp, A thump and then-

Tae is already up and running, stumbling into the wall. You glance at Jin. "Go- just go" Jin grinds out. But Tae has longer legs than you do even concussed.

By the kitchen, Hobi slips on a fallen tangerine. (You remember then, Yoongi clearing the table with a brush of his hands for Jimin, tossing a whole bowl of them onto the floor. Where they've stayed since then) they're fighting, the man must have managed to disarm Hobi somehow because the gun sits under one of the chairs. Both of them are fighting just beside the dining room table. Part of it splintered and broken where someone broke it.

They're grappling on the floor now. Pushing against each other trying to gain the upper hand. you've watched the alpha's wrestle before- small disputes to settle and reaffirm the hierarchy, but you've never seen hobi move like this. You watch the man grasp at his waist reaching for the knife. His hands so slick with his own blood that it clatters to the floor. Hobi may not be trained but he's a fighter too. Gnashing his teeth and growling. Reaching up into the shallow gash at the mans throat and digging in his fingers.

And then he’s got Hobi on the ground and his hands around your alpha's throat. Tae tries to get him off but he backhands her, sending her sprawling to the ground and clutching her cheek. Too dizzy to stand. Big hands that squeeze and squeeze and squeeze Hobi's narrow throat. Spit at the corner of his lips turning frothy as hoseok tries to breathe and can't.

“I didn’t come this far to get killed by a bunch of family rejects; 11 years and 1458 kills later and I will not die. Just give up already- I didn’t come this far to-”

Hobi’s face is turning purple, hands scrabbling, pushing against his face trying to get him off unsuccessfully. Dying there on the floor. Hobi is going to die right there if you don't do anything.

Jin is shouting from the other room and there is a frying pan in the kitchen. On the countertop that you snatch on your way past, winding up for it before you swing it with all your might at the man's head and-

At the end of the day, it’s hard to say exactly what kills him. Whether it's you or Tae who wields the killing blow. It’s more of a group effort between you and her.

Tae has read countless books that described love as some gentle force, but this love has not made her gentle. Tae cannot sit there on the floor and watch Hobi die. She'd do anything to protect him and the pack. She’d kill people like Minnie did, would lie just as Jin had, would have sacrificed anything- even herself just like Yoongi.

Love had always been giving in Tae's mind, and she would give countless sins and untold violence, to have this not be the last day with you and the pack.

The gun is just sitting there under the chair. tae hardly has to lean over to get it. (If she makes it out of this alive, she swears to himself that she'll finally start taking those kickboxing classes that Jungkook teaches.) Tae lifts the gun at the same moment that your hand descends with the frying pan.

Tae turns, points, aims, and fires. She doesn’t even think twice about it. The trigger goes down as easily as breathing.

Getting shot in the throat definitely distracts him enough, definitely makes him let go of Hobi, clutching at his own throat instead of his. blood rushing over his hand and down onto hobi's face. So much that it almost splashes.

And then the frying pan hits his head with a hollow final thud.

There is a placid terror in things like this, a quiet as things go and come. The thumping, the sobbing breaths you let out, the descent of your hand, beating out your terror on the body below, a vessel for all of your fear.

The handle of the frying pan is thick and heavy in your hands. You bring it down on the man’s head, the curved edge of the cast iron connects with the plate of his skull with a hollow thud. One second, he's clutching at his blown-apart throat, and the next he goes limp, blood and brain matter splatters loud and heavy along the floor. Falling on top of Hobi like a lead weight.

Hobi's brown eyes are bloodshot and red in his mouth, heaving one big breath that sends the room spinning. Sends vertigo into his veins and panic-running adrenaline. You lift your arms up again and hit him, descending again and again.

His body is still, so still. His chest gives one open shudder and then goes truly quiet. Frozen in time. You are covered in blood, in your mouth, on your hair, on the ceiling. More and more splatters as your hand goes up and then down in an endless loop.

Dark cotton soaks, matted with blood and brain matter, blurry from your tears. A bit of it hits your face, wet and stinky. People never tell you how horrible it smells when people die.

You don’t stop hitting the man, even when it's clear he's dead. Even when you glare down at him through the tears in your eyes and see half a face staring up at you. An eyeball rolls across the floor.

There are arms around you pulling you off of him eventually. Dry warm arms, big and heavenly. One wrist dangles with a pair of handcuffs as Jin yanks you back from the man. The body.

“Pup- It’s done, pup- he's gone- Stop.”

There is blood all over you. On your face, on your hands, around the frying pan. Tae too, sitting just beside you. Half of her body splattered. Hobi's soaked with it and still struggling to breathe. But both of them, the three of them are alive.

“It’s over pup.” Jin sounds like he might be crying. Tae definitely is.

Hobi puts his head between his knees, gasping for every breath but still breathing. Tae's got him in his lap. Holding on to him as he splutters. face so soaked with blood he can't open his eyes without blinking rapidly.

It’s anything but over you think as you let go of the handle of the frying pan.

It clatters to the ground with a bloody and final thunk.

~-~

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Notes:

if the beginning of the chapter feels weird/different in terms of narration that is because it was mostly written 3+ years ago and my writing style has changed alot! kinda crazy! hopefully people will just attribute it to hoseok's internal monologue. it might be meandering but i kept reminding myself that this is hoseok at his lowest you know?

One thing i want you guys to realize is that the m/c may not be smart, but holy fuck can she take a beating and still get up.

Gun shoot outs are uniquely hard to write because like, just bang and it's done right? idk why part of this writing just felt so tedious usually i love writing stuff like this :(

hobi calls the m/c his girlfriend 🥺 did you guys notice???? he's such a cute pup charecter.

i have more notes for this chapter BUT i can't share them until the next one is out because it involves hobi's secret.

i hope you guys see like- how good the m/c actually is at the crime and thinking on her feet shit- i think that this chapter above all others shows her street smarts. she knows to keep the guy talking and distracted- i think it compliments her similarities to jimin and jin like. the trio of them are very capable people you know? vs hobi who just headlong rushes the assassin and fucks shit up. i'm not saying it's his fault- he does the best that he can in this chapter.

I'm trying to pull from my actual knowledge of how guns work but fun fact, silencers are still fucking loud, like still so loud that you need ear protection. and even blank bullets can still cause serious injury at close range.

I'm again at the stage where i can't tell if the gun shooting scene is clunky and too predictable or if it's actually as creepy as i've made it out to be.

This is one of those situations- the bargaining for each others lives, that i've actually never had to handle. it's actually pretty unusual for me to write about things that i haven't experienced in some way shape or form.

i've only written a few scenes in my life that have made me wonder like "huh- i wonder if people might actually think that i've seen a dead body, been around a dead body, or killed someone before?" and ngl, the scene with the assassin dying is one that makes me wonder that... i promise i just have a scarily vivid imagination.

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sprout-fics · 8 months

Text

(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.

(Soap x GN! Reader)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 5400 Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!) Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for

Call of Duty Masterlist

Summary:

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect.

It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name.

“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles.

“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him.

“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

- - - - -

It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you.

It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth.

He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh.

You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world.

Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.

Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?

Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh.

When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know.

He’s yours.

There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence.

Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date.

“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery.

“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again.

You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back.

He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back.

He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”

You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes.

You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands.

You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky.

Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.

And then you wake up.

Warm springtime.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time.

“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you.

“What?”

Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind.

It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…

And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.

Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him.

It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams.

Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure.

“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.

When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment.

“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”

He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern.

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”

He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-

The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees.

You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his.

The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank.

He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.

The third time, you’re petrified.

A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.

The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.

You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.

The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.

“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched.

Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”

You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him.

You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him.

He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up

You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.

He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips

He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.

He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.

You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.

Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.

“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”

You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.

It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet.

Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.

“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.

He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end.

“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.

“How’d you know my name?”

This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke.

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.

“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes.

You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze.

“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”

A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.

You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.

You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him.

Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.

The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”

You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death.

When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury.

“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”

Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before.

Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass.

“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”

He falls silent, and eventually he walks away.

You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again.

You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?

He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst.

You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.

“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything.

“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”

He leaves.

He dies anyway.

When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern.

You forgot how much you love being held by him.

This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.

Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day.

“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain.

“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.

“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”

You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”

You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders.

“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.

He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.

You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.

“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”

He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes.

You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him.

“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-

Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him.

Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.

Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives.

It always ends like this.

You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-

Then you arrive here.

“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act.

Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.

If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways.

There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could.

“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.

“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.

You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty.

You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time.

You’ve had enough.

“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve.

He turns to you.

You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.

Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye.

You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.

He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you.

Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.

There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door.

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment.

“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”

“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”

He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.

Terrified.

Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.

Not this time.

“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”

You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room.

You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.

Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.

You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down.

The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to.

So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.

You didn’t want this.

You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die.

It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.

“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.

You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.

When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.

The world goes dark.

And then you wake up.

It’s bright.

You don’t expect what comes next.

There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights.

And the sound of a voice.

Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face.

“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling.

Whole. Alive. Just like you.

“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him.

“This time. This time, I saved you.”

Taglist: @soapskneebrace @guyfieriii @writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror

#john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #Soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #my writing #my fic #to add to masterlist #Alex play Dumb Ways to Die

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willowser · 6 months

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you had only to look at me—

part two.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 3.3k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, dry humping, implied virgin bakugou, a tad angsty at the end.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

childhood best friend bakugou is probably a wrestler. a lil' rough-houser.

games of tag end with you tackled to the ground, squashed underneath him until you finally agree that he's the king of the world. whenever your hair is long enough to pull back into a pony-tail or little bun, he's yanking on it to get your attention, harsh, especially if you're ignoring him to talk to anyone else. scraped knees and bruised elbows, coming home missing a single shoe, shirt stretched out and wrinkled at the bottom corner: all katsuki's fault.

it makes you a little volatile, too, in turn.

not so much as him, but you grow up defending yourself; the first black eye he gets is from you (if you don't count the time he hit himself in the face by accident, when you'd started a slap-fight because he was trying to hold you down) and you very quickly learn how "unfair" it (apparently) is to kick him in the groin. your parents spend a lot of time separating you, putting you in opposite corners of the room until one of you stops crying and the other is ready to mumble out an apology. you're not allowed to sit next to each other at holiday events. whatsoever. under any circumstances.

he's your best friend. you wouldn't have it any other way.

in middle school, he's just as insufferable, hardly allows you to talk to any of your girl friends without butting in some how, too loud for anyone's own good. he tries to embarrass you in front of other boys, puts you in a headlock even when he's sweaty — which he is a lot at that point, during puberty — and calls you names that make you want to hide in the bathroom.

("why is he such a jerk?" your friends will ask, trying to fix the mess of your hair during lunch. all your butterfly clips are either missing or broken, crunched under bakugou's scrawny arm. "you should tell on him for being such a bully.")

nobody else treats you the way he does, and you don't treat anyone else that way, either; you never make ugly faces at your girl group, never punch them as hard as you can in the arm, aiming to leave a bruise. with all other classmates, you're — normal, trying to discover what that even means in the grand scope of things, who you want to be as the years pass. you avoid bakugou and his little posse of brats like the plague, because detention is what awaits both of you, should your paths ever cross.

things start to change, seriously, in high-school.

bakugou goes to u.a and you — don't; instead you continue on to the shizuoka high-school without him, along with your group of girls. his time at home and in the neighborhood lessens, even moreso when he moves into the dorms on campus, and the only time you see him becomes those few and far in-between family visits he has time to make; some holidays, he doesn't come home at all.

at first you think it's a good thing, because you've never gotten to flourish while trapped in his armpit. yanking at his hair until he finally lets go in the middle of the hallway has always garnered you some weird looks, odd stares, and you finally stop being labeled aggressive, too, with him gone. boys can talk to you without being stalked by your angry, wiry, chihuahua of a best friend, and you go on dates, ride in cars, have your first kiss.

you miss him from time to time, though you'll die before admitting it, and the yearning doesn't last long whenever he does come home. even when you're seventeen, eighteen, he still lays on the couch and puts his stinky feet in your lap and in your face, purposely puts things too high up on your shelves, leans against the front door so you can't get out when it's time to leave.

(he becomes an immovable object, much to your annoyance; in the past, you've always stood somewhat of a chance against him, knowing all his weak spots, like the clump of hair at the crown of his skull and how ticklish he is on his thighs, but now, after all the training he's been doing — he's huge, unfortunately.

if he grabs your wrists in one hand — like he's never been able to do — and holds them above your head, you're useless to defend yourself; there is an absolutely zero-percent chance you'll ever manage to overthrow him if he sits on you; tickling him is impossible, because his thighs have gotten so muscular that it's hard to grab him, and even if you do manage it, he can nearly crush your hand if he closes his legs together.

bakugou doesn't even look like your scrawny best friend anymore; he looks like the guy that ate your scrawny best friend.)

you graduate and go to college. bakugou graduates and goes to work for best jeanist, in the heart of tokyo. seeing each other means planning on it, making an effort neither of you have ever had to, and there's a lot of radio silence for months at a time. somehow it always comes full circle, though, and it always ends in violence, because you two don't know any other way to be.

you're twenty the first time his touch becomes tight, bruising, purposeful — for new reasons.

it's one of the few times he's off, and you haven't seen each other since his mom's dinner party four months ago. you only agree to come over because his patrol route had taken him through your campus and you'd spotted him across the street in the early hours of the morning, after you got out of class.

now you're both tired, lazing around despite planning to get lunch once the heat died down. together doing nothing; sometimes it's a little alarming how easily the two of you fall into each other, but you've been doing it for so long that it doesn't take a second thought.

bakugou strolls out of his bathroom with damp hair, in nothing but a loose pair of sweats, and you're laying on his couch half-asleep and he puts his wet towel over your face and you ball it up and throw it at him and then he tries to whip you with it.

"stop," you groan, serious, "you're so annoying." when he only twists it tighter, you stick your arm and leg out, deflecting against the wet smack he tries to leave against your skin.

his sharp teeth flash with his ugly little grin, and you try to grab the towel twice, ending up with an angry, stinging lick up the inside of your arm, before he gets too close and you can finally yank it from his hands. you sit up to get a better angle, but you're not as quick as he is, as adept at being a brat, and when he yanks on the towel, your whole body nearly comes off the couch, arms almost coming out of their sockets.

"bakugou!" you squeal, and he cackles, evil, and grabs your hands when you try to smack him. your massive, stinking, freight train of a best friend deposits his entire body on yours, crushing your lungs with his back as you cough, "get off!"

he doesn't say anything, choosing to pretend he's watching whatever is on tv and that he can't hear you — which you could believe, because bakugou likes trash television more than he lets on — and your hands are trapped at your sides and you can't breathe and so you bite him, right in the neck.

"ow, fuck!"

when he moves, he moves fast, and you're only hope of retaliating before he flips around and grabs your wrists and holds you down is to roll the both of you off the couch. his body thuds, deep and heavy, against the carpet, and you trap his hands beneath your knees as you straddle his hips, adjusting your full weight so you can at least try and keep him down.

beneath you, bakugou sneers. "you've got five seconds t'get off me before—"

"one!" you shout obnoxiously, rolling your eyes just to hear his annoyed snort. "two! three! f—"

his body snaps up into a sitting position, nose bumping yours as he rips his hands from beneath your legs. a scream tears out of your throat as you wiggle, surprised, trying your best to stretch your arms over your head and around your back so he can't grab them; if he does, it's game over for you.

"stop!" you shout, choking out a shock of laughter when he brings his legs up, trapping you in his lap against his chest. a little grunt leaves him as you jostle, but the tension at your back never lets up, not even when his mouth sets in a firm line and a sharp exhale leaves his nose. "let me go," you tell him, squirming again as he reaches for your hands. "i'm not playin' around."

"too bad, y'shitty nerd." he says, gruff, and when you stick your tongue out at him, he buries his face in your neck and bites, too, taking advantage of your shock as his fingers close around your wrists.

"no!" you scream again, trying in earnest just to get away from him completely, but he holds your hands behind your back and keeps you squished so tightly into him that you can only breathe shallowly, and his free hand goes to ball into your shirt at your side and —

— and his face is red, you realize, delayed. you can almost feel the heat from his cheeks with him so close, and you take in the flush of his neck, how it spreads down to his bare chest, crimson and fevered. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, nervous, almost.

"what?" you breathe, quiet, as if speaking too loud will break your playful bubble, and his eyes jump around his living room before landing back on you, narrowed and black.

"what?" he echoes, voice pitched and mocking. "you lose, dumbass." and even though he closes his eyes and grits his teeth, there isn't any hiding from how hard he's breathing. how subtle he's trying to be about spreading his legs.

all at once, everything kind of — falls apart.

bakugou is a man now, much to your horror; it feels like you've closed your eyes and opened them in the lap of someone else wearing your best friend's face. there's serious muscle definition in his shoulders and biceps, and you can feel yourself getting lost in the curves and valleys of him like never before. he's — you're — so close. more than it feels like you've ever been, even though you know that's far from true.

this boy used to pin you down in the yard and threaten to lick your face, the both of you grass-stained and covered in sweat. you've tackled him face first into the ocean on various vacations, running behind him quietly and plunging his scrawny, shirtless body into the waves as they rushed forward, uncaring of what you were wearing or how it twisted when you both came up for air.

saliva is still drying on your neck from where he bit you and, unthinking, your eyes dart down to his lips; plumper than you ever realized and parted, just a bit, enough that you can feel his breath on your cheeks. and you wonder —

bakugou grunts quietly, shuffling himself so that his back is leaned against the couch, and you half-expect him to just let you go because things have — changed. but he doesn't.

instead the new position has his legs a little wider and you've sunk a little further and you're now very aware of exactly what's changed, and how much. you can feel him twitch, just barely, and the hand he has at your side balls tighter into your shirt, jostling you minutely in the process.

and finally he opens his eyes and stares at you — cheeks burning, eyebrows furrowed — and you stare back — heat lighting up your body to an uncomfortable degree as your stomach flips.

you wonder what he would do, if you kissed him. what it would feel like. what he would taste like.

you move your hips with purpose, stuck on the new and foreign change it does to him; bakugou's always been a tough little brat, and you made him cry a handful of times when you were younger, but this weakness is — different. there's so much you know about him and yet even more for you to learn, and you find yourself consumed with the desire to explore this new, enticing territory.

his lashes flutter gently when you grind against him, tentatively, and then his head thumps back against the couch as the muscle in his jaw sets. half-lidded, his red-hot gaze jumps from your face down to where you're seated against him and back, and it's only after you move again that you realize — he's watching you, too. discovering.

the fist he has in your shirt loosens and his fingers burn your bare skin when they slip under the material to grip your hip. at any moment, you're half-expecting him to tell you to cut the shit, to shove you off and ask what the hell is wrong with you. why you're being so weird, doing things friends don't do to each other. but he doesn't.

you're almost certain that if you put your hands on his chest, you would be able to feel the mirrored, nervous pace of his heartbeat; it only takes the faintest tug of your hands for him to let you go, his grip falling to the other side of your hips. you can't tell if he means to hold you in place, or keep you going.

you spread your fingers out and, gently, as if you've never touched him before, run your hands up his chest, watching the bob of his adam's apple when you rest them on the sides of his neck. stabilizing yourself a bit, before testing the waters again.

bakugou's eyes are nearly black and when you don't stop, he looks down to resume watching the movement of your hips, the way his sweatpants bunch up and tug, and you feel a little zing up your spine with his every sharp inhale and sharper exhale. even his jaw falls a little slack and, fuck, you've never seen him like this.

you never thought you'd want to, but now — you don't think you'll ever see him any other way again.

his eyes go a little wide when you lean into him, brushing the tip of your nose against his. neither of you have said anything and maybe you should keep it that way, lest the bubble burst, but you feel like you're going a little insane.

quietly, around your own heavy breath, you ask, "does this — feel good?"

you can feel the temperature of his cheeks spike, but he nods shallowly regardless, and you press your mouth into his throat to bite him again, just lightly. it should be so that he's a little biter; the feel of your teeth makes him jump, has him angling his head so that more of his neck is exposed to you. when you soothe the barely-there indentation with the flat of your tongue, his breath hitches and his shoulders shake on a shudder and he groans, like he's angry.

"hah, fuck."

the friction in his lap isn't doing much for you, realistically, but his reaction is what has you aching, has you drawn tighter than a bow string. you feel yourself growing antsy for something that you won't name, because friends don't do that, though you can't help but to wonder if he's ever done it before.

you've had a few boyfriends. had a few experiences that ended quickly and left you feeling exposed and uncomfortable and a little in pain, and even though your girl friends insist that's normal — it's nothing like this. bakugou might not last much longer, if the grip he has on your hips is any indication, but not a single piece of your clothing has been removed and you're hot and getting sort of desperate and you know your underwear are a little more than damp.

you want to dismantle his long-standing composure. you want to be — maybe — the only one that gets to see him fall apart like this.

he's been your best friend your whole life, afterall; this experience should be yours. he should be.

the thought has you shivering a little bit and bakugou bucks up against you, pulling you down hard in his lap. dragging across the thick and solid length of him becomes even more clear and another, stronger zing has you letting out a breathy little sound into his ear. it makes him groan again, this one almost whiny, but he closes his mouth to muffle it and you don't want him to do that so you tighten your fingers in the hair on the crown of his head and — just to see, in a way you've never done before — you quietly whisper,

"katsuki,"

and he loses it.

one of his hands slips up your shirt to splay against your back, forcing you closer to him so he can bury his face in your neck, and his hips become insistent, urgent, rutting up against yours eagerly.

"fuck, oh fuck, fuck," he groans into your skin, fingers gripping you so tightly that you think he might actually leave burns behind, and his shoulders tremble before he goes totally still.

for a little while, you both sit there and let your breathing even out as reality sobers you from whatever lust-drunk haze you'd both been in. distantly, you think you wouldn't mind if he pinned you to the ground the way he always does, only this time to peel all your clothes off, right here on his living room floor. but he doesn't.

doesn't say anything, just shudders every now and again, and you think you're starting to feel the wet spot soaking into the front of his sweatpants.

you pull back just a little to look at him and he lets you, face just as red as he stares back at you, like he's the one waiting for you to freak. a little bit of red has returned to his eyes, though they're still swollen and dark with want.

when you lean in again, to bump your nose against his, bakugou snaps back away from you.

"wh-the fuck are y'doin'?" he shifts his eyes to the ground and they go wide. horrified, maybe. all the blood rushes in your ears and you don't know what to say, so he continues. "i-i don't have time t-to sit around all day, so—" bakugou shakes his head and you think he's going to kick you out, and he must know it, from how stiff you go. "so, you better know what the hell you wanna eat."

your bubble has burst; you nod silently and he glances up at you twice before swallowing.

"well, i can't get dressed with you sitting on me, so get off." when you remain quiet, he finally raises his head to look at you head-on, fisting the edge of your shirt again so that you'll look back. "d'you..." bakugou wets his lips before biting them, "need anything?"

"uh," maybe to shove your head down the drain and drown yourself, so that you can get rid of all the not-so-nice feelings that are creeping up beneath your skin. instead of that, you tell him, "just the bathroom, maybe."

"hurry up then," he mutters and even tries to roll his eyes, though it feels anything but casual. "don't...take for-fuckin'-ever."

and then he's up, quick to stand so that his back is to you as he disappears around the corner to his room, leaving you to yourself, trying to smooth out the wrinkle he's left in the corner of your shirt.

#this is my attempt at being a bit more organized akhfkahfa #the second part ends so abruptly that i'm tempted to extend it a little more............#if i don't put up the second part right away it's bc i'm thinking about it LOL #bakugou x reader #bakugou x fem!reader #i did not even check over this for typos whoops #not a one shot oh well #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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saekkas · 1 year

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𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐏𝐇𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐒.

includes: isagi, rin, nagi, sae, kaiser.

note: this was very much self-indulgent. comfort and a hint of melancholy.

❥ 𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐘𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈– the man behind the persona;

isagi is grateful for what he’s achieved, for what he’s been given in his time with blue lock. people are cheering his name, kids wave to him every time he goes to the convenient store, people tell him they want to be like him someday.

he’s worth so much more than he started out. he's able to buy gifts for his parents without having the need to look at the price tag, sponsors are reaching out every second for his time, and his heart feels like its beating out of its shell every time he kicks a ball.

isagi’s grown into his skin, he’s become the person he wanted to be all this time.

and yet, he feels the expectations of the world on his shoulders and is slowly drowning with it. people are always staring; people are always watching. they're all waiting for the wrong move, the wrong kick, the wrong pass. most of all, people are dictating the person whom isagi yoichi is.

the egoist. blue lock's poster boy. the next best striker. the person who has it all.

isagi’s given up on counting the amount of names he has, all much more absurd than the last. no matter how many times his parents have told him to relax, to ignore the world, he’s never able to shake the odd looks coming from passer-by’s.

looks born from the image of him controlled by the world.

day ins with you are isagi’s favorite. the way he gets to curl up on your lap with your hands in his hair always has him relaxed. a complete one-eighty from the high he feels when on the field. isagi’s groan is muffled by the wind rushing through the open balcony, “the hot chocolate is going cold.”

“well good afternoon to you, mr sleepy-head,” you giggle, “did you enjoy your nap?”

his reply is another groan, this time with a nod of his head. your hands still in his head to give him room but isagi’s quick to pout as he shoves his head back onto your lap. “these days you’re more like a cat.”

your reply has isagi rolling his eyes, face popping out into view as your fingers continue threading between his strands. “you’ve even started purring in your sleep too, do my fingers feel that good?” you tease, “want me to start massaging you next, yoichi?”

isagi feels himself losing consciousness, drowsily nodding as you stretch across the couch. several moments and he would’ve fallen back asleep if it weren’t for a familiar voice coming from your screen.

“isagi yoichi?” the man on your screen chuckles lowly, “you mean blue lock’s poster boy? yeah he’s all bark and no bite. thinks he’s all high and mighty just because people are starting to know him. says a lot of shit too like he’s the one controlling the field when-”

you feel isagi stiffen before anything else. scowling and muttering curses under your breath, you’re quick to shut the tv off but the damage is done and isagi’s propping himself up from your lap into a sitting position next to you. you see the expression he wears, anger and hurt swirling in his blue eyes.

“yoichi,” you whisper, “don’t listen to them. they’re just nobodies who don’t know you.”

“yeah that’s the point isn’t it?” isagi knows it’s unfair to take his emotions out on you, someone who’s always been by his side, cheering him on. he’s quick to shut his eyes and count his breath, placating the anger shimmering under his veins.

isagi’s too lost in his own trance and he jumps when your palm encases his trembling fist. he opens his eyes to see you peering at him, a soft smile on your face as you gently place a hand on his cheek.

“it’s okay to be angry, yoichi. it’s okay to express your anger, especially when it’s justified,” you hum, a delicate reminder in every single word, “just don’t be angry for too long, ‘kay?”

“and don’t let them dictate you, the person that you are.” you’re staring at him, and isagi finds it hard to breath. you’re warm, hands tracing his cheeks before they slide down onto his neck. he watches you with lidded eyes, watches the way you place a peck on his cheek before pulling him down into a kiss. “show them isagi yoichi. my yoichi. the sweetest boy with a dream he wants to achieve more than anything else.”

isagi smiles against your lips as he decides, yeah i’ll show the world who isagi yoichi really is.

❥ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍– a masterpiece born of tragedy;

itoshi rin was once a normal little boy, with big glimmering eyes and a love so big for his big brother.

if you ask the rin of today about his childhood, he'd tell you it was okay. nothing too special, just a bit boring. go to school > go to the field to watch his brother's matches > go eat ice cream with sae > come home to eat dinner and finish his homework > sleep > repeat.

outside of soccer, rin would tell anyone that his childhood was nothing like his brother's. born under the shadow of a genius, he's used to getting the second scraps. hand-me-down clothes, toys, shoes, books, everything.

and yet, rin's never told anyone about the day he had to leave his childhood. no sweet goodbye, no pat on the head, no nothing. because the day sae left their shared dream was the day rin was forced out of his.

it used to scare him, the emptiness he sees inside his eyes. the way his body only moved to a certain rhythm just to appease his own broken dream of becoming the best by his brother's side. the way anger always used to consume him until it all melted into sadness and despair.

"you're doing it again." rin's eyes leave the goal, teal orbs slowly making their way onto yours. he raises an eyebrow at the pout you're sporting, his hand instinctively coming to intertwine with your open one.

"you're looking at the ball like you're about to kill someone." you snort, one finger coming up to poke into his chin. one he swats away with an amused glare. "no wonder people are afraid of you, even with that handsome face."

you're used to the silence rin brings, never awkward, never too consuming. his mother tells you he's been this way since he was a kid and his teammates would say you're lucky to even have a nod sent your way.

but the rin you're used to, your rin has never been cold. always so warm and willing to please, even when he shows it in a different way. when his mood sours though, the way it's slowly doing right now, you know exactly how to turn in back around.

"wanna get ice cream?" you're see the way rin watches the ball, entirely focused on the match that your words go into one ear and out the other. "i'll pay."

and it's later that day, with the sky a combination of oranges and purples, and your laugh filling the air, when rin realizes you bring his childhood memories and relive them with him, hand-in-hand, and a smile etched on your face.

"hey, rin look!" the sound of cheering catches his attention, along with a goal post, patches of grass, and a whole group of kids playing soccer by the edge of the river. "c'mon let's go watch! maybe we can find a hidden genius for you to teach!"

with a tug on his hand and a mischievous smile sent his way, rin realizes that his childhood isn't as long gone as he once thought it was.

❥ 𝐍𝐀𝐆𝐈 𝐒𝐄𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎– ambition is poison;

nagi’s never wanted anything in his life before.

he wanted to play games, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to eat snacks, sure. but before soccer, he’s never had anything that made him want to get his blood boiling and heart thumping.

keeps on hearing people says that he’s changed and they’re proud of him for it but nagi’s never really understood any of them. he’s never understood which part of him changed. he’s never understood why people are pushing more and more for it.

after beating isagi, nagi’s been more pressured by people than he has ever been in his entire life. score a genius goal, they say. win the world cup, they say. become the best striker, they say.

to nagi, everything’s slowly turning into background noise. expectation from people he doesn’t know and pressure from his teammates has him running into a slump. nagi’s becoming stressed the more he's pressured into doing more, more, more.

at the end, it translates to a lack of energy and will power to envision a new goal. every day nagi wishes to just stay in his comfort zone, pushing away ambition and all else. feels suffocated because soccer used to be so easy, so simply fun. now it's turned into a burden because of everyone else.

“not going to practice, sei?”

you aren’t surprised to find nagi in his room, headphones plugged into his pc whilst his fingers are busy on the controller on his lap. the phone call you just received plays in a loop in your head, his coach begging you to make him attend practice for the nth time today.

the moment you’re in his reach, nagi pulls you into his lap and you squeak, hands resting on his shoulders to steady yourself. you don’t expect him to speak and you’re proven correct when he nuzzles his head into your chest, snowy whites contrasting your black sweater.

“you okay?” your hands are on each side of his face, palms gently cradling his chin. his eyes are downward turned, and it takes everything within you not to melt. “what’s wrong, baby?”

“don’t wanna practice,” he mumbles, pout clearly visible. “wanna stay here with you.”

“i wanna stay here with you too.” you’re carefully pushing away his bangs, revealing both his eyes as you lean down to press a kiss on his nose. “but you promised reo you’d come to practice today, remember?”

“don’t care.”

nagi’s wraps his hands securely on your waist, squeezing you into his chest. the boy goes back to tucking himself in your neck and you sigh, knowing he wouldn’t budge if you didn’t give him something in return.

“what about i come with you, hmm? you wanted to show me that awesome move you and reo did before, right?”

“tomorrow.”

“what if i give you a kiss every time you score a goal?”

it’s fifteen minutes later, and he’s two hours late into practice but as he walks with you the field, nagi thinks practice is a pain but he wouldn’t complain if he had you to push him along the way.

❥ 𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐒𝐇𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐄– losing sleep by chasing stars;

sae had everything as a kid; talent, a loving family, a dream- things ordinary little boys could have ever hoped for. but itoshi sae wasn’t born ordinary. dubbed a genius his whole life, he dedicated his entire being into becoming the best. japan. spain. the world.

felt like his childhood was too long. too boring for a genius with bigger things on his path. too eager to carve the path to his dreams, sae left home at a young age, running and running with the support of his family and the whole world pushing at his back.

he never looked back.

sleepless nights, practice-filled days, gruelling matches. sae's gotten used to the heartburn he gets from his own schedule. he's convinced himself it's nothing compared to becoming the best.

at some point, time started slipping like sand in an hourglass. filling up too quick, burning through his fingers. and really, now all sae wants to do is rest, lay down his burdens and disappear from the world's storm.

he never will though. because to itoshi sae, resting means giving up, and giving up means saying goodbye.

enter: you. long lost childhood friend turned lover who seems to be the only person who can soothe his pains. you do your part in supporting his matches, cheering for his teams, and gently coaxing sae back into healthy patterns.

you help him sleep by rubbing random patterns onto his back and whispering support whenever sae becomes a stick in a mud. although it happens more than he would like it to, whenever sae shuts down, he's cold. tries to disappear from the world by shutting people out and pushing his body to its limits.

a ding sounds in the silence of itoshi sae's hotel room, a bright light emitting from his cellphone. sae's leaned back, head in his hands as he tries to analyze and replay the game in his head. the game he thought would have been easy, the game he misjudged, the game he lost.

another ding comes through and sae releases a harsh sigh, hands going through a flurry of motions to reach his phone before his eyes soften and his posture goes slack, the familiar stinging in his eyes a painful yet bittersweet reminder of what he's doing in spain.

angel: hi sae, i know you're probably busy

angel: but i love you and wanted you to remember that i am so proud of you. so so proud.

angel: come back soon, i miss you.

typing at his phone, sae remembers to breath, to carefully unwrap his heart from the iron grip he has on it. as his breath mellows out, a ghost of a smile appears on his lips, chuckling a bit at the silly voice-note you sent.

sae: i love you. thank you.

with you by his side, sae knows he'll grasp every star.

❥ 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐑– two sides of the same coin;

michael kaiser- god's chosen emperor. proclaimed playmaker who directs and acts on his own stage. on the stage, he's the perfect ruler, dominating each and every field with precise precision. something the people has learned to call as, "kaiser impact."

he thrives in it, really. lives for the applause. the way the people scream and cheer his name for everyone to hear. everyone has simply become the audience, the background character, and him the self-titled protagonist.

alas, kaiser knows it isn't real. he's deluded himself far too long to forget the echoes of the real world; how he isn't the best no matter how hard he tries to be. such is the price of fame.

kaiser remembers the warnings before he stood under the spotlight. how everything he did had to ensure perfection. the perfect act, the perfect stage. every little move calculated because he has to do what he can to secure his place in the world.

the lights are shining down onto his crown and he needs to shine bright. brighter than anyone else.

yet sometimes, kaiser feels the light is too bright. too scalding. it shines at the little imperfections, the insecurities he tries so hard to cover up. he feels his mask slowly chipping away. fragile little shards of glass falling at his feet. he hears the boos and the crown he wears suddenly feels too heavy for him to bear.

"y'know you don't have to always act like an egotistical prick, right?"

"i've been gone for a month and those are your first words to me?" kaiser is dramatic, he lives for the act. the way his mouth falls into a perfectly shaped ‘o’ while his hands come up onto his chest is the prime example of that. "i'm hurt, darling."

rolling your eyes at your boyfriend who's planted himself near the entrance of your apartment, you raise the remote to point at the tv, "you could've been nicer to ness and isagi too. you're going to play with them in the u-20 world cup soon after all."

the moment isagi's name leaves your lips, it's as if a switch has been flipped inside of kaiser. he picks his bags off the floor, quietly nudges the door closed, and pads into the kitchen without a word.

you're aware of the silence, the sudden change in his personality as you turn off the tv showing his latest match. shuffling into the kitchen, you're met with his back to you, the number 10 of his jersey still printed on his back. you watch as he picks and prods at your collection of tea, gaze so focused on the trinkets that he jumps when your arms wrap around his waist.

"hi, pretty baby." tightening your hold on him, you peck his cheek and situate your head on his shoulder. your boyfriend has always been a delight to watch, whether he's scoring on the field or cooking some meal in your kitchen. "i’ve missed you."

his little 'i missed you too' doesn't go unnoticed, and you're aware of how the tension starts bleeding off his body the longer you keep him in your embrace.

the whine he lets out at the feeling of you untangling yourself from him has you smiling, eyes crinkling at the edges as kaiser does a 180 to embrace you himself. he's warm as you murmur a muffled, "there's my clingy boyfriend," into his chest.

the first kiss pressed into the crown of your head has you looking up to him, eyes catching sight of each other. there's nothing but quiet ease, the soft lull from the aircon, and a steaming pot of water on the stove.

"i love you." you're standing on your tiptoes to reach him, pecking all the way from his forehead to his cheeks, intentionally missing his lips. "i love you so much it makes me go lightheaded sometimes."

"awww, loving me is that bad?"

there's that precious pout and tilt of his head you've been waiting for.

feigning a kiss, you cackle when he leans forward only for his lips to meet your palm. the whine kaiser lets out is music to your ears and you giggle when he snuggles into the crook of your neck.

"the worse," you tease. you feel his lips tracing their way to your collarbone and you tighten your hold on him. "but i don't think i can stop."

"why's that?" he drawls.

"if i do, who's going to stop you from being a menace all the time?" the laugh you pull from him has kaiser tingling, his heart softening, and the spotlight shining onto him not as blinding.

with you trapped in his embrace, kaiser realizes the brighter the light he emits, the darker the shadow it leaves behind. and as your fingers intertwines with his, he realizes he isn't afraid of the dark if you're there to guide him away.

#blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #isagi yoichi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #itoshi sae x reader #michael kaiser x reader #isagi yoichi imagines #itoshi rin imagines #nagi seishiro imagines #itoshi sae imagines #michael kaiser imagines #blue lock fluff

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starberry-cupcake · 11 days

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Alrighty, here we are again

previously, in harrowcita the ninth:

this happened

currently, after ch. 2 (once again, I wanted to read more but realized these notes were too long):

first off, I need to point out something very important

reading the first part of gideon, this was how the dynamic of her and harrow felt like, from gideon's pv in the first chapter or two

this is what it actually was like, now that I have harrow's pv

so, now that we've cleared that up, let me tell you about the emperor

I don't know about this guy

something's not adding up for me

I feel like he's either lying, telling half-truths that benefit him or he doesn't know what he's doing

and none of those options are very god-tier

he's also constantly going like "harrow, I'm gonna let you choose" and five minutes later he's "oh, actually, you never had a choice to begin with, I'm so sorry about that"

I don't think you're sorry if you've done it like 3 times since we've met you

maybe say what you actually mean, unless you're full of lies

he takes harrow on a walk through the clown death star ship he's got going on

and takes her to his coffin hangar

shows her coffins of the people he made to send to the ninth

the new ninth people

aiglamene is gonna have to work overtime

(I can't believe I've never forgotten her name)

and then there's coffins for all the little friends we made in canaan house

:) ♥

except there are a bunch missing people

let me just note the info we got

the second says "no human remains inside"

last we saw them, martita was KO and judith was bleeding to death

nobody from the third as well, and we already have suspicions about wtf is happening with these parsley and cilantro twins

from the sixth, one is empty because CAMILLA ISN'T DEAD GODDAMMIT

the other one has little pieces of palmolive in it

me picking up the pieces of palmolive from the decor of canaan house

there is one coffin for not!dulcinea

the emperor guy says he's taking her with the other lyctors

as long as he flushes afterwards, it's fine

we are, by the way, trying very hard to not mention gideon ever, apparently

just wanna point out real quick that THERE'S A LOT OF PEOPLE UNACCOUNTED FOR and this guy is GOD so he's doing a terrible job

or he's not saying all he knows

or both

all this time, ice cube barbie is tagging along

ice cube barbie is harrow's babadook, which I stan tbh

since she's here to stay, let me show you another pic of that doll because it's my favorite from the haunted beauty collection

so, the emperor starts telling harrow what they're fighting against (or escaping from) and where they came from

this man explains what he wants and leaves out what he wants

at one point, when harrow asks something like "how will you explain all the dead people?" he goes like

he asks harrow about death and the process of it and she says, at one point:

"In cases of apopneumatic shock, where death is sudden and violent, the energy burst can be sufficient to countermand osmotic pressure and leave the soul temporarily isolated. Whence we gain the ghost, and the revenant."

this is important for the later conversation about revenant beasts, which are the things that the emperor is having trouble with

but I highlighted it because I am adding it to my notes of "reasons why gideon could be not dead forever"

I am holding on to all the hope I can get

because if sudden violent death can leave the soul temporarily isolated and not do the due process of transitioning to the river or whatnot

and gideon isn't within harrow or whatever

maybe

maybe she's somewhere else

I don't know, let me have this, don't tell me anything, just

LET ME HAVE THIS

so yeah, basically the story is that the emperor is running away from nine revenant beasts, which were created during the resurrection, when a planet was blasted off

nine beasts like nine houses

there's three left now

I don't know about all of this, you guys

I don't have enough context and I don't trust this guy here

how do I know where we stand in all this?

what if he's not the good guy and what he did was some planetary bullshit to begin with?

what if the other side is the good guys?

what if he's killed by one of our heroes? like harrow or gideon or camilla?

because he's actually a false god jerk?

what if I kill him????

and then we have two last important things

first, barbie ice cube speaks now

love that for her

then, very crucial

the non-gideon mentioning seems to be a Thing

I don't know if I'm understanding correctly but

the emperor mentions ortus

ortus, the one we knew, our old pal from the ninth

and I got the feeling, idk if I got it, that he just assumed ortus was the cavalier she had with her

because 1) he didn't go down there and 2) no body was recovered

and then harrow also mentions ortus, but she says he "died thinking it was the only gift he was capable of giving" and that she "wasted it" and idk if she did that because she's blocking sad memories, she's confused because she's Not Doing Great Mentally Right Now, she doesn't wanna tell the emperor what actually happened, or all three

there's stuff about ortus I don't know, but that sounds to me more like what gideon said than what ortus "Got Blown To Bits With Mom In Ship" did

and then the emperor says his name again with suspicion and I'm like

I think this clown doesn't know

I think he doesn't know about gideon

I think he doesn't know about gideon or who gideon actually is

which we don't know yet either but it's probably important

because she's hercules, as previously established

I think maybe gideon is an outlier

an important planetary outlier

I have hopes

also, another day without camilla

god (not this one) I hope I can make shorter recaps but there's so much happening, I'm so sorry

#luly reacts to tlt #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers #tlt spoilers #long post #the locked tomb

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callsigndragon · 1 year

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What I've been waiting for | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Military Doctor!fem!Mitchell!reader

Summary: Bradley's best friend, the one that he hasn't seen in five years, comes back home and surprises him. He has some important things to tell her.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: fluffy things. EVERYONE IS ALIVE HERE. mentions of the uranium mission. and lots of flufffff.

A/N: This one was requested by my lovely @shrimping-for-all !! Hope you like it, it was really fun to write

Tag list: @tayrae515 @alexxavicry @xoxabs88xox @mercurio23

Thanks to @abaker74 for the marvelous Goose line at the end of the fic 💕

(if you want to be in the 'All TGM' tag list, send me an ask!)

When Maverick appeared on Bradley's third birthday with a baby in his arms, Goose almost had a heart attack. Where did that baby come from? Was it Penny and Mav's daughter? Wait, was Maverick still seeing Penny? He had many questions, but it was his son's day, and he decided to just let it go for the moment.

Goose saw in you the daughter he and Carole never had. And when Maverick and Penny (yes, you were their daughter) made them your godparents, the Bradshaws knew that that girl would be loved as their own daughter.

Bradley and you grew up supporting and loving each other as much as your fathers did. You became best friends, even though there was a five-year gap between you, and the two of you continued the Mitchell-Bradshaw-partners-in-crime association that your dads began.

Carole loved having baby Mitchell around, Goose and her were unable to bring another baby to this world, even though they tried so hard, it just wasn't meant to be. Penny used to take you to Carole's house whenever the aviators were away on a mission, so they could keep each other company.

When you grew up, everyone and their mother thought that the young Mitchell would follow her father's steps, join the Navy, and become a legendary aviator… just like her father and her grandfather did before her. Nobody expected you to become a military doctor. You joined the military, gained the name ‘Doc’, and saved lives wherever they sent you.

You love your job. The fact that you are out there, making sure that people go back home to see their families again makes it worthy. Even spending months away from home. You don’t remember the last time you were home for Christmas, but it’s okay. People need you in the field, not eating Christmas cookies.

There’s only one person who is not very happy with not seeing you: Rooster.

Look, he’s been in love with you since he can remember. You’re his best friend, his partner in crime, the person he wants to call every time he gets good news… You were there when his mom got sick and helped him make the party when Carole got home after that big surgery that saved her life. He doesn’t have a memory without you. Well, every single one from the last five years.

It doesn’t matter how much the two of you have tried to see each other. Something always came up: one of you was called back to base, deployed or whatever. It’s been five years since the last time he saw you in person.

He’s scared that by the time you come back you’ll tell him how you’ve met the love of your life or how you have a partner… He promised himself, five years ago, that when you came back, he would confess. He didn’t want to do it before you went away for months, he didn’t want to tell you during your deployment and make your staying there more difficult.

He’s been waiting five years. Maybe the universe is trying to send him a message. That he has to move on, to let you go. But he can’t. Rooster can’t imagine himself with any other person that it’s not you. And he doesn’t want to.

Iceman told you that all your family will be here tonight, even your mom is working. You’re so excited to see your mom, your sister Amelia and your dad after so many months away. Admiral told you that your mom and your dad are together again, and you just hope that this time it lasts. They love each other, but your father hasn’t ever been an easy guy.

You stop in front of the Hard Deck, looking inside from the big windows, seeing all your family. Rooster’s at the piano, singing Great Balls of Fire with Goose. Carole and Penny are behind the bar, serving drinks to the customers. Maverick is dancing with Amelia, your younger sister smiling happily. God, how have you missed them.

You move to the back door, trying to be sneaky and move towards them without being seen. You made it to the piano, luckily, without being seen, and put your arms around the male Bradshaws, singing the song with them. Goose is the first one to turn around and realize it’s his goddaughter who is behind him. He gets up so fast, bringing you in to hug you.

“Mav, your daughter is back!” he yells next to your ear.

You don’t know many people are hugging you right now. You can feel a lot of arms around you, people laughing and even some crying. But you couldn’t care less. Your eyes can only focus on the man you have grown to love, your best friend, who is standing in front of you, completely dazzled to see your figure in front of him.

“Hey, y’all can I hug my friend for a second? I haven’t seen him in years” you say, pulling away from the rest and getting closer to Rooster.

His eyes scan your face in frenetic movements, drinking you in, finding the new scars and marks that cover your skin. “Couldn’t you let me know in advance?” he asks, swallowing his feelings. He’s about to cry, and you know it.

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew”

“Oh my god, you’re back” he tackles you in a hug, almost falling down if Goose and Mav weren’t behind you.

“Yes, I’m back you big cry baby” you mock, but your eyes are full of tears as well.

“A round on the house for my daughter!” your mom announces, making the whole bar erupt into cheers.

“C’mon, you have so many things to tell me” Rooster says, grabbing your hand and leading you to one of the tables.

You spend the next hours talking, laughing, learning the news about Rooster being team leader of an elite squad, Iceman being cancer-free, your mom and dad having decided to marry at last… So many things have happened in the last few months. You had a few weeks off in summer and came back to the States to be with your family, going one day to your mom’s and another to your dad’s because they didn’t want to be in the same room. And now, they’re going to marry. Life is surely a box full of surprises.

But you eventually get overwhelmed by being the center of attention, stepping outside and sitting on the beach. Your job has made you hate sand, but this one feels different. Feels like home.

“You can’t come back and disappear again, ya know” Rooster says, sitting with you and taking off his jacket and covering your shoulders with it.

“I didn’t disappear, just needed some fresh air”

He tilts his head, looking at you with a small smile. “How can you be even prettier than the last time I saw you?”

You chuckle, thanking that it is night already, and he can’t see your stupid smile. “I think you’re drunk”

“Nope, I only had a beer” he clears his throat and looks at the sand between his feet. “I want to tell you something. I’ve been waiting five years to tell you, but it has never been the right time with us being on different sides of the globe…”

“I’m here now. Don’t waste any more time”

“I love you. I have loved you all my life. I loved you when we were kids, and we played with Legos, building a house in which I wish we could live in the future. I loved you when you came to my house after our dads had to leave on a mission, and you were so scared that you hugged me all night long, as if I was your safe net. I-I loved you when you looked for me after prom, scared because you wanted to follow your dreams and not your father's. That night I knew you were slipping through my fingers, and I wanted to confess so bad… I wanted you to be mine, but I couldn't say it."

"W-why?" you ask in a shaky breath.

"Because I wasn't brave enough. But when I crashed that plane three weeks ago to save your father, I swore that if I made it out alive, I would tell you"

"You did what?!"

"Don't focus on that, I'm pouring my heart out here," he complains, rolling his eyes.

"Bradley, I love you too, but you can't just tell someone 'hey I almost died but here I am, confessing my feelings' and continue like it's nothing" you punch him in the shoulder.

"It wasn't that bad, y/n. Don't worry"

"Rooster, what happened?" you insist.

"He tried to save me, and I wasn't having it, so I tried to go and save him, but I got hit and then - Did you tell me you love me?"

"...you really have the attention span of a goldfish" you can't help but laugh at his shocked expression.

"Say it again," he pleads with shiny eyes.

"That you have the attention span of a goldfish? Because I-"

You never finish your sentence, his lips silence you in the sweetest way possible. You freeze for a second, causing Rooster to pull back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t ask if you want-” he mutters. You hold his face in your hands, as if he were your entire world, which he is, and kiss him again with such passion that you run out of breath. You move away slowly, Rooster’s eyes stay closed, and he leans his forehead against yours.

“Of course I wanted, you idiot” you laugh and smile at his happy face.

“Well, Doc…wanna meet my parents?” he jokes, getting up from the floor and giving you a helping hand.

“Goose, your son is kissing my daughter!” you hear your dad yell from the bar. You can’t know for sure, but you hear someone shout a big, happy ‘Finally!’. It sounded like your mom.

"No, Mav" says Goose, walking outside and standing next to Maverick. "Your daughter is kissing my son"

They keep bickering like an old married couple, making the both of you laugh.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” you follow.

“Well, I’m sure they’re gonna love you. You’re everything they’ve ever wished for me. Everything I’ve been waiting for” he confesses, making your heart beat faster, and kissing your forehead, before taking you with the rest of your own small, crazy and loving family.

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fortheloveofexy · 1 year

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Top 5 vs Personal 5

List your top 5 fics ranked by kudos on AO3. are you surprised by what's most popular to your readers? then provide your ranking of your personal top 5 fics, and tag a few fellow writers!

Thanks for the tag @mostlymaudlin ! tagging @jingerhead @paradoxolotl @exy-shmexy @storiesnstardust

Top 5 (by Kudos):

1. Call Me By Your Name (3.9k, andreil)

Basically, Neil calls Andrew “baby” in his sleep once, so Andrew gets flustered and then secretly tries out different pet names for Neil.

This one... honestly really surprised me with how popular it got. It’s my most kudos’d fic by a long shot (2,378 kudos??? insanity). It’s a short little thing, entirely focused around andreil and pet names. To be honest, I have mixed feelings about this one being the top fic, because it’s one of my oldest fics and I don’t really love the prose now. I don’t really understand why it got so popular out of everything I wrote bc it’s never anyone’s favorite fic when I ask, but I’m glad so many enjoyed it!

2. Sweet Enough To Eat (3.1k, andreil)

Andrew experiencing cute aggression. That’s basically the whole premise lol.

Anyway, this one is my oldest fic, so I assume that’s why it’s so popular. It’s cute, sweet even! I still like it to this day. Not much else to say about it though.

3. May We Meet Again (10.7k, andreil)

The first installment of the Artist Neil AU.

To be honest, I don’t like it anymore. That whole AU has problems with pacing, and some characterization issues too. Plus, looking back at the art now makes me cringe so hard. The only reason it’s still up is bc I know a lot of people really like it. Sometimes I think about revising the whole thing but I still remember how big of an undertaking it was when I first wrote it and made all the art for it, so I probably won’t.

4. The Marks We Make (41.3k, andreil)

A (mostly) canon rewrite from Andrew’s POV with a soulmate AU twist.

This the first multichapter fic I ever wrote, and one of the earliest fics I ever published, so I’m not surprised it’s high on the list. There are some things I like about this one, and some I would do differently. Writing this fic helped me make some of my first friends in the fandom though, so it was very much worth it.

5. Yes Or No? (35.5k, andreil)

sub andrew & Dom Neil pwp - need I say more?.

This one truly surprised me. It was meant to be a one-shot experiment, something I wrote as an exploration of my own boundaries and limits. BDSM fics are often triggering for me, so I generally avoid them, but I wanted to write a BDSM fic that I would be able to enjoy and to explore BDSM from a safe distance.

However, given how much the fandom seemed to be against Andrew submitting (and sometimes even just bottoming) at the time, I worried I might end up getting hate for writing it. To my surprise, I did not, and so many commenters asked that I continue it that I ended up turning it into a whole series.

I’m quite proud of it still - it might just be a smut fic to most people, but it will always be more than just a smut fic to me.

I do hate the last 3 paragraphs of the main fic though. I was on a kick where I thought incorporating references to fic titles and canon lines into my writing was clever and fun, but now I just cringe when I look at it. Ahh well, maybe someday I’ll change it and tell nobody. Create a little Berenstein/Berenstain Bears moment :)

Top 5 (Personal Ranking):

1. More Than Words (32.9k, ongoing, neon friendship)

Neil and Aaron meet as kids and become best friends, long before Aaron learns his mother’s secret - he has a long lost twin brother.

I cannot gush enough about the love I have for this fic, this whole story. I can’t talk about it here because I have some insane twists planned (iykyk) but just know this fic is my baby and this story will be my magnum opus once it’s done. I love writing Neil and Aaron’s friendship, I love writing Aaron’s POV, I love the plans I have these boys. It’s still ongoing so I understand why it’s not higher up in the kudos ranking, but I’m hopeful that will change once I actually finish it.

2. A Quiet Self-Destruction (2.6k, andreil)

A character study on Andrew’s experience with depression, and how Neil helps him through his bad days.

I wrote this to comfort myself during one of my own depression spells. It still brings me a bit of hope on dark days. For that, I will always love it.

3. Scribbles and Sticky Notes (11.7k, andreil)

Neil retires from Exy, with heaps of fluff, soft Andreil, wholesome Twinyards, hurt/comfort, MCD and angst.

Hands down, this is the saddest fic I’ve ever written, and I’m quite proud of that fact. I think the pacing is really good, and the gut punches are quite successful (while being foreshadowed quite nicely). The characterization is also spot on, I think. It’s got MCD though, which I think is probably why it’s not more popular.

4. The Past, Stained Red (4.4k, andreil)

Part 3 of the Artist Neil AU. Andrew has a surprise run-in with a ghost from his past, and finally gets some closure.

This is the only fic of the Artist Neil AU that I actually still like. It’s well-paced, well-characterized, and I still like the art. Mostly, though, I viciously loved writing Andrew getting to close the door on Cass, and I loved writing him acknowledging the harm she did to him as a foster parent. He couldn’t see it as a child, but as an adult? He sees her clearly, in all her failure. It was extremely cathartic to write that.

5. Catdrew Meowyard (1.4k, andreil)

Andrew suddenly has cat ears and a tail. Nobody questions it. Shenanigans ensue.

This is such a silly little fic. I wrote it as a joke and I still love it dearly, even though it’s very dumb. It’s just very fun to write and to read, and it’s perfect for when I want to blow off steam and write some crack.

#aftg #andreil #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg fics #aftg fanfics #andrew minyard #neil josten #fic recs #aftg fanfic #andreil fanfic #andreil fic #aftg fic #fanfic

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wlfpet · 1 year

Note

i want to run my pussy on abby's hammer like a cat in heat i need her to make fun of me i want to suck on her tongue spit everywhere i do not care amen

AN; this is that shit that makes you embarrassed to look at mirrors after you write it. I gotta go... repently shamefully for this... if you know what I mean.

content tags: MEAN dom!Abby, assplay, object insertion (r!receiving, anal, yeah...) spanking (r!receiving), degradation (abs calls the reader whore, slut, bitch, etc.) , humiliation, name calling, affectionate pet name used in mean ways, mindbreak if u squint and tilt your head, strap on penetration (r!receiving), messy/dirty sex? public sex, nobody walks in but reader has thoughts about if someone did. spit kink but not in the mouth. abby and the reader and kinda nasty dirty and unhinged but are deeply in love and there IS aftercare!! started as an informal headcannon, somehow we got to paragraphs and thousand-word counds

WC: 3.1k

proofread?: yes \ no \ barely

tl;dr: abby sluts you out for being bad, you become very well-acquainted with a hammer.

just want u to know that you’re sick (lovingly) and I had to get in peak porn writing position to pump out this reply… no pun intended.

first of all we would have to fight over the hammer but that’s neither here nor there let’s unpack mean, condescending dom abby who loves to tease and make u cry.

I know I said Abby wouldn’t like fucking in public but I also love going back on my word and maybe this is one of those times where she gets super frustrated with you and decides to take u down a peg. she’s forever the doting, loving girlfriend but she knows she’s created a spoiled brat, nd sometimes u just push her too far; running your mouth too fucking much, using your body to rile her up right before her next assignment, and leaving her high and dry, the way you flaunt everything around the stadium, traipsing around in short little skirts, or a paper-thin button up, the hard baby buds of your nipples greeting everyone you talked to. hell, even the one time she caught you going commando at your job, flashing her little slips of your wet pussy as you passed her items over the consignment desk.

if you wanted to be a loose, disrespectful whore, she could play that game too. if she had to punish you into being good for her again, it was a low price to pay.

she’d tell you she had something to show you in the woods outside the stadium, ‘just something for you and me, mouse.’ of course, she’d give you one last chance to make it up to her, to prove that you’re good. but you’re too cocky, wandering hands trailing over her skin, down her chest, cupping that space between her thighs to feel the fat strap she was packing, just for you. Feigning dropping something on the ground to grind your hips against that hard, imposing bulge. She’d play nice, just for a second, looking down at you from your place on your knees. You had that innocent face plastered on, the slightest pull of a smirk playing at the corner of your mouth.

“hi, mam-“ you started, but she shushed you, instead using her palm to push up your head gently, the telltale sign of your favourite ritual. you opened your mouth hungrily, fanning out your tongue in that pliant, pretty way that she loved, letting her know you were all hers. For a second, it softened her; you, happily on your knees, that look of sheer devotion painting your face, waiting to be molded, created in her image. but it was never that easy, and you recoiled as a heavy spray of saliva drenched your face, sticking to your skin and dribbling from your stuck-together lashes. You blinked it back, vision obscured, hands moving away to wipe it causing a filthy smear on your visage.

Your play at aloofness was the last straw, and you found hard fingers tangling their way into your hair and forcing you down in a different position, the pit of her lips and her hot breath beating the side of your face.

“you take me for a fucking joke, cunt?”

“No mama, never— jus’ playin’ a little bit—“

you’d pout, craning your neck to look at her through fluttered lashes and teary eyes. Her jaw was clenched tight, forcing her words through gritted teeth. Eyes dark and predatory, looking over you like a piece of meat. A trail of fear cobbled down your spine and Abby walked it, shoving your mid back down to get you exactly how she wanted you. You were arched up with your tummy and breasts pressed down into the grass, the soft globes of your soft, plentiful ass poking from your flipped-over skirt, knees scuffed by the soil. you were sure that your face was caked with mud or would be. Your cunny wet your panties easily from the excitement of it all, dripping from that pit of terror and sheer animalistic arousal that only Abby, your one true owner could unlock. The slick ran down your thighs, filthy little drips painting your skin that made her own cunt boil internally. From below, you could see the woman who towered over you crack a crooked smile.

There she was.

“Didn’t I say that if you make it hard for me, I’ll make it hard for you?”

You nodded, silently, shamefully. Abby was cruel, palming your ass violently, kneading it, a rage that had been simmering for weeks boiling over in one moment, and you were the frog who didn’t notice the temperature rising until it was too late. “Better brace yourself, dumb fuckin’ whore.”

You wanted to press your luck. to tease just a bit harder, to say ‘for what?’ with the hopes she’d squirm, get out of her body a bit, see if you could brat your way into getting just a little bit more. But before you could open your mouth to let out a cheeky quip, a sound something like the swing of a knife in the wind cut through the silence, and a forgiveless, merciless blow dented your little ass. Your body shot forward against your will, every muscle in those damned delicious arms working overtime to knock you off balance. You knew you were severely fucked, that Abs would have you walking funny for days after how you behaved, that she had no plans of going easy on you.

“Mam- mommy, mommy,” you started, babbling like a fool, nose running and mouth awash with drool as you took your punishment, warm flesh being peppered with harsh smacks that reddened your beloved dom’s palm and indented your skin with hot spiderwebs. She didn’t respond, but you could hear heavy breaths and grunts of exertion pushing out of her nostrils. Your pussy was still leaking, panties nearly translucent from how ruined the fabric was. she was sure to leave a couple of blows there, too, your bitty clitty fighting its way out of its cloak of protection, unwittingly making it a prime target for the abuse your ass was under.

The cloth was removed from you, and abby silently marveled at your redness, the juiciness of your drooling snatch, and how your nub pulsated like it had its own mini heartbeat. she gripped it best she could, wetness making her fingers slip before she could catch good traction, and pulling the bundle of nerves towards her slightly. You were squeaking, moaning, guttural, and animalistic as you fucked your hips in her direction, the pinned hands still captured in her large fist slapping and clawing at any flesh it could find, even the still sensitive globes of your asscheeks. “Ple— fuck, please mama, be niceeee.”

“Fuck are you crying for? You’re a fucking faucet down here, we both know you need this.” water from your eyes dripped down, inky black marks rolling over your nose and into the dirt beneath you, marring your pretty face. your pussy was drooling though, and the rough treatment was exactly what you had been needing. she was always too busy with patrols, or supply runs, or any of the stupid vanity projects Isaac would spring on her at the drop of a hat. she’d feel remorseful about it, trying to placate you at night with lazy rubs to your clit or skating her tongue through your slit, but it wasn’t enough, and all you needed was to get taken down the way you deserved.

like this.

“open up those legs.” she said it like you had a choice, ha. “needa get you ready to take my cock. I mean, that is what you came out here for, right?” you wanted to say a lot, yes mommy, I’m a whore, yes mommy, I’m addicted to your dick, yes mommy, I’m a needy cockslut who has to have it every night lest I lose my fucking mind. but you were already gone; already in that soft, stupid, braindead space where you happily existed as her favourite hole and nothing more, so all you could do was force a weak nod.

but that wasn’t enough for mommy, never enough for mommy. her disapproval came down in the form of her hard, dirty boot on your ass, jostling you, enough to shock you back to life and give you a little scare, but enough to not hurt her baby too bad, because that was unforgivable. she angled her knee over, the tread gripping your ass and splitting your lips apart to reveal the ruby red of your hidden jewel. you could hear the telltale flick and jingle of her utility belt flipping open. there was only a second to exist in confusion before you hissed, keening unintentionally at the feeling of cold metal persisting against those red-hot folds between your thighs.

It was… whatever it was, but it drove you insane; slight bumps, divots, irregularities working every moan and scream out of you, tapping you like a leaky faucet as Abby tormented your hole. That damned work boot kept you open as she took her time, sometimes dipping the unknown attacker into your hole only to let it pop out as she fucked her arm back and forth, up and down, veins pulsing from the exertion. You were insane, fully broken without even feeling her cock in you, being painfully teased, barely fucked with the cold steel she had summoned.

She had fucked you with a lot; grinding on her pistol while she raked the clip through your hole, some shitty keepsake Issac had gotten her to celebrate her first 100 confirmed kills that was just the right size and girth for an anal dildo. fuck, even detached the quiver of her crossbow so that you could grind and get off like a good little girl in the front of the Jeep while she filled up the boot after a supply run.

But you couldn’t pick this one.

Abs was always good to you, a little mean sometimes, but this was just another way she was good to you, devoted to making your slut pussy feel the way it needed to. She was mean, however, when she left you empty and whimpering at the lack of stimulation as she pulled her arm away, dropping her foot and leaning over you as she brought the weapon of m(ass) destruction to your face. “you run that fuckin’ mouth enough, can use it for useful shit too, right?” She started, rough and imposing. “Get your new friend nice and clean for mommy.”

it was… a ball-peen hammer, flat on one side, rounded and fat on the other, and dripping with your nectar from end to end. You shuddered with excitement. She was so fucking dirty, so fucking sick for this, and you were impossibly turned on by it. you needed more. Your lips formed an O instantly, taking the less girthy head into your mouth, moaning at the taste of your own sinful juices coating your tongue. if anyone came upon this sight, if a passing group of scars came by and blew your head off, It didn’t matter, nothing mattered right now, the two of you could get ambushed at that very moment, and you would die happily as mommy’s perfectly debased whore.

she released the grip on your arms, pulling your head up by your hair to fit more of the tool in your waiting, happy mouth. you lapped it all, wetness leaking down your neck and between your pert breasts. Your saliva ran lengthwise down the handle, Abby’s palms being coated in the slick, drippy and sticky. You whined as she took it back, pouting immediately with disappointment. you could hear something muttered, a nonchalant ‘calm the fuck down’ and then the telltale drag of zipper teeth as Abby forced her cock free, dragging the fat head through your folds.

“Want me, mouse?” she said, tone almost sweet again as she fucked slightly into your waiting pussy, just the tip and nothing more. It was almost enough to make the waterworks start again, what felt like hours of evil teasing, toying around with your body like it was a game. She slipped in deeper, then pulled the sheathed inches completely out, biting the fat of her bottom lip as the diamond lines of your wetness stayed connected in thin air. you were fucking gorgeous, and she could take you right here and now, give you all the dick you needed, and melt your brain until you needed to be carried home.

But she wanted to drag it all out, wanted this to be the punishment. You could take all of the receiving, even if the cruel and unusual, but the anticipation, the not having is what killed you; and she knew which ticks would force you to lose it.

you were stumbling, babbling, everything swimming through your head too fast. Your exploited cunny was pulsating, the air blowing between your netherlips making everything so much more sensitive, making your brain even foggier. A thick, adept thumb flattened against your folds, dipping in to collect some of the sacred liquid and smearing it against your inner thigh. Her fingers drummed the fat of your butt impatiently. “So you’re gonna make me take you home? That what you want?”

“No!” You shrieked, on the verge of tantruming. It was too much, enough to wake you up, at attention and ready to take what she was willing to give. “No, no, I mean— want you! need you mama. So bad.” You swirled your hips around for emphasis, grinding against nothing, searching for anything to put out the fire she set inside of you. “On your elbows for me, then.” She said, waiting for you to comply in order to drop your head back down. She hummed in appreciation at your unwavering obedience, enjoying how much you were willing to degrade yourself for this, before she spread open your pussy lips and bottomed out all at once. “Goood fuckin girl, Mouse.”

The fire never got put out, it was quite the opposite, as though your whole body was alight from each nerve ending as she pounded into you with that body made of sheer muscle. She pressed forward, repositioning you with no hands and deepening your arch until she had the proper leverage to hit that fucking spot. She grabbed your hand from behind, guiding you to split your own pussy apart for better access.

Abby loved you for shit like this, how you clenched as you approached a peak, how that sloppy white ring would collect on the blue of her dick. You needed to be fucked like this, to be reminded what happens when toys step out of line and give their owners problems, and she had no qualms with destroying your brain and rebuilding it piece by piece. She could die in this pussy.

Another bead of spit rained against you, a large gob deep in your asshole. She worked you, effortlessly, snapping her hips to batter your cunt every time, using you completely for her twisted desires, moving to slip her thumb into the taut ring for a better grip. You were on cloud nine, barely forming words, sounding like you were speaking in code. Just loud, loose moans ringing from your throat. Yeah, you were sure you’d have to get put on recess for a couple of days to survive the mental effects of this cock.

“Relax for me, babe.” she whispered, softly and sweetly removing her thumb from your tightest hole before the sensation was replaced with something larger, more foreign, cold and hard, and —shiiittt

Abigail Anderson was a fucking crazy person, pushing the ball tip of the hammer into your quivered hole, letting the handle rest on your back as she continued destroying you with no mercy. “Aww, my lil’ Mousey got her very own tail.” She teased, jiggling your ass with her free hand as she watched the brown handle tap against your back in time with her thrusts. You whimpered, and she wrenched your head back up with a firm palm on your neck to meet your eyes. “When Mommy tells a joke, Mousey fuckin’ laughs, right?” She growled into your ear, punctuating her anger with a harsh slap to your already bruised ass and a rough thrust, pounding your secret spot and sending you closer and closer to your orgasm.

You tried to force a giggle, but the sensations from your battered pussy warped the sound into a ragged moan, and you tried to whine, beg, sputter your way into her favour. All you could manage was the stupid repetition of ‘Mousey has a tail, Mousey has a tail!’ until it broke down into just ‘tailtailtailtailfuckkinnnntail’ and until that melted into nothing, just a cheap sob and a scream running through the forest as your orgasm ran through you in the form of floor-sprinkling rivulets and a clench around mommy’s cock.

You wanted to fall but she wouldn’t let you, wanted to cry but she didn’t let you, and then, everything was gone and she was around you, strong arms holding you up, steady hands wiping the dirt from your face, soft lips kissing you everywhere in spite of the dirt on your face. “Got you, Mouse. You’re okay, you’re with me.” She whispered, running a reassuring palm through your hand, moving down to massage the back of your neck.

“Wanna lay down?” She said, motioning to her pack. She always brought a blanket, clean clothes for you, water, snacks, her gun, so that you would never have to hold one with her around. She tried her best to unfurl the fabric with one hand, laying you down and wiping through your poor, swollen kitten with a cloth damp from her canteen. She redressed you, fresh panties, one of her tee-shirts, tented by the hard pebbles of your nipples sticking out. She spread out next to you, letting you find your way to the crook of her neck, to that chest-to-chest position you loved because you could feel her heartbeat like it was yours. she still loved you, of course, would kiss your cheeks and soothe the bruises she left behind and remind you what you have is a forever thing, but that sometimes you need the bad with the good. You were such a bad girl, too whiny and needy for your own good, a spoiled little monster *she* created, but she loved you because of it.

Yeah, she fucking loved you.

#anon messages!!#tiki answers #abby x reader #abby anderson x fem reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson ff #abby smut #i dunno what to say like i'm shocked. had to put this under a cut because I was so fucking shocked!

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guerrerajaguar · 20 days

Note

Are you ever going to finish the CEO rengoku x reader story?

Hey there! I felt really happy that you asked for this <3 and the answer is absolutely yes! I hope you like it

CeoKyojuro x fem!reader (part 4)

Tags: @lalachanya, @aijlin @misslili265

CeoKyojuro x fem!reader part 1

CeoKyojuro x fem!reader part 2

CeoKyojuro x fem!reader part 3

One Step Ahead

Kyojuro Rengoku has never been so abashed in his life before, his mind keept playing tricks on him as he mentally tried to recreate the scene that had just happened.

“Good bye, Rengoku-san”

Why?

Why was it so hard to get close to you? His hair was a complete mess by now as his hands desperately tried to look for an outlet to his growing exasperation.

All of this and for nothing.

This was also the first time he could not get whatever he wanted. This feeling of failure was a completely strange to him.

And all due to someone that up until a couple of weeks ago, was an absolute nobody.

This was certainly a growing obsession and for strangely as it could sound, he loved every single minute of it. The growing deception of you slipping through his fingers will only make his victory more delightful. Although, by that point, he wasn’t sure there could be any chance of triumph at all.

Was there a way for him to slip into your heart?

He sighed deeply and soundly, right in the middle of his solitary CEO office. His jacket messily resting over his expensive brown oak imported desk, his tie loosen all the way up to his chest and his heart beating painfully. He was surprised by the fact of all the things he had to go through for realizing that he had fallen in love with you.

“I just hope that I didn't humiliate myself more than what I already have…”- He said, thinking out loud, not aware that there was someone listening to him.

“And why would you do that, brother?” - Almost laughing, replied Senjuro, the youngest member of the Rengoku dynasty. He was the entire opposite of his older brother. He was kind and respectful, everyone in the office enjoyed his presence, and even though he was still in college, it was not uncommon to see Senjuro working along with some multidisciplinary teams. He was really committed to help his older brother with the family company management, even if he did not agreed with some of Kyojuro’s ways.

“Ah Senjuro, what are you doing here at this time? Should you not be out with your friends on a Friday evening?”

“Mother sent me to look for you, as it seems you forgot our family gathering.”

“Was it today?” - He immediately checked his phone calendar and dropped himself deeper into his chair as he saw with disappointment that he had, indeed, completely forgotten about his family responsibilities. Pinching the bridge of his nose he continued:

“I am on my way now, I will apologize to our mother’s family…”

“What is with that expression, Kyo-ni? You look terrible!”- Senjuro said with a very affable expression, having a very good guess what the cause of it might be.

“To be honest with you Senjuro, I really don’t know anymore…”- He gave his brother a bitter side smile as he gently massaged his temples.

“Let me guess, this problem has a first and last name, pretty smile, beautiful hair, dazzling eyes and more important of all; she hates you.” - Said the younger blond while sitting over the elegant CEO desk.

“Senjuro, how could you possibly know that…?” - He was completely shocked to learn that at that point, he was so down bad that it was completely obvious.

“Well, I am not a kid anymore Kyo-ni! I can clearly tell when a man is suffering for love. But honestly, I thought you were a bit more charming. Because, I can assure you, that treating a girl so badly to make her quit is not the easiest way to get into her heart.” - He chuckled softly as he picked up one of the small crystal trophies that Kyojuro had given to himself, and that he so pridefully showed off.

“That is nothing like that, at all.” - He said while staring at the glass triangle statuette and he couldn’t help but to feel ashamed of the ridiculous idea of awarding himself.

“You see Kyo-ni, that is exactly the attitude that put you in THIS situation” - he returned the award back to its rightful place- “ You love to make things more complicated than what they should be, oh, and that horrendous pride of yours!” - Senjuro was smiling widely.

“By this time, it's pointless Senjuro, she really doesn’t want to know anything about me.” - His expression was serious but full of deception.

“That is because she doesn’t know the other side of you. We just need her to give you a chance to get to know you and I am sure that her perception of you, will change.” - Senjuro took out his phone and after he typed something on it, he showed Kyojuro his search results.

“Senjuro, I appreciate your help but I honestly don't think that this will make any difference”. - The CEO said as he took his younger brother’s phone.

“No offense Kyo-ni, but you need all the help you can get and as I see how you have failed so miserably, I will suggest that you take my advice.” - He smiled triumphantly as Kyojuro took a couple of minutes to weigh out his options.

“I guess it won’t hurt to try, and indeed, you are so grown up now that I never realized the time you stopped being a kid… ” - He chuckled loudly as he playfully hit one of Senjuro’s shoulders with his fist.

“This is owned by a friend of mine, so I will make sure that everything goes out perfectly, alright? I think this will be either a hit or a miss.”- Senjuro kept texting while Kyojuro and him walked out from the CEO’s office.”

“I really hope that Y/N likes it… “ - Kyojuro concluded as he reached the elevator as a secret bystander caught a significant amount of that conversation.

Friday had finally arrived and you could not believe how suddenly you stopped desperately waiting for the weekend to arrive. You still had to go to work but you were finally enjoying it and living your best work life. The Uber driver left you at your friend’s front door. This was barely the second time he invited you over, so you contributed with a small peach cake and a your favorite chilled beer.

Your friend opened the door as soon as you knocked. A very manly and profound scent escaped through the entrance, it smelled just like his jacket, so deeply of him. This situation, unconsciously made you feel safe, so you stepped in as if that home was yours. He was wearing a very tight black shirt with washed-off denim jeans and his hair was entirely placed back in a low pony tail, exposing his face completely.

“Made it just in time and brought these goodies with me.” - You said with a soft smile, while Giyuu picked up your coat from his hands.

“I was wondering if you were going to come at all” - Giyuu said with a playful sarcastic tone.

“Ha! You wish! You promised me movies and popcorn and I wont leave until I get both.” - you said as you walked into Giyuu’s living room while he placed the cake and the beer inside the fridge. He was a very neat and organized man, and that of course, was not a surprise at all. His apartment had a minimalistic style, everything had a dedicated place, not a lot of decor, but colors were perfectly balanced to make the place look very sophisticated.

Everything seemed to be in its righteous place, except for the living room. And oh boy. Your blue eyed friend had definitely gone over the top with this improvised “home theater”. The space in front of you was filled with fluffy over-sized pillows on top of a cream-colored rug, every single blank space was filled with equally soft blankets, it was a dreamy invitation to throw yourself to sink into that overwhelming comfiness.

Without a second thought, you sunk yourself into that pillow fortress, fitting your body in the middle of all those blankets, just like a little girl. As you scanned the place, you noticed a gray cabinet that had some pictures on top of them. Your eyes observed them from left to right.

The first, you assumed, was one of his family; you recognized his sister and two other people that looked just like Giyuu and Tsukako respectively. The second picture was him with his best friend Sabito, you have met his friend the first year you both became close at Giyuu’s improvised birthday party. He was a very vivacious guy, a bit too loud for your liking but a good person after all. And the third picture was you and him during the last company Christmas party.

Something settled in your stomach when you looked at that picture, as usual, Giyuu had barely smiled at all, and if you remembered correctly, you almost had to forcefully drag him into the photo booth. Naturally, you made sure to pick the most ridiculous attire to make you both look even more ridiculous. You politely gave him a copy of that picture, being sure that if he did not threw it away, then it will never see the light of day ever again, to say the least.

But no, there it was, the picture was beautifully placed inside a golden frame, decorated with very delicate flowers. You could not recall where your copy was. Maybe you left it at your old desk? You probably would never know.

As if he had received a silent cue, Giyuu reappeared into the living room and beamed softly as he saw you already cuddled into the pillow nest that took him almost 3 hours to set up.

“It’s not that I don’t like it, but I believe we should get another picture together, don’t you think? A photo where I don’t make you feel miserable.” - You chuckled as Giyuu’s puzzled expression made you yank your face into the picture direction. Your friend’s face flushed instantaneously, he had totally forgotten about that picture, what was he thinking leaving it laying around just like that?

He walked towards you, popcorn in hand, not really knowing what to say, so he tried his best to calm himself.

“I- I was not miserable. I had fun.” - He offered you the bowl without staring at you, you grabbed a fist-full and continued:

“I still think it’s a good idea to get another picture, I am afraid I left my copy at the office… Let’s take it the next time we go to the movies!” - you concluded before munching the little buttery softies.

Giyuu’s heart was racing wildly, he suddenly remembered the conversation he heard between Rengoku and his younger brother earlier that day. Because of that and various other reasons he had to make that day, THE DAY. He did and could not wait any longer. Will he summon enough courage to speak about it?

It was his turn to pick the movie, The Conjuring was within the repository of your favorite ones. You inadvertently drank a bit too much beer and end up finding the movie scarier than what you remembered. As nervous as Giyuu was, he mustered enough courage to speak softly to your ear:

“If you are scared, you can always look comfort in me, you know?”- he said it in such a velvety but inviting tone, that your body felt an electrical discharge that ran through your body, directly to your toes. You were sure that your heart was going to break loose from your chest any moment now. Your attention was directly driven into your blue-eyed friend. In which moment did you placed yourself under his shoulder, innocently resting on his chest?

He stared at you for a moment as well, his eyes slipped to your lips, you swore you could listen Giyuu’s wild heart beating as well. You both started to lean over, reducing the distance between the two of you, did Giyuu closed his eyes already? You quickly wondered what would Giyuu’s lips taste like, but instead of leaning over, you stood upso quickly that you stumbled and fell back into the pillow-free sofa.

“Oh wow! Look at the hour? Is that late already? I am so sorry Tomioka-sa… I meant, Giyuu, haha!”- You spoke broken words intertwined with nervous giggles, desperately looking for your shoes and phone. You were clearly impaired by the booze you drank.

Giyuu was still in shock, paralyzed with amazement trying to recollect what had just happened. That was not the way he wanted things to happen.

“Found them!” - you said with your phone in your hands while desperately requesting the first Uber driver you could get.

“Hold on Y/N, I-I…, please let me explain…”- he said as he watched you, hopelessly, getting ready to leave any moment now.

“Oh no, you are good! I was the one that took advantage of your hospitality, I better take my leave now. You probably have very important things to do tomorrow morning and I am here, keeping you busy very late at night!” - your head was a mess, but your heart was even more confused. You have never wished that someone responded to your Uber request as fast as in that moment.

“I-I, understand. I-I… at least let me take you home, I do not want you to take a cab by yourself with all the beer that you drank.”- he muttered sadly as we picked his keys and his jacket.

“Oh no, no need, there is an Uber driver already waiting for me outside!” - You lied, smiling at him, walking quickly through the door, but as your hand reached the door knob, you briskly returned, kissed your friend’s cheek and said to him:

“Can we talk about this another day?” - Giyuu Tomioka had never understood the out of body experiences until that moment. His hand automatically traveled to the cheek where your lips had rested an instant ago. You took that moment of shock from your friend to walk away quickly to meet your in-existent Uber driver. Maybe it was fate or the power of your thoughts, but a car was waiting right in front of you and after confirming the vehicle identity information you opened the door and rapidly entered.

“Good night, thank you for taking my request!” - you said without looking at your driver, as you were still staring through the rear mirror with the hope of catching a glimpse of Giyuu. Make up your mind already, you spoke to yourself.

“Y/N…?” - Your driver responded and as you identified that voice, you snapped your entire attention to the driver now.

“Akaza-senpai?!?”-

Ok so, I took forever to write this part but believe or not, I had this in my drafts for a long time now. So I still have not decided what is going to happen between Akaza and Y/N but I have 2 different possible outcomes with these too.

I felt really bad for Giyuu baby :c, but we all love a good dose of drama, don’t we? I wont promise to update soon because I don’t know if I would be able to but I will certainly try my best. Adulting takes most of my time since I became a functional adult lol.

I for sure will be updating my devoted husbands next, I JUST LOVE this self insert story hahaha.

If you have read the other CEO Kyojuro parts I thank you from the bottom of my heart, if you are a fellow fiction writer you might know how some days we can feel like our writing is not good enough and that’s ok! I do this for fun and will try to be a bit less harsh on myself.

If you are reading this story for the first time, I wanna welcome you to my writing blog and want to thank you deeply for taking the time to read my lil story, I hope that you like it and you have the chance to read my other writings. Until next time- Disturbia.

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training4theapocalypse · 11 months

Text

Finders Keepers Ch 6. (Cormac McLaggen x fem!reader)

Rating: Explicit 18+

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: SMUT, Oral Sex - F & M receiving, Face Sitting, 69

Summary: Your letters over the Christmas break are driving McLaggen mad. He wonders what you'd think about meeting up in London the day before you need to catch the Hogwarts Express?

A/N: I would very much enjoy suffocating this man.

Masterlist

Tag list: @countlambula, @lolitstiana, @ratsys, @aweidlich

Chapter 6: First Name Basis

Dear Cormac,

By the time this owl arrives, I expect you to have at least four training sessions under your belt. You’ll note that I’ve kindly given you a day off for Christmas.

It’s a shame we didn’t have more time before the holidays together. This is the first Christmas break that I’ve ever wished I was at Hogwarts. I’ve heard the castle is extremely empty this time of year. Who knows how anyone passes the time with nobody around in all those deserted classrooms?

Anyway, I hope you’re having a good break.

xoxox

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Merry Christmas!

I wasn’t sure how to address this back because I think that was only the second time you’ve ever called me Cormac… Are we on first-name terms now?

We spent Christmas Eve at Rufus Scrimgeor’s party but it was different this year… I’ll tell you more in person in case this owl is intercepted. My dad, uncle and I were still extremely hungover for Christmas Lunch the next day (yes, even worse than on the train home after Slughorn’s). Mum was not happy.

You might be disappointed to hear that training has frankly been the last thing on my mind. Every time I think about Quidditch my mind wanders to the last time we were on the stands. We were having a conversation that I’d be keen to continue… if you know what I mean.

CM xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Gryffindor’s Reserve Keeper,

I hope your hangover is less painful today.

Has anyone ever told you that you are such an unbearable show-off? I can’t believe you name-dropped the Minister for Magic in your first letter to me. How likely is it that these owls will be intercepted do you think? I’ve never really considered the possibility of anyone else wanting to find out information from my letters. But then again I’ve never written to such a big-shot with important Ministry connections before.

I told my mum and dad all about my invite to the Holyhead Harpies tryouts. They’re muggles so they’ve never really got their heads around wizard careers but they love football (kind of like muggle Quidditch) so sport is something they can understand.

I am in fact disappointed you haven’t been training hard over the break - although I can understand your preoccupation with our last conversation on the stands. My mind keeps wandering too. It was probably my favourite conversation I’ve had involving Quidditch - which is saying something.

Let me know what you think about the chances of interception. I got a Polaroid for Christmas ( muggle camera) and I have a photo I think you’d like…

With love,

Ravenclaw Captain and First Choice Keeper

xoxoxo

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Holyhead Harpies Future Keeper,

I’m pretty confident that nobody else is reading our letters. And I’m not just saying that because I’m dying to see whatever it is you want to send me. Your letters have been arriving so quickly that there’s no way anyone has had time to read them before they got here. Or maybe you just write exceptionally fast because you miss me so much.

The past week has been agonisingly slow. Usually, the Christmas holidays come to an end far too quickly but another week without you is driving me mad. The last few weeks of term when we weren’t speaking to each other feel like a wasted opportunity.

I’ve been too distracted to finish Slughorn’s Potions essay. When I think about Potions, I think about you. And then I think about that dress. Fucking hell. Although it’s not a patch on the protective headgear you wear playing Quidditch. Obviously.

Speak soon.

Big Shot Junior Minister for Horrendous Hangovers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear letter inception squad,

Please be warned that I am attaching with this correspondence an explicit photo of my tits and cannot be held responsible for any serious side effects that may occur upon viewing (dizziness, uncontrollable hard-on, etc.)

My beloved boyfriend has informed me that he is being driven mad by my absence and it is my only desire to help alleviate his pain. Well, maybe not my only desire.

Cormac, if this letter ever finds its way to you without being censored by the powers that be. I need you to know something…

It’s you who’s writing quickly, not me. You miss me more.

With love,

Redacted

xoxox

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To my girlfriend (apparently),

Fuck.

It took me several minutes (hours? Days? What year is it?) of staring at your picture to realise muggle photographs don’t move. Or maybe they do. I should probably check again, just to make sure. Yep. Still not moving. I sincerely hope you didn’t need this photo back. It’s in significantly worse condition than when you sent it to me.

If I say I miss you more, will you come and meet me in London a day early? Say the evening before the Hogwarts Express leaves? It’s not like me to beg… But I’ll say anything. Do anything.

Then again, maybe I don’t need to beg as you just asked me to be your boyfriend. So you clearly miss me more.

Love,

Your unbearable showoff xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On the afternoon of the second of January, once you’ve put your things in your room at the Leaky Cauldron, you come downstairs to find McLaggen waiting for you in the pub. It’s not like you forgot during these past two weeks apart how hot he was. But in person, he’s like the quintessential English boyfriend from every muggle rom-com you’ve ever seen.

You greet him and he pulls you into a kiss, cupping the back of your head. You need to stand on your tiptoes to reach his lips - this was much easier when you were sitting on his lap. Your cheeks burn hot just thinking about it. “Maybe I did miss you after all,” you murmur. He smells sweet and spicy, just like you remember.

“Good. I missed you too,” he says simply and kisses the top of your head.

He takes your hand and you leave the Leaky Cauldron. Despite it being the day before the Hogwarts Express returns, Diagon Alley is eerily quiet. Most of the shops are boarded up and the few people who are out, go about their business in a harried, closed-off kind of way. Recent Death Eater activity has everyone frightened. Except for you two reckless idiots, apparently.

“Things felt so normal back home. Not much has changed in the muggle world. Not yet at least,” you say, as you wander down the deserted cobbled street. “Anyway, tell me about Christmas at Scrimgeour’s. Since you’re such a big deal and couldn’t put it in a letter.”

“Well, to be honest, it was pretty tense,” he tells you in a hushed voice, his face is serious. “That’s why I ended up so drunk.”

“Oh.” Your face falls. You sort of thought he was kidding. “So, were he and your dad talking about Ministry stuff all night or something?”

“No, it was me he wanted to talk to, actually. He kept asking me about Harry Potter and if I knew anything about his private lessons with Dumbledore. I had to pretend I didn’t know he was even taking lessons with Dumbledore.”

“He is?”

“I’ve just heard rumours. But Scrimgeour’s questioning pretty much confirmed it.”

“So you didn’t say anything? Even though your dad works at the Ministry?” you ask, thinking of Marietta’s mum and Umbridge.

“Nah,” he says casually. “He’s pretty high up. Got a decent bit of leverage. I’m not worried.”

Wouldn’t a position of power in the Ministry mean he was more at risk? But then again, what do you know? Your parents are muggles.

You look up at him - you’re actually impressed. Would you be able to hold your nerve if the Minister for Magic wanted information from you? “Well… you’ve got guts, McLaggen. I’ll give you that.”

He shrugs like it was nothing.

Eyelops Owl Emporium is one of the few shops open, so you go in to pick up some owl treats. “My parents found the owl thing hilarious at first, you know,” you tell him. “They still don’t really get why they can’t phone me - that’s how muggles communicate long distance,” you add when he gives you a confused look.

“And they didn’t mind you leaving them a day early?”

“Sort of. My dad wanted to watch a football game with me today. He says I’m losing touch with my non-magical roots so he writes down all the scores and sends them to me every week,” you smile fondly and pay for your owl treats. “What about your parents?”

“Dad doesn’t know, Mum was distraught until I said I was meeting you. Then she was delighted.”

“Oh?” Not quite ready for that conversation with them, you had told your parents you were meeting Cho and Marietta.

“She was worried about me coming to Diagon Alley so she tried to convince me to bring you to ours instead. But it’s a bit early to subject you to that. She and my dad met at Hogwarts, you see. I think she was anxious that I was in my seventh year and hadn’t ‘settled down’.” He rolls his eyes. “When they were at school everyone ended up married to whoever they went out with.”

You laugh as you exit Eyelops and the bell above the door tinkles. “As if the dating scene ends after Hogwarts.”

The two of you aimlessly wander around a few more of the only shops that are still open, catching up about your break before making your way back towards the Leaky Cauldron. “So… tell me about football. It’s like muggle Quidditch, right?”

You try and explain the rules as you walk down the cobbled street.

“The keeper’s the only one that can use their hands?” He looks at you sceptically.

“I promise it’s more exciting than it sounds… Speaking of keepers, any sign of you getting a game this year?”

“I doubt it. Weasley would need a serious injury for Potter to consider replacing him.”

You enter the pub and find a quiet booth near the back.

“Well, you never know.” You say, sliding into the seat opposite him. “I heard from Padma that Lavender is getting annoyed about him and Hermione spending so much time together. Maybe she’ll do you a favour.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Sorry,” you grin. “Too soon to bring up your ex?”

He runs a hand through his hair. “Depends, is it too soon to ask if you’ll be cheering on your ex-boyfriend Smith at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff game? If they beat us the cup is basically yours.”

“Only if Weasley is playing.”

“Yeah? So if I play you’ll be in the Gryffindor stands?”

“Yeah, alright then.” You scrunch up your face as if you can think of nothing worse but actually, you’d like to watch him have his chance to finally play a game. “You can give me your Gryffindor jumper to wear.”

“You realise I’m going to have to break Weasley’s leg or, I dunno, poison him or something because that sounds extremely hot.”

McLaggen goes up to the bar to order drinks and when he comes back he tells you all about the Quidditch world cup two years ago while you listen to his every word longingly.

“I wish I could have gone to the final - it’s just that my parents want to see me as much as they can during the summer. And it’s not like they could have come with me with all the anti-muggle protection stuff,” you add wistfully. “I hope they can see me play a game one day.”

“What, they didn’t watch you play growing up?”

“Well, I didn’t play growing up, did I? I picked up a broom for the first time during my first flying lesson at Hogwarts.”

He puts down his drink. “What?”

“Keep up, McLaggen, they’re muggles.”

“No, I know that. I just never really thought about it. Blimey, it’s really not fair, having to learn to fly years after everyone else.”

You’re more than used to it by now. “What about you? When did you start playing?”

“My dad got me my first broom before I could walk, or so he tells me.” You smile. There’s something sweet about a tiny toddler zooming around with a miniature quaffle.

There’s something else on your mind. “Do you think your parents would be alright with you going out with someone who’s muggle-born?”

“I mean, you know Mum is already desperate to meet you. My dad is a bit more… old fashioned though,” he adds, a little awkwardly. “But he’ll come around when I tell him.”

You laugh “My dad’s the same. I haven’t told him either.”

“He wouldn’t be alright with you going out with a wizard?”

“Wizard? Fine. English? Not so much.”

He laughs like it’s a relief that it’s not just his dad’s prejudice that would be a problem. “Does that mean we’re definitely going out with each other then?”

“Oh.” You remember your letter. “Yeah, let’s say we are. For the sake of us not falling out again.”

“Very heartfelt of you.”

“Sorry, I’m really bad at this,” you admit. “I mean if I’d just told you when I fancied you that would have made things a lot simpler.”

“Easier said than done,” says McLaggen fairly. “I could have told you too.”

“When was that, by the way?” You ask coyly, leaning on the booth table and resting your chin on your hand.

He clears his throat. “I dunno…”

“Oh, come on, McLaggen.”

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

“Alright then -“ you take a sip of butterbeer. “- I suppose after the first Potions lesson this year. When you caught me in the corridor and I realised you smelled like the Amortentia we’d just made.”

“Wait a minute…” he knits his eyebrows together. “Do you use perfume or something that has coconut in it?”

“Yeah?”

He leans in and says quietly, so the other patrons don’t hear him. “I just realised the Amortentia I made smelled like you, when I had my face between your tits after Slughorn’s party.”

You feel your skin flushing hot. “Cormac.” You squirm a little, thighs clenching together, remembering his soft little moans as he inhaled deep in your chest.

“If that made you blush I definitely can’t tell you when I first fancied you.”

You shuffle in closer still towards the table.

“Tell me, please,” you whisper.

“Alright… it was last year when Ravenclaw lost to Gryffindor in the final.”

“Don’t remind me. Before or after McGonagall was about to expel me for threatening to set fire to Harry Potter’s broom?”

“Hah, no it was well before the final whistle. You were really anxious in goals - sort of wriggling on the seat of your broom with a kind of anguished expression on your face, watching the Ravenclaw Chasers cock it up.”

“And that was… that was what made you fancy me? That I was stressed out?” You raise an eyebrow and take a sip of your butterbeer.

“Well, yeah. I thought if you sat on my face the way you were sitting on your broom, I could get you to make those faces again.”

You almost spit out your drink. Your face is positively on fire. “Oh my god, Cormac…”

“I’d probably make you say that too,” he adds with a smug smile, and in spite of yourself, his attitude makes your lower abdomen tighten. He is so full of himself and every bit of common sense tells you that should hate it. But you don’t.

Sitting back in the booth, you look him over silently as your wet dream from weeks ago, the one about him going down on you in the Potions classroom swims to the front of your mind. Your legs wrapped over his broad shoulders, and the way his stubble had felt between your legs had all felt so real.

“Was that too far?”

You snap out of it and shake your head, realising you had been biting your bottom lip. “No, I just… I was wondering what it would be like.”

He leans in over the table towards you and so you do too. He takes your hands in his significantly larger ones and whispers seriously. “So you’ve only been with girls before, right?”

“Yeah.” You knew this was coming. At some point or another, you’d need to tell him that the closest you’ve come to touching a penis is when you felt his against you when you were sitting on his lap.

“Then I’ll probably be terrible at eating you out. You know - in comparison.”

That fucker.

You can tell from his stupid smirk that he knows he’s good. His dimples appear at the corners of his mouth as he looks into your eyes. Everything surges up in your molten hot and you swallow, mildly embarrassed by how turned on your feel just from that arrogant smile.

“Not Cormac McLaggen admitting he might not be the best in the world at something?” you tease, trying to downplay how eager you are to find out.

“Oh yeah. It’ll be awful. Really, really sloppy.” He pulls your hands towards him and kisses your knuckles slowly. You look around the bar from your deserted corner booth. None of the few patrons are even glancing in your direction.

You take a deep, steadying breath. “Some - some people would say sloppy is good.” You know from your own experience that sloppy is great. But honestly, you’re worried about telling him that you’ve got no idea what the definition of good is when it comes to giving head to a man.

“Mhm,” he murmurs and slips his tongue between a gap in your fingers. God, your pussy feels slick, desperate for him to give it the same attention that he’s so brazenly paying to your hand. He maintains eye contact with you, the pupils of his green eyes dilated in the dim light of the pub.

“Cormac, I know you’re joking about being bad but I - I’ve never… I mean, I’ve never even seen a - “ you mouth the word ‘penis’ “- before.”

Cormac stops kissing your hands and places them on the table with a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t worry. Mine is like this- ” He gestures with his thumb and forefinger, almost pinching them together.

You narrow your eyes. “Shut up. I felt what you were packing on the stands.”

“You don’t need to worry about it anyway. Don’t feel like you need to do anything you don’t want to.”

Oh, you want to alright. But when you asked Cho and Marietta what to do with one that night you came back from the Quidditch stands it sounded complicated - beyond terrifying. And the pressure you put on yourself to be great at everything doesn’t make it any less daunting.

But God, the way his cock felt when you were pressed up against him kissing him the last time you saw each other - it was as if your body was begging you to have him put it inside you. Your pussy clenches, imagining the feeling of rubbing up against him again.

“Are you finished your drink?” you ask, the heat between your legs aching for him now.

“Almost, will I get another round?”

“Maybe later when I’m finished sitting on your face.”

“You are something else.” He doesn’t need to be asked twice and abandons his drink, letting you lead him upstairs.

You open your room door, turn and grab the front of his jumper and drag him inside. You stand on your tiptoes again to kiss him furiously. He kisses you back, shutting the door behind him.

“Fuck,” you say between kisses. “You are such… an arrogant… git.”

“Yeah?” he lifts you up so you can wrap your legs around his waist. “Well, you fucking love it.” He says, carrying you over to the bed where he throws you down and climbs on top of you. You feel the hard bulge underneath his jeans pressing into you under your skirt and you raise your hips, pushing yourself up against him, pressing your clit against the protrusion.

He lifts your t-shirt up over your head and unhooks your bra before tossing it carelessly aside. McLaggen swirls his tongue around your nipples, desperately sucking and slobbering all over your chest like a starved man.

“I mean the picture was good but fuck, your tits are perfect in person,” he groans, trying to fit as much as he can into his mouth. His neediness makes you grind harder into him - you’re practically humping the fabric seam of his jeans.

“Fuck, Cormac…” you whimper helplessly, the burning friction from your pussy pressed up against him is all you can think about. You can already feel your orgasm flickering in the pit of your stomach.

“I need you to stop saying my name like that. I’m gonna cum right here if you do.” He grips the bottom of his jumper and pulls it, along with his t-shirt up over his head. You breathe heavily, looking at his muscular chest and abdomen in the low light of your candle-lit room.

He watches you hungrily as you slip your skirt and underwear off and he lies on the bed to pull you on top of him, directly over his head. You sit on his chest, your knees bedside his ears and look down at him, biting your lip - it’s like he was made to be here like this between your thighs.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he says, running his hands along the back of your thighs and settling them on your hips.

“How do I do it without suffocating you?” You’ve never had anyone go down on you in this position.

“Do whatever feels good. If I die, I die,” he grins up at you. “Just let me taste you.”

You shimmy forward and he grabs your ass so he can press his face against you.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper. McLaggen sucks and rolls his tongue all over your pussy like he’s kissing your mouth. He laps up your juices, wet warmth enveloping your already soaking-wet slit, making you feel even slicker.

He pauses to kiss your inner thigh. “Play with your tits for me.”

You do as he asks, pushing them together and pinching your nipples as you keep your eyes locked with his. His technique maybe isn’t as deft as you’re used to but, oh my god, he’s enthusiastic. McLaggen’s tongue flicks back and forth over your clit but you want his whole mouth again, so you leverage your hips slightly.

He feels your adjustment and moans in encouragement, fingers kneading into the flesh of your ass. This is what he wants, he wants you to lose yourself completely like this on top of him. So you decide you will.

“You feel so good,” you whimper and lace your fingers through his dark blonde curly hair, grinding yourself on him. On his lips, his wide tongue, his stubbly chin. He keeps licking sloppily as you use his face to get off.

“Fuck, Cormac…”

“Don’t or I’ll cum,” he warns between licks and while the thought of making this huge, hulking man under you cum just from eating you out and hearing you say his name sends a jolt of electricity through your body, you want to make him feel how you feel right now.

“Can I suck your dick first?” You ask, halting your hips from moving.

He pauses. “You’re sure?” You nod. “Just keep sitting on my face. Please.”

You flip around to face the other way, sitting backwards on top of him. You undo his jeans and he pauses, anticipating your reaction. The feeling of his hot breath on your skin makes your hands tremble as you push his jeans and boxers down.

His cock springs up, hitting his toned stomach and your eyes widen. You already knew that it wasn’t what he had implied earlier but…

“Jesus Christ, Cormac.”

“Oh come on, don’t react like that. I thought you said I was arrogant enough as it is”

Fuck.

You extend your hand tentatively and grip the length of his cock. It’s prettier than what you’d imagined from Cho and Marietta’s vivid descriptions. Not that you’d tell McLaggen that - his already inflated ego really would be unbearable if you did. You could never have thought you’d actually want to suck it, from the details they’d given you when you asked them nervously how to do it. But you really, really do.

You lean forward and, still gripping him in your hand, you swirl your tongue around his head. There’s a pleasant vibration as presses his lips against you again to moan against your pussy.

“Is this okay?” You pull back to ask tentatively.

“Fuck… Yes.”

The shakiness in his voice encourages you to open your mouth wider and swallow as much of him as you can. He’s so tall that you can’t reach the base of his cock without moving forward and when you try, he clamps his hands down on your hips to stop you from moving away from his face.

And then you feel his mouth devouring you again, his lips and tongue attacking your clit without mercy. Fuck.

You try to whine but your mouth is full. From the way his fingers dig into your hips, you can tell he appreciates the noises you’re making all the same.

You bob your head up and down, gliding your tongue around his cock. His own tongue moves in firm circles round and round, bringing you closer and closer to the brink. Pulling your head back, you gasp for air but keep jerking his length, now slick and wet from your saliva with your fist. “Fuck, Cormac… I’m…”

Bliss floods your body and he groans loudly but keeps pace as your cunt twitches on his face. Your orgasm rips through you, white-hot and tingling. You can’t help yourself repeating his first name over and over until it becomes a babbling stream of words, feeling his face pressed right into your pussy, his tongue dragging all over your clit and his nose between your folds.

Cormac tries to keep licking through the aftershock but you wriggle away from the overstimulation. You move down his body and this time swallow his cock as far as you can, lips almost reaching the base.

“Wait, I’m… fuck…” He grits his teeth. “Careful, baby, I’m gonna cum.”

Baby. It’s the first time he’s dared to call you that.

And you like it.

You feel his thighs tense under your grip. He makes a conscious effort to stop his hips jerking upwards, letting you continue to take the reins at your own pace.

“Mhmm,” you hum in encouragement - ready for it.

He stares at your beautiful pussy in front of him - all flushed and rosy and wet in the low light. He did that. He made you a mess like that. It drives him over the edge as the sounds of you sucking and swallowing around his cock fill the quiet room.

“That’s it. That’s - Oh, fuck -” He swears incoherently and it’s your cue to take him as deep as you can. Cormac empties his load directly down your throat, and you suck, draining him of the hot, salty liquid. You swallow and gasp for air. You had needlessly braced yourself for it to taste much worse.

Exhausted, you slide off him and cuddle into his chest, practically glowing with pride. The two of you lie there, your hearts still pounding as you listen to each other breathing raggedly for a few moments.

“You’re… fuck. Unbelievable,” he pants eventually, interrupting the silence.

You smile, tracing your fingers along his chest, silently adding 'sucking cock' to your list of achievements. It feels like you’ve passed an exam with flying colours.

“Well, for the record, you weren’t awful at that.”

“Compared to your comments about my flying, that’s as good as praise from you.”

“Don’t get used to it.” You tilt your head up to look at him as he stares at the ceiling, feeling his heartbeat under your hand slowly returning to normal. “What is it about your own name that gets you off, by the way?”

He laughs. “I know I can be a dickhead but you don’t think I’m that bad, do you?” You run your fingers through his tousled hair, a bead of sweat glistening on his brow. “It’s not just my name, it’s when you call me Cormac. You only call me that when you’re turned on.”

What? “I- I do not!” You splutter.

“Yeah, you do. You did it on the Quidditch stands, then in your letter and then again tonight.”

He’s got you there. “Or maybe I only call you McLaggen when you’re irritating me… McLaggen.” You laugh and kiss the crook of his neck.

He squeezes you tighter and presses his lips to the top of your head, inhaling the scent of your coconut shampoo.

“Yeah, that makes sense too.”

Chapter 7: Fine

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