regatoni1

[regatoni1]

born to marry him, forced to read fanfics about him

[regatoni1]

When I die someday, whether that's tomorrow or in ninety years, I'll die peacefully knowing that I fulfilled my life's work.

Which was getting strangers horny on the internet using lovingly written, highly personal AO3 smut that I handcrafted myself and kissed on the forehead before I sent it out into the world.

That's what I was put on this earth to do.

[regatoni1]

the best ghost x reader fics i’ve found so far on ao3! ✨

possession by sweetdeceit : dark, stalker!simon, lots of delicious dubcon, full of severe psychological issues and trauma. love it so so so much.

refugee by danceofthesevenveils: dark and suicidal simon with severe ptsd. i’ve reread this and its second part maybe a thousand times.

these eyes were made for lookin at you (only you) by wttcsms: savior, obsessive simon <3 traumatized reader <3 baby making <3 love it so much it’s so good. comfort fic. also all of the following parts

home is what you make of it by buttholesupreme: more savior complex and obsessive simon, more baby making. he’s so BEASTLY i love him sm

ghost prompts by emphemeron: a series of prompt by my favorite cod writer, each one is better than the last. all of her works are insane pls read them all i’m begging

squeeze me, i squeak! by charlie_m: this… awoke something in me.

long days by aclowder: “you’re not a whore.. are you?”

they taste like bourbon by sweetdeceit: my gateway drug into ghoap x reader and soap x reader, and now i’m hopelessly addicted to him

[regatoni1]

Crying I am crying.

(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

[regatoni1]

Me: maybe I’m not cut out to be a writer…idk what if I’m not good enough

BookTok romance writers: ‘what if you were just a normal school teacher…but the MINOTAUR wanted to get you PREGNANT’

[regatoni1]

Navigation || AU Masterlist || All works are F!Reader || All images sourced from Pinterest

JOHN PRICE || Total Works : 21

All, Most, Some, None (Request)

Lions and Ibexes (Request)

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Cheating Heart (18+)

See No Evil 

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Let Me Lean on You

The Traces He Left Behind

Baby Blues

MINI SERIES || Total : 3

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Calluses on His Gentle Hands: Part 1, Part 2 (18+) (Finished)

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Untitled

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Between Dreams and Sugar

A Good Man (Request)

MINI SERIES || Total : 1

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Right Person,

None Lacking Sins (Request)

His Wistful Yearning (Request)

ALEX KELLER || (COD: MW 2019) || Total Works : 3

Untitled (18+)

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Crimson Fangs Sing Me Lullabies

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“…and there can be no love otherwise.” (Request)

SERIES || Ongoing || Completed Chapters : 2

Ravishing Allure MasterList

[regatoni1]

love writing. writing is awesome. it’s a shame that it involves writing though

[regatoni1]

Got Me Snoring

A/N: One of my favorite things inspired by all the Ghost/König cosplayer TikToks using that one, song audio. Summary: Ghost admits getting head is boring. Reader isn't happy with that idea and goes about changing his mind. T/W: NS/FW 18+ Only, blowjobs, deepthroating, size kink if you squint, spit?, cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and it's been a long ass time since I've written full-on smut.

“All I’m sayin’ is that if she calls again, I’m not about to answer.” Soap’s voice carried from the living space of the hotel room to the kitchenette where you stood microwaving some rice from a convenience store down the street.

After-mission talk always leads to the most strange conversations. Maybe the adrenaline or the high of getting almost killed got everyone in a talking mood. However as the Captain slid behind you to go grab more ice outside in the hallway, you couldn’t help but shoot him a questioning look. They’d been talking about their previous accomplishments and failures in the bedroom for nearly twenty minutes, and thankfully they’d not roped you into the ridiculous conversation but with the Captain leaving out of the room, it drew their eyesight right to you standing patiently for your instant rice to finish cooking.

“What about you, huh?” Gaz was the one to poke a little. “Have any horror stories from the bedroom?” His eyebrows raised in mischievous curiosity as all three men sat staring at you with great intent.

“I’ve faked it plenty of times.” You reply offhandedly, waving a hand at them and going back to staring at the small plastic cup rotating around in the microwave.

You overheard the men pass through the moment of silence with low laughs, most noticeably, Ghost. Who’d apparently found something very funny and decided to grace everyone with the sound of deep and resounding chuckles. With a gloved hand, you take out your food and rejoin them in the room, finding a spot on the corner of one of the beds and crossing your legs to hold the bowl while you watch and listen to more of their recounted stories.

Soap complained more about the one night he’d met up with one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met, and drank himself into oblivion to try and ease his nerves. The only problem was, that when he finally had enough liquid courage to make a move, he couldn’t get it up. Even watching him recount the tale now, you could see his embarrassment. You couldn’t imagine just how beautiful that woman had to be for Soap to give himself whiskey-dick so bad that to this day he regretted the memory and undoubtedly wished he could take it back. Gaz got pressured into retelling the story of the woman he met in Russia just for you since you’d never heard it; Detailing just how she’d been absolutely obsessed with him right from the get-go.

She couldn’t stop fawning over his accent and just how downright good-looking he was. Gaz on the other hand felt very embarrassed and never really tried to take things further on that trip. Fortunately for him, on a trip back a few months later for pleasure, he ran into the woman again and this time around she wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Soap and Ghost laughed, poking fun at how utterly exhausted Garrick was when he met up with them in London. His shit-eating grin was more than enough for them to surmise that his little Russian vixen had taken him for a hell of a ride.

Then there was Ghost.

He didn’t have much to say in the way of his own successes, but did share one or two small comparisons with the other two as they kept pulling out detail after detail about the many people they’d met over the years and how they either felt they’d left their mark… or totally fucking missed it. All of it came to a very interesting topic that you suddenly became very interested in when Ghost uttered one single statement that left your mouth hanging open and staring at him almost in disbelief.

“I don’t like someone blowin’ my cock,” his voice sounded flat. Totally unbothered and nearly sleeping at the idea. “Never cared much for it when half doesn’t fit.”

You couldn’t help but insert yourself into the conversation after a long hour or so of sitting like a viewer at a movie. “Wait a second… You mean to tell me you don’t like getting head because you're too big?” The gasp in your tone was obvious, and even Soap and Gaz looked at him a little strangely as if they didn’t truly believe the idea either. It gave you a bit more reassurance in your belief that almost all men enjoyed it. Sure, there was the odd chance that Ghost just didn’t like it at all, but you really wanted to hear his explanation if he’d give you one.

The Lieutenant turned to look at you and nodded stiffly. “Yeah, ‘bout always puts me to sleep.”

It was at this point you felt the slightest urge to tell him he’d never had someone give him a legitimately good blowjob before. But before you could even say something to the contrary, a thought crossed your mind. Ghost didn’t seem like the kind of man who attracted ill-experienced women. Especially when he had already proven throughout the evening that his previous encounters were much more interesting and expansive than even that of yourself. Something a bit… jealous rose inside of you at the thought.

Imagining your Lieutenant laying on his back and hardly making any sort of sound while someone pulls out every single trick in their arsenal to make a blowjob somewhat entertaining or arousing. You didn’t necessarily profess yourself to have a crush on Ghost, due to just how grey the line between operators and anything felt when you spent so much time together under high-stress environments. There was bound to be some level of emotional attachment that devolved past… professional. And for whatever it was, knowing that Ghost had such a bad opinion on the receiving end of pleasure became a challenge you wanted to overcome.

About that time, Price returned with half-melted ice and a half-smoked cigar hanging between his lips.

“Finished talking about chasin’ tail yet?” He grumbled, walking past the group of you still sitting around each other like a bunch of kids getting caught staying up late by Dad at a sleepover. “Wanna go to fuckin’ sleep.”

He dropped the ice bucket down on the dresser with a little thud before settling himself down on the pull-out couch with his hat covering his eyes and both arms resting behind his head with that cigar still puffing smoke rings into the air. Ghost was the first to stand up, making his way out of the hotel room without as much as a comment about when he’d be back or where he was going. Your eyes trailed over his shoulders tapering into a slim waist before giving way again to thick and muscular thighs enhanced by all of gear still strapped to his body. His kit did leave a lot to the imagination. And god did your mind start to wander as both Soap and Gaz began winding down, settling themselves down to sleep for the night or at least lay somewhere quietly so the Captain didn’t lose any more of his patience and kick someone out or force them to pay for their own room. Not nearly tired enough with all of the questions and thoughts about Ghost now floating through your mind, you didn’t care the least bit about laying down or pretending not to care about the fact of the matter and headed out of the hotel room after the Lieutenant as Soap turned out the final lamp in the corner of the room.

The air was a bit cold outside without your jacket, breath materializing in front of you in light wisps of fog with every exhale as you looked down both ends of the hallway hoping to see some sign of where Ghost might’ve gone to. Down on the far left side, a larger cloud of smoke blew past the breezeway entrance and you knew right away that Ghost would be at the end of it. And when your eyes peeked around the corner, you weren’t the least bit surprised to see him with a shoulder resting up against the wall; his back to you with enough of his mask pulled up so that he could smoke a cigarette. The sweet vanilla and cherry smell hit you like a wall, reminding you that Ghost preferred rolling his own cigarettes and used pipe tobacco instead of buying packs of anything else.

Leaves no trace behind… He’d explained without prompting one night after noticing that you’d been watching him.

“Followin’ me now?” His voice heavy with smoke and unhindered by his mask landed directly on you, not even needing to turn around to know you were the one tailing after him.

“Couldn’t let you freeze to death alone.” You reply with a little smile, taking it as your chance to go ahead and walk -slowly- over to him giving him the privacy to smoke without needing to fuss with keeping his face covered.

By standing just at his back leaning against the wall, he knew right where you were, and it put the weight of conversation on him for the moment. He gave you a gruff sort of sound and took another drag off his cigarette before turning just far enough to offer it to you. You take it from his gloved fingers carefully, licking your lips a little in slight nervousness. This wasn’t the first time he’d offered you a hit, but it was the first time you’d ever actually taken him up on it. Seeing the damp rolling paper on the end made you shiver a little; Hopefully, the cold weather would be a good enough excuse to keep him from recognizing your sudden anxiety around him. Wrapping your lips around it and inhaling, you’re a little more than guilty for noticing the taste of Ghost instead of the vanilla and cherry. With a quick glance to your side, you saw his mask was pulled back down over his mouth and his dark eyes were focused right on you as you blew the smoke out of your mouth and back in through your nose. Attempting to hand it back, he just shakes his head.

“You didn’t come out here to be cold,” He finally broke the silence. “What’d you really want from me?”

No matter how long you spent around Ghost, you never got used to just how miserably direct Ghost could be. Like nothing was truly surprising to him or worth being the least bit delicate over. Even if it concerned someone -like yourself- at least attempting to be a little more discretionary. Yet you sighed and took another drag before tossing the rest of it down on the concrete, putting out the ember with the toe of your boot.

“Were you lying earlier?” Your question falls a little short of confident, giving Ghost the impression right away that you were nervous. For a split second, you thought you saw the phantom of a smile under the cover of his mask before it was quickly hidden back under late-night shadow and white paint. Ghost put his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt and gave a sigh, making more fog swirl around and through the woven material around his mouth. Another thought of what his mouth looked like flashed through your failing mind.

“Why would it matter?”

You licked at your bottom lip, trying to figure out a way to word this without sounding desperate or downright shameless in front of your commanding officer… you shouldn't be thinking about doing this in the first place. So many more bad outcomes could come of this than the one good one. Even then, it was risky. Leaving you a bit dazed and staring at Ghost.

“Asked you a question. I’m expectin’ an answer.” He pressed forward, a slight swagger in his hips as he got closer to you, resting a hand on the wall and tilting his head a little to the side. Damn near mocking you for being so much smaller and easily intimidated. You look down at your boots for a moment, deciding to just put your money where your mouth is and take the hit no matter the outcome.

“If you weren’t lying…” You look up, internally screaming at how heavy his eyes look down on you. “I’d like to try and change your mind.”

A deep chuckle comes from the Lieutenant in response followed by his heavy hand resting on your shoulder, almost totally engulfing it.

“You’re jokin’,” His voice lowered with humor that made you almost shrivel up and die inside. “Why would I let you do that?” You give a frustrated sigh and take a step back away from Ghost. Mentally and physically distancing yourself from the slight Ghost had given you by accident or otherwise.

“Never mind.” You give a short nod and turn on your heel to head back to the hotel room and find somewhere to curl up on the floor or in a bed with someone and try to sleep off your damaged ego.

Yet five steps away from Ghost, you’re stopped short with his arm snaked around your waist tightly and his mouth resting against your ear with a heavy and hot breath fanning against your neck. His palm spreads over your stomach and squeezes almost aggressively at the soft flesh under your shirt. Tall and wide, Ghost yanks your back flush to his chest as a silent threat.

“Don’t fuckin’ walk away from me,” His low growl makes you shiver. “I’m not finished with ya.”

In an instant, you’re spun around and hauled aggressively with your back against the nearest wall with Ghost’s chest holding you from fighting back. His legs limit your ability to try and escape out from under his arms, and while one hand is flat against your chest, the other restricts both your wrists above your head. Breath evacuates your lungs with the sudden shock of your back against the wall, but your eyes are locked on Ghost’s as he glares at you harshly through the wavering mist of his breath in the cold air.

“Now I’ve got you pacified…” His smirk was clear in tone, outright mocking you by pressing those massive thighs tighter against yours. “Let’s continue shall we?” The gloved hand pressed against your heaving chest slides up to grasp firmly at your chin and jerk it up to look him in the eyes.

“Why don’t you be a good little thing and tell me why you think you could change my mind, and maybe… I won’t punish you for talkin’ shit to your superior officer.” He spat loudly, his face less than an inch from yours, eyes flaming with aggression.

“Sorry Lieutenant…” You mutter stiffly through the struggle of his hand against your jaw. “Thought I could do better.” You add a lot weaker, averting your eyes as far from Ghost as you can.

“What was that?” He made dark fun of you, terribly obvious, and downright happy with himself. “Say it again.”

You squirm in his grasp, only to get your wrists slid up higher on the wall and a thigh shoved between your own to lift your feet almost totally off the ground. Toes tapping the ground, Ghost holds you totally of his own power without the slightest effort needed to keep you held right where he wanted you to be.

“Thought I could do better.” You repeat yourself louder, and more clearly, feeling utterly stupid for enduring such pathetic treatment. Only you knew it was your fault for letting such a pipe dream of an idea come to reality by prodding Ghost about his sex life so confidently. The masked man hummed lowly, tilting his head as he inspected your face lighted only by a small sliver of moonlight creeping around the corner of the hallway.

“Better, huh?” Ghost chuckles darkly, this thumb tracing over the bottom curve of your lip carefully. “That’s a lot of confidence for someone so small.”

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “Size has nothing to do with it.”

Ghost barks laughter, grumbling something under his breath before dropping his hand away from your jaw and releasing one of your hands to press against his groin. You can’t miss his meaning from the massive erection pressing back against your hand and twitching impatiently when your Lieutenant squeezes your hand around it tighter. A growl escapes his throat and he looks up at you with almost evil eyes.

“Still think size doesn’t matter, little one?” He questions, one eyebrow raising above the hemline of his mask.

Your mouth falls open in shock. Not only because of the sheer girth of Ghost’s cock pulsing in your hand but realizing that he was actually taking your proposal seriously no matter how aggressive his mockery of you was. It shouldn’t have been so damn surprising when taking into account just how large of a man Ghost is. Surely everything would be proportionate, and his erection was proof of it.

Your face is enough to make Ghost chuckle. “That’s what I thought…”

It’s enough of a dismissal that thaws your speechlessness and throws you right back into the present with enough of the guts to speak up for your own desires.

“I can do it,” You blurt breathlessly, fingers tracing along the curve of Ghost’s dick and earning a lusty growl from him. “I can make it good. I’ll make it fit.” You nod your head feverishly in an attempt to keep your chance open. Ghost’s eyes widen at your desperation and his cock twitches hard in your palm with the sound of your shallow breaths and pleading eyes.

“You want it, huh?” He questions, mask moving like he’s grinning under it.

“Then get on your fuckin’ knees.”

The moment his hands release you, you feel yourself sliding down the wall until your knees make a bruising thud against the concrete floor in front of Ghost. Your hands holding on his thighs without the slightest care that you were standing in the middle of a hotel breezeway where anyone could see you. A weight settled in your lower stomach with the idea of anyone coming out of their room and witnessing such a sight.

“My belt.” Ghost instructs a bit pinched, looking down at you with his chin almost touching his chest.

You’re frantic yet shaking as your hands slide up his thighs and begin pulling his belt loose, hearing that metallic clink as you pull the two sides apart with a watering mouth. No instruction is necessary for you to know where to go next, and as you unbutton his cargo pants, your free hand palms his cock as you pull down just enough of his waistband to expose him but not make him cold. Ghost’s hands help just a little, settling extra material where he prefers it, almost patiently holding up his own hoodie and t-shirt out of your way as you slid your hands under his boxers.

“Fuck…” Ghost mutters quietly, tensing when your fingers wrap around his base and free him from his underwear.

Your thumb smears over his swollen head soft enough to not make him jerk away with sensitivity, and you lick your lips at just how wet his cock already is from sheer anticipation. Hell, you were turned on too, practically dripping in your underwear at the sight of Ghost with nothing but a perfect dick exposed and ready for your mouth. The first lick is a teasing one. Flattening it over his head just because you couldn’t wait to taste him, gathering up his arousal, and making it a point to swallow with your eyes locked right on Ghost’s. You're certain it’s enough to affect him just by the way he grunts and rests both of his hands against the wall behind you to steady himself.

When your lips wrap around his tip and slide down towards his base slowly, you hollow your lips and suck hard. Almost mimicking drinking through a straw with both hands wrapped around his thick base to restrict blood flow, adding to his sensitivity. You feel his feet flex in his boots next to your thighs and another low grunt. It spurs you forward, sinking down further and massaging your tongue on the underside before raising back up to lick at his frenulum and repeating the process with quiet whines each time he’s unable to hold back some sound.

“Shit-” He hisses after no more than a couple of minutes, jerking his hips back away from you and moving your hands out of the way so he could tighten his own fist around his cock with a heaving chest.

He stays like that for a few moments, undoubtedly trying to stave off the pleasure you’d been giving before his eyes meet yours again and they’re downright hungry and raging with fury that you’d brought him so close without any extra fancy moves or those fake moans that porn always showed. With one quick movement, he stepped closer and tilted your head back until it gently rested against the wall behind you, his cock smearing your own spit and his arousal over your open and awaiting mouth.

“You look pretty like this…” He muttered, rubbing his length over your face and tapping it teasingly against your mouth. “You hungry for more?” You’re sticking out your tongue and nodding right away, earning you a tense chuckle and the feeling of Ghost’s dick sliding into your mouth while his hand cushions the back of your head from the wall.

“Let me feed it to ya,” He grunts. “Shove my fat cock in your mouth and fuck your throat..” He adds with a feral sort of sound mixing with an ever-thickening accent.

You moan around his length, feeling your jaw muscles begin to start aching when your nose just barely grazes his pubic bone and his tip touches the back of your throat. He’s thick enough to qualify as the largest you’ve ever experienced, but you’re not the slightest bit concerned about whether he’ll be able to fit. You know he’ll make it fit if nothing else.

And him utterly pounding your throat sounded so hot that you tried pushing further down on his shaft yourself. Eager to feel Ghost as deep in you as possible. Ghost obliges you, and rocks his hips forward slowly, easing his thick head past that ring of pressure at the back of your throat and cursing under his breath when a wet, gurgling sound vibrates around his shaft as you begin swallowing around him.

“Bloody, fuucckk yes…” His groans punch through the quiet air, far louder than he should be risking in such a public space. But he’s only getting started with this experience as your nose presses against his pubic bone, and his hand flattens against the wall.

“So tight… doggin’ me right where anyone can see.”

It’s the thought that had you so eager, and right away you felt just how much it turned Ghost on too. Because the second he said it, he pulled back just a fraction and pushed himself back down your throat, beginning tight and quick thrusts that made your eyes roll back. He kept a furious pace, growling and holding tight to the back of your head until you tapped at the back of his thigh a few times, and he pulled out with a loud grunt, giving you a moment to breathe. You panted, seeing a thick web of spit connecting your mouth and his tip before watching it break and drip down your shirt.

You’re about to tell Ghost… something. But you instantly lose thought of it when he’s bent down with his mask rucked up just far enough to smash his mouth to yours, shoving his tongue in your mouth and practically eating you from the inside out. You can still taste the salty edge of his skin, and it’s almost heady to have his mouth mingling with yours and sharing his arousal between soft moans and heavy breaths. The kiss is long and feverish, but not near long enough before he’s standing back up and stroking his fist up and down his cock right in front of you like an unreal kind of dream somehow coming to life.

“Please.” You mutter a bit hoarse from the rough treatment of your throat, totally unsure of what you really want most. Between his mouth, words, and dick there’s so much more than just one you desired, but at least one of them needed to be delivered to you to attempt satisfaction.

“Open up, little one…” Ghost whispers face re-masked already, and it makes you whine pathetically, having naively believed he’d allow you just one glimpse at the mouth you’d just tasted. “Need to have more of you.” You’re totally happy to resign by leaning your head back against the wall with your tongue wetting your lips in the cold air.

Ghost starts painfully slow, holding your head on both sides of your jaw and teasing his head against your tongue and the textured roof of your mouth; indiscernible words falling from his mouth and his eyes squeezed tightly shut. You would’ve thought it was nothing more than your Lieutenant just taking his pleasure as offered. But the way his thumbs brushed over your cheeks and his fingers would occasionally rub over the stretched muscles in your jaw gave you the feeling that he was well aware of what you were surrendering to him. As well as how thankful he was to have you on your knees, and looking so fucking angelic swallowing and spitting on his dick like a dirty little whore.

“Let me - Wanna…” His rising breaths and steady strokes begin to falter the longer he thrusts inside your mouth, meticulously avoiding forcing himself deeper in disappointment; resulting in your whining and muffled complaints and pleasure. Had his hands not been purposefully holding you back to prolong the session, Ghost probably wouldn’t have lasted this long.

“P-patience…” His stammer made your chest clench in satisfaction. “Don’t - don’t wanna finish in your mouth…”. That breathy comment nearly struck you stiff as concrete.

You couldn’t believe that after this entire ordeal, Ghost was actually trying to end a blowjob without you finishing it the way you honestly believed it should always end. With you swallowing every last fucking drop that the Lieutenant gave you; wearing a goddamn smile bigger than anyone has ever seen. If he hadn’t been lying and head never impressed him, there wasn’t a chance in Hell you were going to let him finish anywhere that wasn’t down your throat. In a split second, you were shaking your head no and pulling back off his cock with a slight gasp.

��No, finish.” It’s the most demanding and certain you’ve sounded all night. “Finish in my mouth, Ghost.”

His eyes say it all.

They’re wide with his pupils blown at impressive dimensions and his thick eyelashes flutter as his shocked expression forces him to blink over and over again to make sense of you. Mouth and chin covered in spit, on your knees, and literally begging him to come in your mouth.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking filthy…” He mutters aloud, watching intently as you slide back down over him one more time and begin doing what you wanted to from the very beginning.

Bring Ghost to his knees.

It’s a moment before you have him cursing and holding onto the wall with both hands again as you push deeper and deeper until you're teasing the tip of your nose against him yet again. Unwilling to let him pull you off this time or prolong this. Deserving this release was the bare minimum. Not only did you want to provide him ultimate pleasure where no one else had, but you enjoyed every single bit of it. You needed this as much -if not more- than Ghost.

Heavy and twitching in your mouth, Ghost was teetering on the edge of his orgasm with stuttering hips and one hand sliding down to rest on your head. Not pushing this time, just laying at the crown like your movements were too much to feel with only one part of his body. Short pants were cut short by unintelligible words and strained attempts to say what you already knew.

As if giving your final approval of the idea Ghost had found unacceptable, you push him as deep as you could one final time; Hearing his loud shout echo down the breezeway as both of his hands grabbed harshly onto the sides of your head. Pumping stream after stream of his hot release down your throat you moaned deeply, feeling him gently rock his hips against your face as he rode down his high on shaky legs. You gagged a little as he pulled out, feeling your throat begin to burn in an unfamiliar way that had never followed you sharing a moment like this with another man. Only one look at Ghost’s cock right in front of your face was more than enough to reassure you he’d just been the one who gave you enough of a delicious stretch to feel for days to come.

Your eyes met his and a small little shy smile crossed your sore lips, contrasting the absolutely deplorable -and punishable- act you’d ever committed with a superior officer. Wordlessly Ghost tucked himself back into his underwear and neglected to button his pants back up before dropping to a knee right in front of you and pulling up his mask again to brush his lips against yours.

“Want to taste,” He whispered ever-so-softly, hands holding your head gently.

“Need to taste me inside your mouth.” He added, licking your lips before closing the distance between you for a second time. This kiss was still intense. Ghost controlling the pace and just how much dominance you had, which nearly came to zero when he licked into your mouth, groaning shamelessly. He could taste his release coating your mouth as he utterly overwhelmed you with kisses, licks, bites, and more moans that fell like honey on your ears.

You were the first to pull back for a gasp of air you’d gone full minutes without, feeling your own mouth and body beginning to feel a little weak with exhaustion not typical of a well-conditioned soldier like yourself. Your Lieutenant took note right away and rested his head against yours reassuringly, his nose touching yours.

“You’re too cold to be out here like this.” He whispered, pulling your cheek affectionately and wrapping the other arm around you. “Not gonna let you freeze after that.” He chuckled a bit sluggishly, kissing you again long and chaste.

He pulled his mask back down and gave very little effort to pick you up off your knees and into his arms without question or hesitation. Leaving you feeling like a treasured prize he’d won and refused to let out of his sight for more than a moment. Safe and protected, you couldn’t care one bit about the cold nipping through your thin clothes and resting your head against Ghost’s shoulder as he carried you back to the hotel room the 141 had already retired for the night in.

Expertly avoiding Soap and Gaz laying on couch cushions on the floor and covered with extra bedsheets, sliding around Price’s bed without bumping it, all while carrying you Ghost sat you down on the edge of the bed he’d been keen to claim as his own right when you’d arrived. You were nearly asleep just sitting there when he unlaced your boots enough to tug them off, pulled your shirt off over your head, and replaced it with one of his hoodies. Finally, he takes off your pants and nods for you to move up to the top of the bed, acting just as he would normally. But as he climbed into the bed next to you and tugged you back against him tightly, you realized you’d gotten a lot more than you bargained for.

Sure you might’ve changed Ghost’s mind about getting head… but you weren’t finished yet. Because Ghost was curling his arm around your waist and burying his masked face in between your shoulder blades like cuddling with you at night was the usual way of things. His fingers innocently traced the waistband of your underwear, and he radiated body heat that melted away the fringe sensations of cold on your body easily.

“I’ve made a decision,” He whispers very quietly so as not to wake the others. And you wiggle back a little closer to him, nodding your head as a silent acknowledgment for him to go on. Expecting him to say that you did -in fact- change his mind about getting blown.

“You’re mine now.”

Comments & Reblogs are Appreciated

[regatoni1]

PLEASE THIS FIC IS SO GOOD

Extraction

König x 'Maus' F!Reader

(Read here on Ao3)

(Part 12 of 'Little Mouse')

Word Count: 6.6k Rating: Mature Tags: Rescue missions, Team bonding, Team Dynamics, TF141 & Reader, Price whump, Maus feral biting maiming stabbing killing, KorTac member cameos, Gaz hates helicopters Warnings: Gratuitous Violence A/N: Little Mouse will be taking a break after this so the author can clean her plate and not get burnt out! Thank you!

“Rookie, how copy?”

"On task." You huff back, pausing to hold a hand down over your radio to respond to the thick Manchester accent that prompts you. The walls of the vents around you are a little tight on your shoulders with the bulk of your gear, but you manage to inch your way forward, looking towards the drop that will lead vertically down to the basement. To Price. "I'm in the vents."

You hear a snort then from a different voice as Gaz switches his own communications on.

"Go figure." He snarks, but his voice betrays the nervous waver there, the anxiety that is present in you all. This mission is dangerous at best, suicidal at worst. It means infiltrating deep into an enemy base, unknowing of Price's whereabouts, vastly outnumbered and facing almost certain death.

Things the 141 does best.

"Focus." Ghost snaps, and you both fall silent, clamping down on any doubts in favor of the imminent task at hand. "All stations, report."

There's a pause, a low crackle of static before a different voice floats over the airways.

"I'm inna security suite." Soap reports with a hushed murmur. "Got eyes on you, Ghost.”

"Good man." Ghost responds immediately, and you huff at the pleased little intonation of his voice at Soap's work. "Did you clean your route?"

"Squeaky clean. If anyone saw me come in, they won live to tell the tale." Soap reports pridefully, no doubt preening about his handiwork.

You breathe a sigh of relief at that, shoulders drooping with the exhale that is perhaps a touch too loud for your current circumstances, hidden as you are.

"I'm standing by with Nikolai." Gaz chimes in, voice hushed to match your tones. "We've secured a chopper in the southeast quadrant."

There's a pause then, and Gaz adds "Why am I on chopper duty? I bloody hate these things."

You hear Soap snort.

"Stay focused gents." Ghost snips at all of you, hushing any idle chatter. "Let's make this clean and quick. Won't be long before we're discovered."

There's a chorus of copies all around before you chime in once more. “Soap, did you check the basement cameras? Price might be down there.”

There’s silence on the other end for a few moments before Soap supplies. “Aye, he is. Cell three. Good copy, Foxtrot-01.”

"I'm making my way to building three." Ghost tells you all, low and quiet as he navigates the dangerous exterior of the structure you're in under the cover of darkness.

"Aye, I've got you covered, Ghost." Soap declares from his sniper nest atop the building across the way. Then he pauses for a moment before adding "Watch your six."

Ghost huffs, amused by the sergeant's concern. "Watch your own six, Johnny." He replies, but there's no venom there, just a quiet reminder to you all. Stay safe, stay silent, stay hidden. Here, in the den of the enemy, there's no way you all will make it out alive if the alarm is raised.

"Rookie, what's your position?" Ghost prompts as you continue to crawl forward, trying to slither along your belly as quiet as you can to avoid any detection. Yet even as you move there's a distant noise that pricks your ears, and you freeze.

Footsteps.

You pause where you lay, flat on your stomach, the cold metal of the vents pressing through your gear. The slats of a vent under you allow light to seep through. It illuminates your face as you stifle a breath, hearing boots echo down the hallway below you. It takes a moment for you to click off your radio, making sure the team's voices won't betray your position.

In the silence, you can hear your heartbeat thrum loudly in your ears, and you wonder if perhaps the person below can hear the drum of it against the metal sheet. Somehow, they'll look up, see your wide eyes gazing down, reach for their side arm in a jerking motion too fast for you to follow, and you'll enter into the great beyond, blood dripping from the vents.

You slowly raise a hand to your face, trying to stifle even the barest hint of your breaths just as a figure comes into view below you. Red hair, under a cap, a coarse mustache above a mouth downturned into permanent scowl.

O'Conor, you realize with a swooping flutter of your heartbeat, blood freezing tightly in your veins as you recognize the commander of KorTac, the man who remains bent on the destruction of your team, the man who wanted Price alive.

You try not to shake as you watch him pace into view, hands trembling over your face and eyes impossibly wide at the sight of the commander.

"Declan."

It takes every ounce of strength inside you to not flinch at the sound of a familiar voice, heavily accented and rough as a tall, ominous figure catches the attention of the Irishman. There's another pair of footsteps, and you watch as König enters into view below you, his superior height leaning over O'Conor.

"We need to talk." König declares gravely, voice low in warning. Yet O'Conor, rather than being intimidated, merely squints his eyes up at the Austrian. You try not to tremble as he looks up, praying to any God that will listen that somehow he won't see you in the shadows

"Aye." O'Conor offers in response, his voice betraying his own threat. "That we do."

Yet then, to your surprise, he glances around as if to look and see if there is anyone nearby.

"Not here." He declares, a little lower, and promptly turns on his heel, leaving König to follow.

You think for a moment König will somehow lift his face to you, stare his eyes into yours in the dimness, lift a single gloved finger to his lips in warning. Yet instead he shifts where he merely shifts where he stands before following the commander.

You wait a long, heavy minute for the footsteps to fade before exhaling a heavy, trembling breath. Your hand shakes noticeably as you raise it to click your radio back on, greeted by the murmur of your comrades growing frantic in the absence of your voice.

"I'm clear." You tell them, voice wavering. "Ghost, be advised, two VIPs exiting to the south of the building."

You pause a moment, letting your heartbeat try to settle in your chest before adding: "It's O'Conor and König."

You hear Gaz curse.

"Solid copy." Ghost responds darkly, voice dipping to a low, sinister growl. "Soap, give me a sit-rep. Can I intercept?"

The radio crackles for a moment before Soap grunts in frustration. "Negative." He grits. "They're on the opposite side of the building, you'll be spotted. Cannae risk it."

"Sir." Gaz interrupts as you begin to move forward again, almost to the drop. "Do we have permission to shoot on sight?"

You do pause at that, realizing belatedly the thing you've done, revealing the position of your strange enemy turned ally to your comrades, to the same men who wait silently for the destined moment where a bullet pierces his skull.

The breath in your chest stutters to silence, and in its place is the cold, icy realization of the death sentence you've handed to the man who dances in the shadows of your dreams.

Then, Ghost's voice.

"Permission granted."

A shiver works its way through your limbs, raising up your throat in a protest you barely swallow before it can echo to your teammates.

No.

Yet it's too late. You hear Soap murmur an affirmative, once again reporting his findings to Ghost. It's a small bit of solace when he conveys the two men have exited the building, headed outside and into the midnight darkness. Yet the lurking shadow of fear doesn't abate, not even as you reach the vertical drop down towards the basement, maneuvering yourself at an angle so you can descend feet first.

The mission, you remind yourself. Price. He's your objective first and foremost, as you seek to undo the wreckage you've created, bring him home safe where he belongs.

"Got em on cams." Soap reports again, but his voice betrays something a little puzzled at the sight that must be playing before him. "Looks like they're havven themselves an argument."

You hear Gaz huff a mirthless sound as you slowly shimmy your way down the shaft and into the story below. "All not well in KorTac?" He asks smugly, only to be hushed by Ghost.

"Rookie, how copy?"

"Nearly there." You echo back a little breathlessly. "Just getting to the basement."

"Roger." Ghost responds quickly, pausing so you hear the sound of a silenced bullet meeting its target. "Hold when you get there, making my way to you now."

You mutter an affirmative just as you reach the bottom, kneeling before you begin to shimmy forward once more. There's silence over the comms, interrupted only once or twice by Soap relaying positions of some of the mercenaries to Ghost, sealing their fates as the phantom draws their final breaths on their behalf.

It's in the few minutes that follow that you manage to scoot forward, peering into each room you pass to see if the prisoner there is the man you've come to save.

At last, as you peer down into the dimness, you blink and try to squint before noticing a familiar set of gear, the British emblem etched into the shoulder of his uniform. Still. Silent.

"Ghost, I have a view of Price." You breathe, trying to quell the stammer of your heart the way Price's head lolls onto his chest, the ragged, cracked rise of his chest that speaks of something broken. A familiar pang of guilt roils low in your stomach, despondent, outraged at the fate you've led your captain to- locked in a damp, dark prison cell with nothing but brutality as his companion.

"How's he look?" Gaz presses before Ghost has a chance to respond, and you release a shuddering exhale, trying to stay composed despite the tremble of panic threatening inside you. Years of training force you to exhale long slow through your nose, eyes closing as you force yourself through the hammering despair inside you.

"Bad." You reply, quieter now, and the silence that echoes over the comms speaks of nothing less than dread.

You gather yourself despite it, prepare to try and find the will within you to press ever onwards, echoing Ghost's callsign over the comms in a bid for orders.

Yet the lieutenant doesn't offer another word, and even as you echo his name in concern there's only silence that greets you, cold and absent.

It doesn't take long for you to make up your mind then, because after only a second's hesitation, you begin to work the vent shaft open with your multi-tool, gently prying loose the screws. You hear Soap once more try to raise Ghost, and by the time the lieutenant responds you have the vent entrance swinging open on a hinge, opening far enough for you to begin to try and slip through legs first.

"Two KorTac operatives down." He reports, voice deadly quiet, hushed. "Rookie, stand by."

"Too late." You offer him in return, with a shake of your head as if he can see it. Whatever Ghost snaps next at you, a reminder to stay put is muffled by the low thud of you dropping to the floor.

Price doesn't even lift his head at the sound, and you try to erase the frantic murmur of your fluttering heartbeat as you quickly but quietly dart forward, kneel before him.

"Price." You whisper, urgent and afraid, hands grasping at his arms to try and shake him. You swallow the horror that draws across your face as you examine him. His clothes are the same as the ones he'd been captured in days prior. Yet they're disheveled, torn in places where scarlet stains the fabric. His face is a mangled mess of blood and swelling, his shoulder lodged at an angle that looks wrong. When the captain breathes there's a hitch in his chest that has you choke on a trembling noise of pain at his condition. It wavers your voice as once again you try to rouse him, words betraying your fear. "Price. Wake up. Please wake up."

Price doesn't respond, and in the silence you feel your world begin to fracture at the seams.

You stand abruptly, letting your hands gingerly tilt your captain's face so the red smear of his blood flakes against your gloves.

"John." You whisper then upon seeing the full violence etched across the flesh of his face. Your hands shake as you look over the crimson drowning one of his eyes, nose broken, bloodied. The air in your chest feels too heavy, too pressing as you try once more to echo his name. "John."

It's only then that Price's eyes flutter open. You see him blink against the haze for a moment, eyes clearing quickly. The years allowing him to narrow in on you just as you breathe a desperate, smiling shudder of relief, eyes warming with tears.

"Rookie." He mutters, and you wince despairingly at the drag of his voice in his chest. Wet. Fractured but not yet broken.

"Yeah. Yeah cap, it's me." You tell him breathlessly, the smile on your face soured by concern. Your heart feels a too rapid flutter in your chest, searing brightness of adrenaline fueling the pulsing thrum of blood in your veins.

"You made it out." He breathes with realization, and once more your mind flashes to the sight of him tossed into the yawning maw of a dark van, taken far away from you even as you scream in the confines of Soap's unbreakable hold.

Yet then he shakes his head, grunting with pain at the motion. "Rookie. You need to leave. They're looking for you. O'Conor said-"

"Damn O'Conor." You hiss instead, moving quickly now, behind him and pulling out your blade to begin sawing at his restraints. "We're getting you out of here, cap. Not leaving without you."

"We?" Price echoes, still a little dazed. "Don't tell me-"

"Yes. We." You interrupt, freeing his hands and now working on the wire that secures his torso to the back of the chair. "Never leave a man behind, Price."

As if reminded, you raise your hand to your radio and press down so your voice echoes out. "This is Foxtrot-01, package secured. Standby."

You hear a whooshed sigh of relief, a breath that has been held for far too long before it's Gaz's voice that answers back. Yet before he can speak it's Ghost's voice that interjects. "Good copy, Foxtrot-01. Stand by for RV."

"Copy, standing by." You clip back, knife working its way through the remainder of Price's bindings. Yet as you move around to his front to slice the zip ties securing his ankles to the chair, Soap's voice echoes forth with a crackle and a low, grave warning.

"I've got eyes on ye, Rookie. Those guards outside are getting mighty suspicious-"

A noise outside, just as you tear loose the last few restraints. It makes the both of you look up sharply, dread awash in your limbs as you realize too late you've been made.

The door clicks open just as you dart in front of Price, who wobbles to a stand behind you. Hands reaching for your automatic you watch the door to swing wide, hard enough to crack on the wall beside it.

"WEAPONS DOWN." A voice bellows from a dark figure in full gear, a helmet obscuring your enemy's face as he lifts his weapon towards you both, flanked by two more men behind him, a fourth and a fifth down the hallway. "NOW."

You feel your hands tremble despite your grip, glaring into the darkened visor of the soldier before you, eyes tracing the emblem of a wolf on his shoulder. It's the insignia of KorTac, an oath sworn to the company of men and women designed to kill you all, to reduce the 141 into a smoldering pile of ashes so smoke curls into the sky.

The same insignia he wears.

"WE WILL SHOOT." The guard barks, adjusting the grip on his rifle. "SURRENDER. NOW."

You could. You could lay down your weapon, fail both yourself and Price once more at the meek reward of your life- even if means submitting to O'Conor's hands, to the torture within as they try to break you, to hand the mangled pieces of you to Price in hopes it would rot and fester his soul. All while eyes watch from behind a bleach teared hood, unable to help lest he too be destroyed.

König. Your mind tries once more, summoning the hooded figure into your thoughts in a desperate plea that you shake away despite the dangerous temptation there. Yet even in the face of capture, his words beckon to you, prying open your thoughts with his voice.

"Some things are more beautiful when they are free, Maus."

"FINAL WARNING. WE WILL OPEN FIRE."

You don't comply, feeling the terror in your veins muted by the cold, trained instinct of survival and the reminder of the things he seeks in you. The pure beauty of something dangerous but wild, enchanting and deadly but untouchable. The moment he catches you in his grip is the moment he loses the magic inside of you, the spell that binds him to you.

You focus not on the tumult inside of you, of the dreams and the nightmares, the prophecies of future or damnation of the past. Instead, the world narrows down to the level of your scope before you, the feeling of your captain at your back, knowing that even in the darkest moments here in the face of certain defeat that he'll never give in. Price will fight until his dying breath, his grave one of glory from battles fought and victories gained. You feel his unwavering determination bleed into you as he places a hand on your shoulder, strengthening you with his touch alone.

You'll never surrender.

A clatter behind them. You blink just as they turn, and with a hiss milky white smoke begins to fill the hallway. There's a moment where the guards yelp, try and turn in the direction of the smoke, and too late you hear one of them reach for his radio, yelling a "Contact-!" before his voice is swallowed by a scream.

A massive shape moves in the mist, and you watch as his hands secure the man to his chest, reaching a blade around to the front of his throat. The wet gurgle his victim gives is the only thing he can manage before he slumps to the floor.

Ghost.

Before the remaining guards can raise their weapons, choking on the smoke, you launch forward into the fray. Blood boiling at a feral, raging simmer, you jump at the man who barked orders at you and Price, onto his back and wrapping your legs around his front to keep his arms restrained. It takes little effort for you to draw your own knife against his neck and pull. The sound he makes as he screams is muffled by the palm of your glove.

You tumble off him as his knees buckle, moving before you can fully catch your breath. No stopping. No hesitation. A single heartbeat means the difference between life and death, and you watch as the next guard tries to reach his comrade held up to the wall by Ghost's hand around his throat. He turns to you a moment too late, using the wall to brace and jump a few inches higher. You catch the whites of his eyes as you descend on him, unable to scream before you plant the blade in his shoulder. Your weight crashes down on him, sending you both falling to the ground.

He tries to grapple with you despite the blood oozing across the silver of your knife, hands fumbling as he tries to regain himself enough to dislodge you. Before he can, however, an arm reaches down, wraps across your throat as you're hauled back and up, against the uneven and rigid surface of a tactical vest. You kick out just enough for your feet to brace against the wall beside you, sending your opponent hurtling back until he hits the opposite side of the hallway. Yet he doesn't let go, his hold on your neck tightening and choking your air supply, a hand on your head at just the right angle to twist.

Before he can, there's movement beside him, and you feel your balance thrown off center as someone else manages to dislodge you from your captor's hold, sending you sinking to the ground. You raise your head to see Price grappling with the man, trying to use every ounce of his remaining strength to fend him off. That same, untamed glint in his eyes glimmers past the red rim of his gaze, teeth gritted as he tries to reach for the man's weapon.

It takes a moment for you to yank your knife out of the other man's shoulder, and he weakly tries to reach for it in your hands before you plant a boot on his visor so hard that the plastic cracks. Turning, you hurl it at Price's attacker, landing it between his shoulder blades. The man grunts, goes down to one knee, and you watch as Price secures a hand on his jaw, on his helmet and yanks his head abruptly. The resounding crack as a result has you tense, face grimacing as the guard's arms fall limp at his sides and he slumps. Dead.

You slump against the wall, chest heaving, blood splattered, hands roaming over your vest to make sure you still have your weapons and ammunition, searching for an injury you missed. Yet your gaze snaps to Ghost as he walks over to the soldier with the cracked visor. The man gives your lieutenant a wheezing, whimpered plea, only for Ghost to raise his weapon and fire once into his skull, putting the man out of his misery. Silence settles over the hallway, the last of the smoke dissipating in the carnage the three of you have left.

"Sloppy." Ghost tells you flatly as he helps you to a stand, your legs finding their strength once more. "We need to work on your close combat skills."

You resist the urge to snap at him, feeling adrenaline pump with poison through your blood. "Let's survive first, LT." You tell him instead, and Ghost nods before turning to Price. You look between them as the men meet eyes, a wordless recognition and meaning passed through their stare.

"Broken?" Ghost asks, and despite the flatness of his words he still manages to convey his relief and concern at the sight of his captain

"Ask me when I'm in Hell." Price huffs in return, and despite the bruising on his face you swear you can see him pull a smile.

"I'll see you there then." Ghost quips, raising his hand and offering Price his pistol. The captain takes it, holds it gently to check the number of shots left before he nods, turns to you.

"You escaped." He states, rather than questions. "How?"

"Answers later." You tell him, once again lifting your weapon to your hands, widening your stance in preparation of Ghost's orders. The lieutenant catches your eyes, gives you a terse nod before shifting to address you both.

"We need to move. Rookie, watch our six." With that he raises his own automatic, takes a stance ahead of you and Price, allowing you to flank the rear and watch for any signs of reinforcements coming up behind you.

"Soap will meet us up top." Ghost murmurs darkly as the three of you approach the stairwell up from the basement, hovering around the corner. "Nikolai and Gaz will provide ex-fil in the heli."

"You put Gaz in a chopper?" Price asks, the humor in his voice veiled by the gravity of your circumstances.

"Is now really the time?" You hiss, once more checking your gear to ensure all your ammo and weapons are in place. "Shit, left my knife."

"Leave it." Ghost orders, using a hand to brace Price on the wall as the captain grunts in pain.

"It's my favorite." You grumble with annoyance but make no effort to go back and retrieve it.

"Ghost, be advised." Soap relays over the comms, voice low and grave. "Enemies moving in on your position. Think they know we're here."

"Are the stairs clear?" Ghost asks in return, but before Soap can speak next there's a shout from the top of the stairs and something clatters down the steps.

"DOWN." Ghost bellows, reaching for the grenade and lobbing it back towards its sender before hunching down beside you and Price. The resulting explosion has the world shake and hum around you, the smoke filling your nostrils and your ears ringing in the aftershocks.

When you come to next, you can hear shots echoing down the stairs as the soldiers up top open fire on you all. Shielded by the wall, you watch the bullets pierce the plaster at the bottom of the stairs, creating holes where your flesh would be had you not been paying attention.

"Rookie!" Ghost barks, and you follow his hand gesture, scooting past Price long enough to unload your weapon at the men up top, relishing the cry of hurt at finding your target. Ghost takes the opportunity of the resulting gap, darting across the base of the stairs so both of you flank either side. You watch your shots, darting out long enough to shoot, find your target, and then make your mark. It takes little time, but even in the moments that follow you find yourself yelling into the radio towards the Scot on the other end.

"Now would be a really good time for that diversion, Soap!" You shout, and whatever Soap says next is swallowed by the resulting gunfire that rains down on you all.

Eventually there's the sound of a thud as the last of the guards slumps to the ground, and you force your way up the stairs behind Ghost and Price, weapon raised and breathing leveled. The deadly focus of a soldier engulfs you now, dreams and nightmares forgotten, not even pausing to look at the bodies you step over, their dying breaths coloring the bottom of your boots red.

"Gaz, get that helo ready." Ghost growls at the sergeant, to which Gaz clips an affirmative just as Ghost turns his attention to Soap. "Soap, how copy?"

Silence. Then, in the near distance, an explosion. It shudders the floor under your feet, makes dust fall down from the ceiling and coat a thin coating of gray over your gear. You can hear the distant crackle of something burning as smoke coils up into the midnight sky.

"That should keep them occupied." Soap chirps, perhaps a little too gleeful.

"The hell did you do?!" You shoot back, following quickly behind the two officers in front of you, sweeping behind to check your six.

"Set fire to their supply depot." Soap responds smugly before his voice turns serious once again. "I'm moving in on your position. RV in five."

"Check your shots." Price reminds you both, to which you and Ghost nod, continue to press forward. It isn't long before you encounter another squadron of soldiers in one of the hallways, this one more heavily armed than the ones before. When you lean out to shoot, you can see the hard exterior of a riot shield keep your shots at bay.

"Shit." You curse, leaning back to reload. The stairs to the roof aren't far beyond, but the hallway before you is choked with soldiers that manage to press closer towards you all, closing the distance. You pull a grenade from your vest, yanking the pin with your teeth and lobbing it down the hall, covering Price from the implosion that makes your teeth chatter with the impact. Yet it only slows the remainder of the force ahead of you all, doing nothing to eliminate the obstacle ahead of you.

"We're going to get flanked." You yell to Ghost above the gunfire, but the lieutenant doesn't respond, focused on his own task at hand, rapidly reloading and trying to shoot anyone who gets too close.

True to your warning, you hear a shout from the hallway behind you, spinning on your heel to shoot at the head that pops around the corner.

"We're being boxed in!" You bellow to Ghost and Price, only for the captain to flatten you to the wall, moving you behind him so he can empty a few rounds at the next figure to come around the corner.

"Keep your head, Rookie!" He yells over the chaos, voice garbled with the injury to his chest. You do, you try, but with enemies on both sides you feel the temptation of panic threaten to rise inside you, obscure your focus into a deadly distraction. You force it down, remind yourself the three of you have been in far worse scenarios than this.

"Soap!" You bark over comms instead, bending your head to your radio for just a moment before you lean out to shoot once more, draw back as a bullet flies inches from your head. "Soap, what's your status?"

The other end of the hallways explodes.

Ah. That would be him then.

"MOVE UP!" Ghost thunders, and you wait until Price is past you before firing several parting shots to the soldiers behind you, rounding the corner and crouching to avoid the lingering shots fired overhead. You can hear panicked shouts from the KorTac operatives now, as they realize they've been flanked, spinning in both directions to try and fend you all off. Yet it's useless, because as soon as they try to turn from Soap's line of fire they only manage to expose themselves to yours, their screams cut off as you find your mark.

Once the hallway is empty the three of you quickly make your way forward, finding a breathless Soap on the other side, offering you a grin smeared with grenade dust.

"Good to see you alive and well, Cap." He offers to Price. Price doesn't have time to respond, instead jerking his head to the soldiers coming up behind you. The Scot takes the order wordlessly, falling in beside you as Ghost and Price take point, pushing towards the stairs that lead up to the next floor.

The resulting minutes that follow are fueled only by the ring of gunshots, the ringing aftershocks of grenades, barked orders and clicking sounds of reloading weapons. You forget the past and future, allowing the battle worn focus of your training and experience to fall over you, eyes wide and focused, taking in the smallest miniscule movements and allowing your aim to ring true.

It isn't long before the four of you reach the ladder to the roof. Ghost signals for you to go first and clear the way, and as you ascend through the shaft you can hear the gunfire below mute into a distant ringing. It takes a moment to reach for your bolt cutters, balancing precariously on the rungs of the ladder as you snap the lock to the hatch in two. The entrance swings open with a groan, revealing the dark, roiling clouds hanging high above in the heavens.

Almost there. You remind yourself with a breath of cold air. Just a little longer.

You make sure to help Price up onto the flat surface of the roof, where you can hear the distant thump thump thump of a helicopter's blades beating distantly at the air. You allow yourself a single moment of relief before your ears attune to shouting below the building. Price catches your eye, and without even being asked you fall in, planting yourself to the edge of the building and adjusting your rifle so you gaze down onto the pathways connecting the buildings. You can see soldiers scurrying, hurrying to the building you're atop of, barking orders and racing to the burning supply depot that licks orange and bright against the black sky.

Flat on your stomach, you adjust your rifle and find your targets, watching as KorTac soldiers jerk, drop to the ground in a violent splash of crimson. You can hear chatter over the radio, but it dims to a mere hum as you fully immerse yourself into your specialized skill set, plucking enemies off the map one by one with unerring, precise calculation.

Yet then you see the glint of a scope, one that catches the light of the burning building nearby, a single warning before the other sniper finds you in their sights.

You roll out of the way just in time, narrowly avoiding the bullet that chips the brick of the building next to you. It takes a moment to adjust, and as you roll back to focus, you can see the figure aiming up at you from another rooftop. Dark hair, lean build, kohl darkened eyes gazing at you from her own sniper nest.

Roze.

You feel a snarl tugging at your lips, aim once more at her, but your aim is off as you once more duck to avoid her own shot at you. Even so, there's a distant thrill of excitement that pulses through you, wild and shuddering with a bright, biting taste of adrenaline.

"Been a while since I had a sniper shootout." You mutter to nobody in particular, allowing yourself an untamed smile, eyes bright with fixation. You narrow yourself to the scope focused on the woman opposite of you, finger hovering over the trigger as the crosshairs fall onto her own mirrored expression.

You don't get the chance, because suddenly the distant whir of the chopper gets loud, and the roof Roze is on explodes into a trail of dust as the turret of the helo turns on the enemy there. You think you see Roze vanish into a puff of soot, but don't stay long enough to find you, shouldering your weapon and raising yourself up to get ready for exfil.

There's a shout from the ladder, and you watch as Soap tumbles back from the hatch with a cry mixed with pain and outrage, his back hitting the gravel with a crunch. He curses, quickly tries to right himself, and as he stands he curses again, balancing awkwardly on one leg. You watch as blood oozes from the hole in his pants and he snarls at the enemies who left it there.

"Bloody fuckin' bastards." He seethes, but somehow manages to shut the hatch once Ghost follows, preventing any pursuers from following. You can barely hear him as the chopper angles down, lowering onto the rooftop and beating the air around you into a gale.

"Everyone on the chopper. NOW." Price bellows despite the choke in his chest, and despite his injuries he tries to be the last one on, covering your retreat as you tumble onto the helicopter floor. Ghost none too gently forces him to follow, knocking Price into your arms as you scramble to catch him, holding him fast just as the chopper raises itself off the roof.

"Get us out of here, Nik!" Gaz shouts over the noise, his hands still secured to the turret that leans out the side of the chopper. You flinch, duck, doing your best to cover Price as a few stray bullets ping the side of the chopper as you all lift off. The noise of the turret beside you only continues to deafen your senses, Ghost kneeling beside it and offering his own parting regards to the soldiers far below that try to bring you down.

"RPG!!" Gaz hollers, and the chopper angles severely to avoid the rocket that narrowly misses one of the blades. You feel yourself begin to slide backwards with Price in your arms, and manage to catch hold of one of the ropes, gripping tight with a yell, trying to prevent yourself from falling backwards further. You can hear Nikolai curse vividly in Russian, securing the controls before the bird goes into a tailspin. Even so, you can't help but glance over your shoulder, staring with a horrified gaze at the tilting earth that spins dizzily on the other exit of the heli.

When the chopper finally does even out, you hear the final, dull remaining bullet pings graze off the exterior of the heli, until they too fade to silence, and the only thing left is the urgent beat of the blades above you all.

It's only then that you manage to catch the gazes of the men around you, chests heaving, wild eyed, disbelieving as the adrenaline continues to thrum high in their veins.

"Steamin' Jesus." Soap offers in the silence that follows, grazes a hand over his face and stares first at you, then at Ghost, Gaz, until his eyes finally land on Price. Yet his smile cracks at the wild shock there, eyes dancing and bright, almost bewildered in the chaos of his thoughts before he asks you all: "Tha bloody hell was that?!"

As if those are the words needed, you watch as Gaz slumps into the seat beside him, head tilting down to his chest as he loudly declares "I am never, ever, ever getting on a fucking chopper again."

It startles an almost manic laugh from you, your hands still tucked under Price's arms, blinking and trying to quell the like-minded disbelief from your own mind.

"Who's hurt?" Ghost asks, and you all list an observed catalog of injuries. Bruises, scrapes, bullet holes, but all of you alive, whole, narrowly escaping the jaws of certain defeat intact. There's a pulsing, almost deranged relief between you all, one that sings loudly between gasping pants and heaved breaths.

"We did it." You breathe at last to Price, who has yet to straighten from your lap. His eyes are scrunched, forcing himself to breathe through the hurt radiating from his chest. You can see his chest rising with stuttering inhales, but even so your captain manages to raise his hand, patting it against the back of your palm in a wordless acknowledgement.

Well done.

It takes more than a few minutes for you to collect yourselves, thrumming with leftover, frenetic energy and bloodlust that bites down on the pain of your injuries. You hear Nikolai rumble something in Russian to Price, to which Price huffs, offers a groaning. "Da." in reply.

Finally, when he feels fit to move, you help Price stand, gently getting him strapped into a chair with Gaz's help. You seat yourself across from him, and when you finally let your shoulders fully uncoil with relief, Price catches your gaze. He taps on his headset, and you switch on your own just in time to hear him ask: "How did you know where I was?"

You blink, memories rewinding to the broad, dark figure of a hooded soldier illuminated in the dim darkness, eyes staring down at you past trails of bleached tears. His words once again echo endlessly into your thoughts, pulling at something dark and twisted and all too familiar. Yet there's warmth there, and it colors your smile as you offer:

"A little lark told me."

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[regatoni1]

The Gray Man:

The Gray Man: (Six x F!Reader)

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Fifteen~

Thinking about how Hisoka asked you and talked to you in general today, you realized he sounded kind of unsure.

You wondered if he even had any friends. You had never seen him really talking to anybody but yourself, and most people stayed clear of him in general.

It hurt you a little bit, not the fact that Hisoka didn't have any friends, but how it must feel having people avoid you. People who have never even met you, not even giving you a chance to prove your worth as a person.

It almost brought a small tear to your eye, knowing how cruel the world to be, even to the strongest people. 

Looking up at Hisoka, you now noticed the slight tinge of sadness under the bright gleam of gold in his eyes.

Quickly, you hugged him. You didn't want him to feel alone anymore. You knew how that felt, and you couldn't bare to see that on anyone else. No matter what Hisoka had done in the past, you made it your goal to see that he never felt lonely going into the future.

His arms slowly wrapped around your waist, pulling you in a little more.

"Promise me something," you said solemnly. "Promise me that whenever you feel lonely, you'll come right to my side, ok?"

"Ok."

Slowly pulling apart from the embrace, you smiled weakly wiping a tear that smeared the star he painted on his face.

"Hey princess stop crying, you'll ruin your makeup," you almost whispered, not wanting your own tears to spill over.

He chuckled lightly, and slowly stood up, offering his hand to help you. You accepted with gratitude, and leaning his face close to yours, his breath the only thing you could focus on, he quietly spoke;

"Well I think I should start collecting cards now, don't you think? We wouldn't want our Hunter trip to end quite yet, now would we~?"

You almost scoffed.

Right back to the old Hisoka, huh?

Pushing him away, "Yeah well, I better go find my two adoptive kids. I have no idea what trouble they've caused by now."

And with that, you went your separate ways.

Wandering off into the forest, you were just hoping to come across one of your kiddos. 

You had decided that Gon and Killua were your friends, but you liked to refer to yourself as their older sister, or maybe even a mother figure.

The thought made you giggle as you made you way into a clump of large trees.

Hearing grunting and groaning, you calmly walked towards the commotion.

You saw the group of three brothers, whimpering on the ground under Killua.

"Ah! Hey Killua I was looking for you!"

"(y/n)?" he asked turning toward you.

"Did you get your target?"

"Oh uh yeah I did."

"Cool. You should probably throw the other two away, just for the guy who's following you to get a little exercise."

Seeing the mischievous look in his eye, your lips turned up in the smallest of smirks.

"Ok," he said calmly, his demeanour nor not changing one bit as he threw the two badges in opposite directions farther than you could see.

"Good luck. You have three days left to find them," Killua said to the three brothers.

Snickering, you and Killua walked away.

"You switched them right?" you asked.

Killua put his hands on the back of his head and nodded.

Now full blown laughing, you gave him a high five, making Killua laugh a little too.

"So do you have your target, (y/n)?" he asked.

"Um no. I actually have no idea where my target was. I just found three other people who kindly gave their badges to me with absolutely zero argument. Just don't ask them about it," you responded quickly, making it your turn to make Killua laugh.

The two of you kept a lighthearted conversation up until you found a shallow river. Eyes twinkling, you gasped and hastily stared taking off your boots and clothes.

"Gah!" Killua yelled, turning around and covering his eyes. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Having already stripped to your underwear and already knee deep in the water, you whipped around and scolded the boy for his language.

"Killua! Watch your language! I haven't gotten the chance to bathe on this island yet! And besides, these things cover more than a bikini would! I know you're young but grow up a little would you!"

Huffing, he took off his boots and waded in the water with you for a little bit. He looked like you had just told him that he had to go to school, all days of the week, with no summer.

Smiling deviously, you splashed him, soaking his clothes straight through, and then quickly swam away.

"Hey you old hag! How did you soak all my clothes with one splash? I'll get you for that!"

He started chasing after you, but with his legs being so short, he tripped and face-planted right into the water.

Laughing so hard you were at a risk of peeing, you saw Killua get up and mutter to himself as he stomped out of the water.

After a while, you got out of the water as well, drying yourself off as best you could before putting your clothes back on.

Looking at Killua, still drenched with water, you giggled and decided to collect some sticks to start a fire so he didn't catch a cold.

After convincing the stubborn boy that the fire was for you, because he "didn't need to be taken care of", the two of you talked about his past, but more specifically his family.

The Zoldyck's had always interested you, and you had actually seen Illumi who was on a mission once in Meteor City.

You remember that day vividly. You were sitting atop the tallest ruin you could, watching the city from above. You had always liked watching from above, seeing every person and imagining their own personal backstories. A princess here, a high school boy there, an airplane pilot to the left.

It comforted you, thinking that there were some people who had nothing but happy memories and normal lives. 

It was on one of these nights that you had noticed the man crouching on the corner of a building diagonal yours. He was wearing a green and gold outfit, his black hair billowing in the wind. At the time, you had no idea you were staring at an elite assassin, but you had imagined you were looking at a misplaced college boy, lost in his own thoughts.

He suddenly jumped off the building with meaning, like a predator closing in on his prey. 

After that night, you never saw him again, but something about him and his aura made the memory stick in your mind.

You and Killua talked for most of the night, until the fire turned to ash and you decided to go and sleep in the trees. 

For the next two days, the two of you wandered around and talked about whatever popped into your heads in that moment. Subconsciously, you strengthened a bond that had started out so meekly.

Arriving at the designated spot for the boat pickup, you reconvened with Gon, who had faced Hisoka and won, and had quickly learned that all of your friends had passed this phase.

On the boat back, you stood at the side, resting your arms on the railing, admiring the water when you felt Hisoka stand next to you. He didn't seem sad, so before he could say anything perverted you turned to him with the excitement of a child and asked;

"Wanna play rock paper scissors?"

Chuckling, he nodded. The two of you slid down and were now sitting against the railing, you completely concentrated on the game that you had to win.

Hisoka, on the other hand, was concentrated on who was playing the game with him.

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Fourteen~

You ended up killing about three others you just so happened across. Again, you don't like murdering, but it was the only thing that gave you a sense of security, of normalcy. No matter what you tried, you couldn't get this feeling to subside.

You ended up under a tree, the blood lust you were emitting so thick and full of rage that no one dared get close.

Why was it so easy telling that to Gon and Killua? 

You leaned back against the rough bark wondering, emotionless tears flowing freely down your face.

You had already accepted what had happened to Kiri. You had yourself convinced that none of it was your fault. It couldn't have been. So then, why did it still hurt so much?

If you knew you couldn't do anything, then why did it bother you to this extreme?

"God this is so frustrating!" you screamed, punching the tree behind you, causing it to snap in half.

You had already been through this, the pain, the hurt, and all the goddamned tears. You didn't need to be doing this again!

I shouldn't cry like this, I am not this fucking pathetic!

Wiping the tears furiously off your face, you realized someone was nearby, and you had your bets hedged on the perverted clown.

"What the fuck do you want Hisoka!" you glared at him as you screamed, watching him get closer to you as though your aura wasn't even an issue.

He silently prodded up to you, and wiped the tears off of your cheeks before pulling you into a tight embrace.

Shocked, you were stunned for a moment, before letting yourself break a little more and wrapping your arms around him, holding so tightly as if you let go, you would fall into the pit of despair you were so desperately trying to stay out of.

In all honesty, Hisoka sensed the blood lust and made his way over to look for a fight, but he saw you in such a desperate state, and to his surprise, he had felt hurt, knowing you were going through such pain, and alone.

He came looking for a fight, and ended up trying to finish one inside the head of somebody else.

He had never felt such compassion towards something other than raw power. He was still so new at all of these feelings, and didn't have any clue as to what to do with them.

In this moment, he knew that you couldn't be alone, for you already felt so alone in this world.

Trying to keep any dignity you had left, you slowly started to peel yourself off of his chest. before you could mumble anything to embarrass yourself further, he pulled out a small bag of berries and sat down in front of a tree, signalling for you to join him.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for hours. Once you were finished the berries, the blood that had leaked through your makeshift bandages attracted some hemotropic butterflies.

You admired them, and in a way almost envied them too.

The butterflies were so pretty, the red and pink hues to their wings, their beauty hiding their eager intent for blood. The way their wings flapped in the air, bringing them towards their next injured meal. It was a total yin-yang concept to you. Their beauty screening their darkness.

You envied them for their lack of understanding. They didn't know how beautiful they were, or how dark their nature could be. All they knew was that they had to get to their next source of food. It doesn't matter to them who was bleeding, or what that person had been through prior, but only that the person had what they needed. The butterflies didn't need to kill or hunt, and they solely relied on their senses and a natural selection of sorts.

Looking at Hisoka, you saw a butterfly in the palm of his hand. You admired how the sun shone through it's wings, making it softly glisten. You scrunched your eyebrows as Hisoka closed his hand, but smiled gently as more butterflies flew out of his hand.

You chuckled a bit, the magicians trick slowly making you realize that there were more people in this world who could be genuine, but they were just hard to find. 

Luckily for you, you had found two. Although, you had the impression that the jester sitting next to you was going to be the third. 

"Hisoka?"

"Yes?"

"I- I'm sorry for all the times I was rude to you. You were mostly just trying to help me. To be honest, I probably wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for you."

He smiled. After a moment he responded,

"If I'm being honest, I probably wouldn't be here either if I hadn't met you." 

Pensively, you both looked off into the distance, getting lost in your own thoughts.

It seemed aggressive saying what he said, but you honestly had no idea the storm that could brewing in his head. Yes, he seemed perfectly content with his life when you were looking from the outside,  but you had no way of knowing if he was ok on the inside too. A small chuckle escaped from his lips, and you turned to look at him.

"What, you're not going to ask me about it?" he said, his concrete character cracking a little, showing his true feelings just a little.

"No," you responded. His head turned slightly in confusion. "But I'm listening."

Hisoka, for what seemed like the first time in a very long time, was completely unsure. He honestly didn't know if he even deserved your kindness.

Yes, he had helped you in the past, but that was when the sole purpose was to keep you strong so he could fight you. At least he had thought that at the time. But when he went back, and thought under the surface, he realized that maybe he helped you just because he didn't want to lose you.

Now, you were showing him the kind of affection that friends would show each other.

Is that what you were? 

Friends?

"(y/n)?" he asked, unusually nervous.

"Yeah?"

"Are we... friends?"

After thinking for a moment, your unsure thoughts solidified.

Smiling, you responded. "Yeah, I think we are."

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Thirteen~

T/W: MENTIONS OF RAPE

Brushing off your thoughts, you waited patiently until your friends arrived. With the timer almost up, you became extremely worried as they had only entered with about a minute to spare. 

You rushed over to them. "Gon! Killua!" you yelled happily.

"Hey (y/n)!"

"Gosh don't make me worry like that! I thought I was gonna have to leave you all behind!" you teased, putting Killua in a headlock and ruffling his hair, laughing at his protests.

With you reunited with your friends, you found out why they spent so much time in the tower. Damn horny Leorio... you thought while walking out of the tower with them.

The examiner explained that for the fourth phase, you would all be travelling to Zevil Island, where you would hunt each other, for your tags of course, by using any means necessary. You drew lots, and your target's tag was worth three points, as was your own. You needed six points to pass the phase. Anyone else's tag was only worth one point.

Pretty soon, you were called up to draw your lot. You had to wait in anticipation as everyone drew one, waiting until the last person drew to pull the sticker off, revealing your targets.

Nerves pulsing through you, you pulled the sticker off, to see your target was applicant number 301.

You looked around. Who is that?  Most people had already taken off their own badge to hide it, but you really didn't see much point in doing so. Coincidentally, neither did Gittarackur, number 301.

Great. I just had to get pinhead huh? Fuck! This is going to be way more difficult than I thought...

Sighing, you started to think of a plan. Unfortunately, you were probably going to have to use your nen, which you were hoping to keep a secret just a little bit longer.

You were so immersed in forging a plan to get his badge, you didn't even notice the sly clown that was looking over your shoulder at your target number.

"I could help you if you'd like," he said over your shoulder.

"No thanks. Don't need it," you replied, ignoring  the way his proximity gave you butterflies, how his scent invaded your nose, clouding any hope for clear judgement. Ignoring that how he offered you help made a blush creep across your cheeks, and definitely ignoring how you had hoped he would continue pestering you.

You even ignored the letdown you had felt when he walked away.

Making your way onto the boat that would take you to the island, you chatted with Gon and Killua about your pasts. 

You learned that Killua was from the infamous Zoldyck's, the long time and all powerful family of assasins. You also discovered that Gon was determined to find his father, Ging Freecss, whose name you had heard been mentioned once or twice.

"Tell us about your past, (y/n)!" Gon said excitedly.

"Yeah we know almost nothing about you," Killua added.

"Heh, well you're not the only one."

The boys stared at you confused, waiting for you to continue. Standing up and leaning against the side of the boat, you took a deep breath, inhaling the calming smell of the saltwater below.

"You see, I'm from Meteor City."

"Meteor City?" Gon asked.

"Yes. The city where no one exists. I grew up there by myself. I had almost no friends, no allies, basically no one on my side. But, I did have one person who I could rely on. Someone I could trust," you took another breath and sat back down beside them, ready to dig into your past.

"Basically, my parents had me for the sole reason of becoming the best assassin in the world. They started training me the second I was born. I went through gruelling torture sessions, hours of intensive training, along with some emotional abuse when I didn't learn something fast enough, or when I made a mistake."

"I don't remember much about who my parents were in general, but I always remember sneaking out late at night to meet up with Kiri, my best friend. We had met the first time I ran away. She had been scavenging for food, and we quickly hit it off. We had a designated meeting spot, a secluded ruin of a building."

"Almost every night, we'd meet up there and stare at the stars, or just lay in silence and bask in the comfort of each other. That is until she was killed. After that, I was completely alone until I met you guys."

"One night, I had just been hurled a flurry of curses and swears thrown at me from my father. Stuff like, 'You'll never be good enough!' and 'Stop being so pathetic and take the pain!' It was after I couldn't take any more of the chains, the whips, the stabbing, electrocuting, and had passed out."

"When I had arrived at our spot, Kiri was on the ground, bloodied and barely alive, clothes ripped up. There was a group of mafia men standing over her, one of which was just doing his pants back up. That's all I really remember before I saw nothing but red."

"Before I knew it, all the men were dead, their heads torn off by yours truly. I had run over to her, to see if I could even say sorry for not being there to protect her, but she was already gone. I just hope she saw that I killed them, I killed them all!"

"I should have been there! I should have just left a little earlier, and she-"

You stopped as Killua threw his arms around you, and Gon wiped a tear off your face.

"It's not your fault, (y/n)," Killua said solemnly as Gon silently agreed.

"Yeah, I guess. I just, I need a minute," you said, brushing past them and finding a bathroom.

Finally getting the chance to be alone, you broke down in the small bathroom. You sobbed, sliding against the wall. 

I could have saved her. I should have saved her. It's- it's all my fault...

Letting yourself break a little more each tear, you slowly stood back up after you heard the bell ring signalling the ship's arrival.

Looking in the mirror, you despised what you saw. The puffy eyes. The red cheeks. You were not weak. You didn't cry. You looked down at your hands, squeezing the sides of the sink. No remorse. No remorse, you chanted in your head, almost like a mantra. Squeezing so hard, you broke the porcelain of the sink and looked up at yourself one last time, anger rearing it's head. You punched the mirror, shattering it, shards of glass embedding themselves inside of your knuckle.

You left the bathroom and went back to the main deck, ignoring the looks people gave you. Hisoka was already gone, and you were next to leave.

When the girl called your name, you walked towards the forest, knuckles dripping with blood, hoping to see at least one person. You needed to kill. 

Killing wasn't something you enjoyed doing, but it was something that you had been trained to do. Something comforting, almost, and whenever you did it, you felt it brought you closer to Kiri.

Not realizing how far you had walked, you hopped into a tree and waited for the poor victim who you would see first.

239? Your lucky day. 

You jumped out of the tree and onto his shoulders, ripping his head off like a feral animal.

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Twelve~

Your eyes slowly opening, you groaned not wanting to leave the comfort of you sleep. Coming to your senses, you realized that you were curled up in a ball, you head resting in Hisoka's lap. You two were still the only ones in the waiting room.

"How much time is left for the phase?" you asked him yawning and stretching your arms up.

"63 hours, my dear~"

You huffed, throwing your chin in your hands like a child, and watched Hisoka play with his cards. Him noticing, he quickly took half the deck and made it disappear.

"Woah! Can you show me how to do that?" you said, eyes lighting up like a kid at a fair.

Entertained with your reaction, Hisoka attempted to show you the card trick, but no matter how many times you tried it, you always dropped the cards before you had the chance to shove them up your sleeve.

Frustrated, you gave up.

"Giving up already, my dear fruit?~" he asked, entertained by your childish antics.

"Dude it's not my fault my hands aren't as big as yours! My fingers just aren't long enough! It's been rigged against me from the start!"

"Here, let me show you a little trick..."

Putting his hands over yours, he guided your fingers to move the cards slowly and smoothly, and carefully pulled the cards up your sleeve. You watched his hands gracefully maneuver the cards, each movement careful and calculated. You noticed how big his hands actually were, a small pool of heat gathering in your stomach.

Once the trick was done, he didn't let go. Turning to look in his eyes, the two of you stared at each other, completely captured in each other's gaze.

Not really knowing how long the two of you stayed like that, you only broke eye contact when the door slid open, revealing Gittarackur who bobbled his way in, ignoring the two of you.

"Gittarakur, applicant 302, is the third to pass. Time elapsed, twelve hours and two minutes." the automated voice announced.

Quickly scooting yourself away from Hisoka, a subtle blush crept across your cheeks. Trying to think about anything over what just happened, you suddenly remembered about Hisoka's wounds.

Gasping you turned to him and started ripping a sleeve off your sweatshirt.

He looked at you confused, before you moved closer to him and carefully started wrapping the fabric around the laceration on his shoulder, careful not to add too much pressure.

Ripping the other sleeve off, you did the same to the wound on his side. Satisfied with your work, you grabbed the jester's cards and shuffled them to play a game of solitaire.

Leaning forward, you started placing the cards on the ground. Not a word had been spoken since Gittarackur had come into the room.

"Fuck I lost..." you mumbled, looking down at the cards to see if you had any options. 

When you were about to pick up the cards to shuffle them again, Hisoka silently moved the five of spades to the spades' pile, revealing the ace of hearts that you needed to continue.

Slightly embarrassed for not seeing this simple move, you finished that game and went on to start another.

You won a couple games on your own, but majority of them, Hisoka quietly came in and helped you win. Actually, thanks to him you never lost.

You couldn't explain the feelings you had towards him now. It used to be anger and disgust. Being intrigued by him was always there, but during the time you had spent with him in this waiting room, you had come to realize that he wasn't who you thought he was. 

This silent comradeship had you questioning his motives. Of course, you couldn't ask him what they were as he didn't fully know himself.

He knew that when he first met you, your beauty and ominous power drew him in, making him want to fight, and ultimately beat and kill you. But now, seeing you get frustrated at the simple card game so easily, he realized that he didn't want you to not be around anymore. He did still want to fight you, and make you use your nen ability, but he couldn't see himself ending your life, watching the life drain from your eyes as you gave your all to a fight you had no hope of winning, didn't seem to turn him on like it usually does.

He was still figuring you out as he watched you walk over to Gittarackur with the deck of cards in your hand.

"Want to play crazy eights with me?" you asked the man with pins in his face.

"Ok," he bobbled.

Shuffling the cards and dealing them out, you could feel Hisoka's intent glare on your back. Trying to figure out why he was leaking a blood lust, you quickly won the round against Gittarackur.

You beat him again and again, and with the little conversation he held, you got bored and went back to where Hisoka was.

"Why didn't you ask me to play, (y/n)-chan?~" faking hurt in his voice.

"Because you always win," you said, attaining a small smile from him.

Oh how right you are, my little fruit. A creepy grin inched it's way onto his face.

"Oi. Wipe that look off your face. We're playing crazy eights," you told him, snapping him out of his daydream.

The cards having already been dealt, he picked up his hand and so did you. Going back and fourth for a while, you could tell he was going to win, so you placed the eight you had been shamelessly hiding in your sleeve from your game with Gittarackur, rendering Hisoka powerless against your tactic.

Giggling like a toddler, you said to him, "I won! Hahaha! I beat the clown at his own game!"

"But you cheated..." he pouted.

"Who said cheating wasn't allowed, my dear Hisoka-chan~?" you threw his own sickly sweet tone back at him.

The way you said his name gave a tug on his heartstrings. He hated yet welcomed the new feeling.

Grabbing the wrist of the hand you were using the pick up the cards, glee still evident on your face, he shamelessly lunged so he was on top of you, pinning you to the ground, the cards dramatically splaying out behind you.

"You should really watch your tone dear~" he spoke deeply. "It gives me all the wrong feelings..."

Sputtering, not being able to form a coherent sentence, another applicant came through the door, giving you and Hisoka an odd look, but brushing past it when Hisoka quickly glared at him.

Feeling like prey under the predator's claws, you didn't dare move a muscle. He slowly leaned more over you, reaching over top of your head, retrieving the cards from behind you. His scent invading your nose and clouding your thoughts, you waited until this painful pleasure was over.

His actions always seemed to have your heart pumping with fear, but your core filling with excitement.

Once he was finished collecting the cards, he got off of you and started playing with them again. You sat up and watched him in a dull silence. 

What is this clown doing to me?

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Eleven~

Still shackled to the wall, you aimlessly watched the two men battle it out. Well, it wasn't much of a battle if you were being honest. Hisoka was just toying with the poor man, who from what you learned of their short conversation, had been waiting and training a whole year for the sole purpose of killing the jester. It really was a pity all of his determination had to be wasted in such a short amount of time.

You watched the man throw two blades rather quickly, then watched as he threw a second pair, the first pair coming back like a boomerang. He was basically juggling the knives horizontally at the clown. How ironic... you rolled your eyes at the two males.

You could tell Hisoka was having a grand time continuously dodging the man's attacks, getting the satisfaction of the man becoming more and more frustrated.

Already bored and itching for this to be over, you called to Hisoka, "Oi! Stop playing already! My arms are getting tired!" You started swinging your arms for emphasis. 

Hisoka looked over to you and in the split second that he wasn't paying attention, two of the man's blades sliced his shoulder and his side, and you felt a twinge of guilt knowing it was partly your fault. You made a mental note to apologize for that later.

The jester already getting bored, he simply caught the blades the man was throwing, much to the man's dismay, never losing his playful demeanour. The man, now horrified, yelled in anger as his own blade decapitated him, the force of the throw also effectively blowing out the candles.

Huffing, you mumbled, "Damn, I really wanted to kill him too." 

Hisoka taking notice of this, he dropped the remaining blades and swiftly made his way over to you. At least you thought. It was pitch black in the room, and you could barely see two feet in front of you. Although you did hear the blades fall to the ground, you didn't hear Hisoka at all.

"Hisoka!" you yelled impatiently into the darkness.

"Yes, my dear (y/n)-chan?~" you heard him say from a distance. Maybe from the left?

"Get these cuffs off me, now," you said, emphasizing the 'now'.

"But that would be no fun~" you could basically hear the pout in his voice, but this time, from the right?

"I'm already not having the best time, and if you don't want to make it worse, then I suggest you get these fucking things off me," the venom leaked out of your voice.

"And what makes you think that you have any power in this situation, my dear?" he hummed, voice getting dangerously low, appearing right in front of you.

Looking up at him, an unfamiliar feeling settling in your chest. It wasn't fear, nor excitement, but something you had never felt before. You'd probably need therapy to figure out what the emotion was. 

He put his hands on the wall on either side of your head and leaned in close, breaking you out of your thoughts. His breath a sweet, subtle mint on your face, your heart's unrhythmic beating becoming very known, you tried to look anywhere but at him.

But that's the problem. He was the only thing you could see. And even if you wanted to, you knew deep down that you couldn't tear your eyes away.

Leaning down to your left ear, he softly whispered, "You're lucky I want to be first, or we'd be having a lot more fun right now." 

His words didn't reach your brain, as you were focusing too much on his lips that delicately grazed your ear, or his sent that smelled slightly of bubblegum, or how if you glanced at his arms, all you saw was toned muscle.

The chains being released from the wall, you suddenly returned to the land of the living and got your usual sarcastic composure back.

"Took you fucking long enough," you said to him, rubbing your wrists.

"Like you weren't enjoying watching me fight~" he replied, his hand finding the small of your back, guiding you out of the dark room.

Enjoying watching the fight? Not really. Stuff like that never really interested you. But, enjoying watching him? Well, there's something that was interesting. 

The way his moves all looked so planned out, like he meticulously scripted his entire life, so that things always worked to his advantage was something that you were utterly jealous of. Lost in thought, you hadn't noticed that you had reached the next challenge, Hisoka's hand still placed on your back.

It seemed that you each had to go through a door, one hot and one cold, and meet on the other side. You could deal with heat easy, but you were constantly cold. If you could, you would've chosen to go through the hot way, but you couldn't tell which was which, the two of you had to guess.

The both of you being ready, you each chose a door and hit the buttons beside them simultaneously, causing the doors to open, leading you to a small cube of a room. The door you entered through shut behind you, and the wall in front of you slowly opened, revealing the coldest metal hallway you could have ever imagined. 

What made things worse were the prisoners wearing winter gear ready to fight.

"For fucks sake..." you said as the first prisoner came rushing towards you.

Walking towards the sprinting male, you pulled your dagger and dodged his attack at the last second, slicing his throat on his way by. It was definitely your favourite method of killing.

Quickly making your way through the prisoners, you finally reached the end of the hallway, the door opening, you gladly walked through and back into room temperature.

To your left, you saw Hisoka emerge from what had to be the hot hallway, but he looked totally unfazed.

Fucking typical. You rolled your eyes and chattered your teeth. 

Shivering, there was one last door that you made your way through, which led to a large circle room, with doors all around it.

"First to pass the third phase, (y/n), number 406. Second to pass the third phase, Hisoka, number 44. Time elapsed, 6 hours and 17 minutes," an automated voice called out.

"Looks like we have time to kill, my little fruit~" Hisoka purred, looking at you deviously.

Teeth still chattering, you glared at him and walked over to sit against the wall. You were pooped.

Hisoka inviting himself over, he somehow gracefully plopped next to you, and smoothly put his arm around your shoulder, pulling your body close to his.

"Wh-at  d-d-do  yo-u-u  thin-k-k  you'r-r-re  d-d-doing?" you pathetically chattered as your arms were helplessly wrapped around yourself.

"What do you think? Your shivering is making me feel bad," he said, obviously lying.

"H-h-how  ch-ch-chivalrous," you growled, not moving away from his delicious body heat. 

With Hisoka smirking, you both waited for the rest of the applicants to finish.

This is going to be a long 66 hours...

You let your head rest on his shoulder and allowed yourself to fall asleep.

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Ten~

After giving yourself the mental stability to not lunge at Hisoka, you took in the surroundings of the third phase.

You and the rest of the applicants were gathered at the top of Trick Tower, which was basically just a prison for the most dangerous criminals. The goal was to get to the bottom.

One applicant actually tried to climb down the tower, which could have worked, but the carnivorous birds snatched the poor guy up and flew away with him.

You were with Gon, Killua, Kurapika, and Leorio, when you noticed the applicant number was slowly going down. That's when it hit you. 

We have to go through the floor!

Turning to tell them, you saw them quickly fall through the floor, leaving you on the top of the tower, with the few applicants still trying to figure out how to get into the floor.

You started to tap around with your feet on the ground, looking for a trap door, when you heard someone giggle from behind you.

You saw Hisoka, swinging your backpack around on his finger while staring at you intently with his golden eyes. 

Storming towards him, with determination to get your shit back, you squeaked as you fell through the floor, landing flat on your ass. Looking around, you saw a small pedestal with three wristbands on it. 

Suddenly, the ceiling opened up to reveal another man falling through and onto his ass as well, though he did look more graceful than you. Sighing, you decided to make the best of it.

"What's up? I'm (y/n)," you said, getting up to go shake his hand.

With your hand extended, the man just grumbled in response and turned away. 

Kinda rude.

"So I'm guessing we need to put these watch things on and wait for another person?" you asked, not really talking to him but just in general. Just as you said that, a voice coming from hidden speakers on the wall confirmed your suspicions, and explained that to get to the bottom of the tower, you needed a third party member to travel through the tower together on the choices of majority rules.

You and the man waited for about two minutes, you trying to spark up a conversation once or twice, but failing miserably until someone fell from the ceiling again, landing softly on their feet.

"Fucking finally!" you were not the patient type. Looking up to see who your saviour was, you came face to face with none other than the jester himself.

"How perfect. Just the person I needed to see~" he purred.

"Give me back my shit, you fucking clown!" the anger prominently reappearing, you lunged for your bag.

"Ah ah ah... That wasn't very nice (y/n)~" he said with a smirk, pulling the bag away, taunting you with it.

Growling, you were about to curse more at him when the man grumbled from behind, "Can we start now?" unimpressed. You stalked away and grabbed the wristband. Hisoka and the man copied, and you were given your first question. Press X to open the door, press O to keep it closed. 

You were confident. This is going to be a breeze.

Walking down the hallway that was behind the door, your trio reached the second majority rules question. A simple X for right, O for left. You chose right, and so did one other. It didn't really matter to you which way you went, but you could tell Hisoka was not happy, as his blood lust was slowly leaking from his intimidating form. After another long hallway, you ended up at a cliff edge, and at the bottom of the cliff were what had to be millions of poisonous snakes.

Looking across, you saw very spread apart platforms that went staggered to the other side. The platforms were tiny, looking like they were only meant to fit one foot. You were skeptical.

It can't be this easy, can it?

 You looked to your comrades. Hisoka was unimpressed, while the other man looked like he was about to pass out. He was sweating and deathly pale. 

Fear of snakes maybe?

Again, the man from the speakers explained how this had to be completed. Only one person was allowed to touch the small platforms, meaning you had to leave one person behind, unless there was someone who could carry the two people at once. One that would want to.

Turning to talk to your teammates, the man suddenly took action, fear evident on his face. He jumped to the first platform, and while attempting to reach the second one, missed and fell screaming into the snakes, who bit and attacked him mercilessly.

"Well that makes my life easier~" Hisoka said, swooping you up bridal style before you could oppose, and gracefully skipping from one platform to another. You weren't afraid of snakes, and you didn't doubt his abilities, but your subconscious was on the verge of a freak out. As a result, you pulled the clothes by Hisoka's chest,  heart beating fast, you looked down at the slithering mess below you.

Noticing this, Hisoka decided that he wanted to play a little, and pretended to drop you, grabbing you at the last second by your wrist. Looking down, he saw you frantically grabbing at his hand and arm, trying to pull yourself back up to the safety of his arms. It was weird, the fact that you did feel safe in his arms.

"HISOKA! IF YOU EVER PULL CRAP LIKE THAT AGAIN I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR PETTY FUCKING JOKES!" you screeched at him, as he slowly pulled you back up.

"Hehe, sorry, you must have slipped. I should be more careful huh? I do have precious cargo~" he said, leaning in close to speak softly in your ear.

Blushing furiously, you shut up and pouted as he maneuvered the rest of the way. The second both of his feet were on the other cliff edge, you jumped down and ripped your backpack off of his back and stormed away, mumbling profanities to yourself.

Not really paying attention to where you were going, you ended up in some dark room, and you somewhat noticed another presence there with you. When a cold, curved blade was suddenly pressed against your neck, the slightest movement being detrimental, you knew that there was definitely another presence in the room.

"Alright princess. Be a good girl and wait for Hisoka hmm?" the man who was holding the blade said against your neck. This made your blood boil, although you were in no position to struggle, you swallowed your pride, making a mental note to kill whoever the fuck this was the second you got the chance.

Taking a piece of your hair and playing with it, the man pulled you closer as Hisoka walked through the door, candles on the staircases on either side of you lighting up simultaneously.

So he gets the entrance and I don't? How lame.

You watched Hisoka calmly walk through the entrance, the dramatic display only heightening his ego.

You let your eyes travel around the room, seeing a pair of shackles attached to the wall, you rolled your eyes knowing what was going to come next. 

As if on queue, the man walked you over to them, the blade still pressed harshly against your neck, he gestured for you to put the first one on yourself. 

For fucks' sake. 

Lifting your arm and putting the shackle on your left wrist, you turned back to the man who quickly lifted your right arm and locked the other one.

Eyeing you up and down, he walked back to face Hisoka, who was clearly enjoying this.

You struggled against the restraints. 

I'll fucking get him for this.

[regatoni1]

~Chapter Nine~

Hisoka's POV:

This was weird. Why didn't I get excited? I saw the fear in her eyes as she collapsed, and I know she's powerful in some way. Why didn't I feel like I always do when I see that look? I didn't feel the need to kill her, I didn't get turned on, why? The second she started stumbling, I felt something I hadn't felt in a very long time, worry.

Oh (y/n), this is going to be very, very interesting. I calmly walked over to her. She was already hot and sweating, which means her body was expelling the poison quickly. In truth, the poison should have killed her the second it came into contact with her skin, and since she isn't dead, I knew that I picked a good toy to play with.

Picking her up, I took her back to the bedroom I had saved for her, this time a room with only one bed. Making sure the air conditioner was on and blasted, I closed the door behind us. Placing her down, I took off her sweatshirt so she wouldn't overheat. No, it wasn't an action done out of care, but I just didn't want to sleep next to a pool of sweat. 

After a while of playing cards, I decided to go to sleep. (y/n) hadn't moved an inch from where I put her, so there was lots of room for me to fit too.

At about four in the morning, I awoke suddenly as (y/n) rolled around, and into me. She felt icy, and was shivering terribly. Pulling her under the covers with me, I wrapped my arms around her in an attempt to warm her up, and an attempt to provoke her for when she wakes up.

(y/n)'s POV:

A pounding headache. That's all you felt as you were slammed back into consciousness. Can't I catch a break? Before you opened your eyes, you felt a weight on your side. Opening your eyes quickly, you came face to face with the clown himself.

He looked peaceful, laying there with his eyes closed, and dare you say he looked, attractive? His hair was down, the star and teardrop that were usually painted on his face were gone, revealing clear skin underneath. After a minute of gazing at him and letting your mind wander, you saw his lips curl up into a smirk.

"Like what we see, dear?~" he said devilishly, eyes still closed.

"Wha- No! I mean- I-" you sputtered out, cheeks turning red.

"It's quite alright, I'd stare too. Just don't let your thoughts wander too far... yet~" 

Eyes popping out of your head, you attempted to get out of the bed and away from the crippling embarrassment that was this morning.

Hisoka tightened his grip on your waist and pulled you close to him, your head slamming against his chest, causing a throbbing pain and creating black dots in your vision. Squeezing your eyes shut and bringing your hand up to your head, you leaned more into Hisoka, taking the opportunity to tease him.

"H- Hisoka?" you said weakly. "M- my head. It- it just hurts so much!" 

You pushed your body as close to his as you could, and wrapped your arm around his side, gauging what his reaction would be.

For a moment, he didn't do anything and you thought he was surprised. That was until he suddenly flipped you over, grabbing your wrists and holding them beside your head, shoving a knee in between your legs, his face inches from yours. For some ungodly reason, this made heat form in your core. You had to scold yourself for that later.

"Don't test me  dear~" he said, eyes rolling to the back of his head, "I don't know if you realize, but we have three hours until the third phase, and you're in a locked room with no one around! Oh the things we could do~" 

Your situation suddenly became awfully clear. Hisoka was on top of you. You were in a room alone with him. Your body was still recuperating from the damage it took last night. Nobody would wonder where you were for at least three hours. Your heart now pounding as hard as your head, you shut your eyes trying to calm yourself down and think of a plan to free yourself from whatever this was. Coming back from your thoughts, you saw Hisoka's face drop back to normal, staring into your eyes with his golden ones.

"Don't worry, my dear fruit. I'm saving you for later. I don't play with broken toys," he said, about to get off you.

This- this set you off. Who was he to have the right to say such a thing? As if he thinks your broken. As if he thinks you're a toy to be played with.

Adrenaline and anger now freely flowing through your veins, you grabbed his wrists, flipped him over, and kneed in between his legs. Hard.

"I'm not your damn toy Hisoka. What the fuck do you want from me anyway? There are much stronger people here than me. Play with those toys. Not me."

Words toxically slithering out of your mouth, you got up and stormed to the door, leaving a rather excited Hisoka lying on the bed. 

Disgusting,  you thought as you tried to open the door, realizing it was locked. You turned back to the jester, who was now on his stomach, hands intertwined and holding his chin up, legs crossed and in the air, swinging back and forth happily.

"Now what, (y/n)-chan?~"

Grumbling curses under your breath, with one powerful kick, you sent the door flying across the hallway and cracked the wall behind it.

Stomping away, you ignored the looks of the witnesses who saw the door's demise. If that clown thinks he can get away with whatever the fuck that was, he was wrong. So terribly, undeniably wrong. If I get the chance next phase, I'll kill him for making me feel that way! Shaking your head, you tried getting the thoughts of him on top of you out of your head. The thought of him at all out of your head. 

Finally arriving at the destination of the third phase, you and all the other applicants got off the airship. Still angry, you realized you left your backpack with Hisoka. Wait, and my sweatshirt? He took that shit too? Fuckkkk Your mood plummeted even further. How the hell am I supposed to get those back? They're probably still on the airshi- Your jaw dropped open as you saw Hisoka standing with Gittarackur, with your backpack on his back, a huge smirk plastered on his face.

Oh this bitch...