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orchidyoonkook · 1 year ago

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The Devil Wears Valentino | MYG

Title: The Devil Wears Valentino

Pairing: Devil!Min Yoongi x (F)!Reader

Rating//Genre: (M) | One Shot, Spooky AU, Supernatural Creatures AU, Not Quite Friends to Lovers, Age Gap, Technically Slice of Life, Angst, Smut and Fluff

Summary: Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

Warnings: language, violence, tae is a menance, drinking and alcohol, Min Yoongi as the Devil -> Lucifer Morningstar? we dont know him, mentions of murder, mentions of torture, mentions of rape -> Sal's an ass and he deserved what he got, somewhat graphic gore/horror (yoon tries her best but she's not very good at spooky), slight POV switches, one (1) mention of reader having hair, fluffy in parts,

Explicit warnings under the cut.

Word Count: 10,488

Release Date: October 31, 2023, 12:00PM

A/N 1: Ahhhh! Welcome to my very first halloween special!!! I wanted to do something for my favourite holiday this year, and I've had this title written down without a plot for maybe just over a year? So I'm really excited to finally use it!!

A/N 1.5: Thank you to my absolute darling @katykatmeow for beta'ing this for me so late in the night. I adore you so much

A/N 2: The whiskey glass and whiskey are hand drawn vectors because I'm a glutton for punishment. Why do I keep doing this to myself.

Explicit Warnings: ahaha uhhh, unprotected sex (dont be stupid) kissing, breast play, fingering, oral (f rec), groping, pet names (sickening amount), dirty talk, praise, slight degredation, hair pulling (m rec), spitting, handjob, body worship, cowgirl, from the back, missionary, a lil bit of crying, spanking, size kink, voice kink, hand kink (look, he's a lot okay, don't blame reader), sl*t/wh*re mentions, multiple orgasms, creampie, I think thats it? Yoon went a little bananas with this one.....

Slow jazz floats through the air of the club, wading around the modestly-sized venue. You’d say it was almost cozy, but with the expensive feel of the place, cozy just didn’t seem like the right word.

Intimate. That would be a better choice.

From behind the bar where you stand, to the velvet couches in the back covered by decently dressed lesser demons, piano plays alongside gentle drums. Dark navy cushions soak in their conversation of effective torture methods, discussed like stock market trends, they dissect the best way to decapitate someone so you can instill the most pain and suffering.

The answer is always with a dull knife and from the back, blindly. Never knowing when the next cut will be is half the agony.

You try not to pay attention to that though, because the only thing you need to know is that they drink Vodka Tonics and lesser demon number four’s glass is looking to be on the emptier side.

He’ll be back for another soon.

While you wait for his arrival, the rhythmic notes continue on, gliding along shiny, black floor tiles. They pass the burgundy leather booths that face the stage, full of vampires trying to relive long lost youth in the old melodies played. They turn to stone just a little bit more with every passing minute they’re forced to live, keeping no company besides the pleasant burn down their throats and ever present melancholy.

Banshees listen in from the mezzanine, only ever soft spoken when they’re here. Covered by velvet draped ceilings that dampen sounds to the outside world, the women of three distinct ages sit at tall tables. The young in heels and short dresses, proudly showing off their youth, while the elders choose more elegant wares, content as they can be in their skin, considering their blood soaked pasts.

Banshees tend to discuss privately amongst themselves, ordering walk up service so as to never mingle with the men on the floor. You can’t blame them, especially knowing how they all got here in the first place, but they’re polite when they enter, greeting you kindly despite what you are to them. The trays you bring up for them never waver from their drink of choice, The Irish Sour.

And then there are the Djinn, who come in mostly just to pass the time. Sitting by themselves at the bar, or in no more than groups of two at a far table, they never interact with anyone other than the bartender or themselves. Djinn are increasingly solitary creatures of the night, with the fear of their kind lessening in mortals, you’re starting to see less and less of them as the days pass, and you’re almost sad to see them go.

Djinn are your favourites. They come in, order, keep to themselves, and then leave. It’s a nice change from the usual light conversation you’re forced to keep with patrons. Plus their orders are always easiest, as they only drink virgin. It’s a bit of a blow to the bar aspect of the establishment, but they come for the atmosphere, grateful to have a place they can exist with like minded folk—even if they don’t interact. There’s a comfort in familiarity, you guess.

Occasionally some other creatures of the night mix into the masses; fae, chimera, leprechauns, goblins, et cetera. All dressed in their nicest clothes to accommodate your work's dress code, all here for peace from their day jobs, to drown their sorrows, or somewhere in between.

Some come for an hour, others come for the night, but it’s mostly just your regulars who tend to remain, as do their drink orders. It’s a relatively easy job, and you don’t mind the company.

Most of the time.

You’ve just finished serving the lesser demon from earlier when your coworker bugs you for the hundredth time tonight.

“I don’t get why you're so hellbent on this, Y/N. If you’re closing, he’s coming. Because he always comes when you're closing. It’s simple math.”

“No he doesn't,” you dismiss Taehyung, a cocky but rather beautiful incubi, annoyedly. Taehyung is the type that knows he’s pretty and uses it to his every advantage, including being able to say whatever he wants and get away with it. And it would piss you off except it works on you too.

Fucking incubi demons…

You were one of only two mortal bartenders, the other being Lia, a cute blond who only works here for the tips. The boss likes to keep a couple humans on staff in case any wanderers stupid enough to come inside a den of nocturnal, evil creatures didn’t catch the vibe and immediately fuck off.

You’d be surprised at how shitty some people's self preservation instincts are.

You asked your boss once—a very large, very well built, very well connected vampire—why he bothered having a layer of protection for them. His only response was: “Business is business.”

Plus he knows he can’t have a trail of bodies that lead directly to his club's front steps, so he keeps a couple of mortals around just in case. This way, with you two here, there was always someone who knew all the drinks the humans could have, and someone to keep all the greedy eyes around the venue in check, as you have banning and kicking out privileges.

Because where you saw Kin, your regulars saw food, a hunt, or a job. They saw something to be taken advantage of or killed. They saw poor, weak, pathetic little mortals that should’ve been eradicated centuries ago had their ancestors been smarter.

They are the superior beings in their eyes, your race is just a bug to be squashed under their proverbial boot.

It makes you worry what they think of you. Is the only thing that stops them from devouring you whole the fact that you make their drinks just the way they like it, that you have a use in serving them? Or do they respect you enough now that you understand how to act around them and know what they’re like? What they are.

You worry, but you’ll never know the truth because you aren’t stupid enough to ask and show weakness. They can smell that shit from a mile away, and all it does is paint a 30 foot wide target on your back.

“Yes he does. I bet you tonight's tips he’ll be here in the next two hours,” Taehyung presses.

And ooohh, a night’s worth of tips, bragging rights, and winning a bet against Tae all sound way too good damn to pass up.

“You’re delusional,” you say, holding out a hand. Tae grabs and shakes, as you agree to his terms. “And you’re on, don’t come crying when you lose.”

There’s no way he’ll show up. It’s Friday night, the night of sin, he’s going to be up to his eyeballs with work…stuff.

“Easiest money I’ve ever made,” Taehyung grins, and with the confidence in which he does, you begin to second guess your own.

It’s not that you did or didn’t want him to show up, it’s just that your relationship with him is…complicated at best. You never really knew how to navigate a conversation with him outside of surface level banter and jokes, but it’s always been like that with you two.

Having known him for years—from a small mistake on your behalf, and a favour on his—you’re one of the only people he seems to be able to put up with for company. Certainly the only one he’s half-way decent with. But what’s more surprising to you is that despite his name, reputation, and the fact he’s always joked he’d have killed anyone else by this point, is that he’s never once tried to cause you harm.

Actually, he’s almost…protective of you. In his own weird way.

And obnoxiously flirty.

But you could never. Not with who and what you are, and who and what he is.

Regardless of how you fight the heat down in your cheeks every time you see him, and how your heart flutters against your will in multiple places in your body at even the thought of being near him.

Regardless of the fact that you shut him down every time he suggests anything more than an over the bar conversation, and the way your panties seem to always dampen in his presenc–fuck.

It’s happening again. Stop thinking about it, stop, stop st–wait. You turn, seeing the violet ichor in Tae’s eyes and you know the bitch is using his power on you. You flip the asshole off and he chuckles.

He’s been trying to get you to change your mind ever since the first time he saw you deny yourself.

“You know I can tell when you’re hot and bothered right? Incubus, remember? It’s literally part of who I am.”

To which you think again, fucking incubi…

Your most infamous regular is, to quote your favourite tv show, ‘the bane of your existence and the object of all your desires,’ and you will never, ever entertain his annoying, disgustingly hot ass more than you already do. Not after everything you went through the first—and last—time with a creature of the night.

You learned your lesson.

So instead, you try to think of him more like an old friend. The kind that’s actually really old already, but looks amazing for his age. The kind that makes shivers run up your spine when he talks to you in the deepest, most gravel turning voice you’ve ever heard, that you also ignore out of pure self preservation. He’s the kind that you shove out of your thoughts at night when your alone and in desperate need of relie—Fucking Taehyung!

You whip your head around to search for the violet eyed incubus, only to see him across the bar helping some stocky vampire. And you’re about a hair's breadth away from ripping him a new one in front of said vampire when the idle hum of chatter in the bar ceases and the band’s calming music falters into missed notes and a cymbal crash that's too hard; awkward, painful silence remaining.

From behind you, you can hear the front door close, followed by light footsteps that grow louder and louder. Only once the seat directly behind you creaks with the sound of being occupied, does the chatter and music resume.

Which can only mean one fucking thing.

You just lost all your tips for the night.

Tae’s shit eating grin as he looks over your shoulder confirms it.

Fuck.

“Excuse me,” the bottom of the ocean floor speaks and you make a conscious effort not to react.

“Ardbeg Single Malt, neat?” You throw over your shoulder, not bothering to look just yet.

You know precisely where he sits. And he knows you know.

“Sounds perfect,” he responds, and you focus on ‘looking for the bottle.’

You know exactly where it is.

No one else will touch it.

Taehyung busies himself with bringing an order of Bloody Mary’s down to a booth on the floor, knowing he’ll be burned alive if he so much as looks at a whiskey glass.

No one serves him but you.

But more importantly, nobody disrespects you in front of him. A lesson your ex–see: dead–coworker, Sal, learned the hard way. His burn mark is still seared onto the floor behind you.

You’d almost felt bad that day, but he was a lust demon who touched you without your permission, hit on you every five minutes, and when you said no, treated you like shit.

You’d been close to dousing him with vodka and lighting him up yourself, but the man tapping his fingers on the bar behind you beat you to it 15 seconds after sitting down one night last year.

After shoving Sal off you for the fourth time that night, he was pissed. Whispering obscenities to himself loud enough so you would hear,

“Fucking stupid mortal bitch, maybe next time I’ll just drag you into an alley do whatever the fuck I want. Nobody here’s going to stop me. And maybe then you’ll learn to shut up with this dick in your cunt and my fingers down your throat, huh? Leave you to rot with the garbage where you belong after you’re all used up.”

He didn’t take another breath.

A single burst of blistering flame had Sal reduced to ashes in seconds. You’d felt the heat from it, but your skin remained burn free, safe from its dangerous blaze. The lust demon from then on only existed as a smudge on the ground to be walked over.

“Thanks,” You’d said.

“It’s where he belongs,” he responded.

Grateful for his kindness, you entertained him more than usual that night. Engaged in an actual conversation, about your birthday of all things. You had no idea why he wanted to know, but you considered the information his reward for helping you, and he seemed pleased with it.

But he was more than pleased.

After years, you’d revealed something to him. Something personal.

He took it as a sign that he might be able to get you to change your mind one day, if he did everything just right. Having played the long game before, this was no different. The only thing different this time, was you.

Maybe it was the way you walked with such confidence, or the way you never cowered in fear around him. Not the day you met nor any day after. Or maybe you were sent by his father just to mess with his head. He didn’t care. All he knew was what he wanted, and that he was more than willing to wait as long as was needed to get it.

A nursery rhyme from your childhood plays in your head every time you see him. It never wavers, just like the eyes you can feel on the back of your neck, watching your experienced hands make his drink.

Quietly, you recite it to yourself while you grab the bottle;

‘One for sorrow,

Two for joy,

Three for a girl,

Four for a boy,

Five for silver,

Six for gold,

Seven for a secret never to be told.’

You pour, steady hand making it last as long as you possibly can to gain a few more seconds to compose yourself.

‘Eight for a wish,

Nine for a kiss,

Ten a surprise you should be careful not to miss,

Eleven for health,

Twelve for wealth,’

You put the bottle down and cork it before returning it to its place on the shelf. Taking a deep breath, you turn to finally face him, and change the wording of the last line to fit your situation better.

“One Ardbeg Single Malt neat, for the Devil himself.”

He snickers, “I always liked that nursery rhyme. It’s cute. Like you, Angel.”

You roll your eyes. To anyone else that would sound like a compliment. But coming from the Devil it’s more of an insult. One you know is meant in a playful way after all these years, crass in his humour, just like you. And you know he can take a little heat back.

“Wow, that’s a classic,” you grab a glass to polish, keeping your hands busy so they don’t do something stupid while you’re distracted. “Got one of those for you too, ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?’”

He chokes on a laugh before straightening on the barstool and putting on a face. “I don’t think that joke’s appropriate.”

“Oh come on Yoongi, you come at me with ‘It’s cute, like you, Angel’ and I can’t poke back?” You ask, knowing full well his uncomfortable look is all an act. “I thought you didn’t have any feelings besides rage, lust and currently; insufferable flirting.”

You know the entire club listens in to your conversation.

No one calls the Devil by his first name.

Nobody speaks to the Devil unless spoken to.

And no one makes jokes at the Devil’s expense and lives.

No one except you.

What a funny little exception you are.

Yoongi drops the act, a sly smirk that sends bubbles to your brain, replacing it. “So you admit my flirting isn’t always bad. Must be doing something right then.”

You force yourself not to slam a palm into your forehead. Of course that’s what he got out of your sentence.

You aren’t going to make his ego any bigger than it already is.

“It isn’t working,”—fuck, yes it is—“if that’s what you’re asking. Can’t say I��m surprised though, I hear you’ve been out of the game for a couple millenia,” he quirks a brow at that.

Ooo, that means you’re nearing thin ice, haven't been there in a while…Let’s see if you can slide around a bit more without falling in.

“I mean, I’m sure you’ll get there eventually. If you stay consistent at your current rate of progress you could hit me up in,” you suck air in through your teeth and look at the ceiling, before checking a watch you don’t wear, pretending to think, “a thousand years?” You tease, a lilt in your tone. Because if Yoongi was going to make your shift this fucking difficult just by breathing near you, then you sure as Hell can do the same for his night.

He chuckles like the coals of a fire and you cross your legs behind the bar. Motherfucker…

“Someones got a mouth on them tonight,” he says, looking directly into your eyes as he takes his first sip, savouring the taste before swallowing. His tongue dips to his bottom lip for any remnants and you gulp, vision dropping for a millisecond—oh for the love of—and you finally notice what he’s wearing.

Much to your dismay and dwindling willpower, he looks fucking good. With only a white scarf to accent, the all black Valentino suit fits in perfectly with the bar’s dress code, as well as the long slicked back hair he’s only recently started to grow out. Just seeing it like this makes you want to run your hands through and mess it up.

You’ve always had a thing for men with long hair, ever since you were young.

Jack Sparrow, Madmartigan, even The Winter Soldier. And come to think of it, none of them were exactly the good guys in their respective universes either…

Nope! No. You can’t. You can’t.

You can’t for so many reasons, so many good and bad and everything in between reasons. You’re nothing more than a flimsy human while he’s the Great Immortal Evil. The person people whisper the name of for fear of incurring his wrath.

The King of Hell.

He’s the person that walks into a room and everyone balks under his gaze, terrified of what he may do. He’s killed millions with no mercy. Doesn’t so much as think twice to horrifically burn someone where they stand to ash in hellfire for breathing the wrong way near him. He lavishes in the screams of sinners, punished in their own blood and bones, beaten into a shell of who they were in the nine circles of Hell. Left gaping, broken and sobbing in agony for their suffering to end.

Yoongi is walking nightmares and visceral terror. He is merciless violence and brutality abandon.

Yoongi is living, breathing, unyielding death wrapped up in deceivingly beautiful packaging.

He is the epitome of someone you should not like, should not go near, and definitely should not want in the way the thrumming in your bones is telling you, you want him.

You have to stay away from him.

But that doesn’t mean you can’t flirt back a little.

As salaciously as you can muster, you whisper low, “But it’s nothing you can’t handle,” and you swear you see a hint of surprise in Yoongi’s eyes, followed by something so much deeper that you have to look away under the guise of checking for any newcomers.

It’s a dangerous game you’re playing. One you need to move the pieces of very, very carefully.

There’s a handful of people waiting to be served, but none disturb Yoongi’s service. So you’re forced and relieved to cut the interaction short. For both the waiting patrons, and your sanity.

“Enjoy the whiskey, Yoongi.”

Yoongi doesn’t bother you for the rest of the night, instead he watches you help the other patrons and make drinks. No one dares sit within three seats of him on either side, so the booths and tables fill more than the bar does, forcing you to do more tray work than you like. And you think you can feel those eyes on the back of your neck travel elsewhere.

Soon after he takes his last sip, Yoongi leaves far too much cash on the table to cover a single drink, and you know Tae won’t include it in tonight's bet. He rather enjoys being alive.

The first time he did this you tried to give it back, insisting it was too much. But one threat to Tae’s life had you accepting the outrageous amount he left you every time. Despite how much he gets on your nerves, you rather enjoy Taehyung's company on your shifts. And you didn’t want to risk having a new coworker like Sal again.

Thank you, Yoongi. You silently think to yourself every time he does. His tips are one of the only reasons you’re able to take care of yourself so well.

You live in an apartment you should not be able to afford on a bartender's wage. Eat well, buy all the brand name products for the skin care routine you could only dream of having as a teenager, and you’re able to get yourself a little treat every once in a while.

All thanks to the one man the world claimed was the purest entity of evil there was.

And maybe he is.

But not to you.

The rest of your night, and closing go smoothly. The journey home passes by in a flash and soon you’re flopping into your bed, asleep before you hit the pillow.

You dream of Yoongi and Hellfire and things only your subconscious will let you. The thoughts that you force away every time you see him.

The burn of his hands on your skin and his lips on your neck. The warmth that spreads over your entire body at the mere mention of your name from his lips. His tongue in places you wouldn’t dare allow him to even think about in the waking world.

And you wake from an orgasm he wasn't in the waking world to give you.

It’s the last Saturday in October, which means it’s also your birthday.

You found it rather funny that the one person the Devil could stand to conversate with was born on his night. Maybe that’s coincidence or maybe that’s fate, either way you didn’t care, because you had it booked off work and you were going to a bar and dancing with your friends, dressed up in the sluttiest costumes you could find.

Your recent visit with your birthday's namesake inspired your costume this year. Wearing the shortest, blood red leather dress you could find, the slits up the sides ran almost to your hips, and a corseted waist that made you feel sexy and fierce. You’d paired it with some velvet horns, a tail, pitchfork, crimson lace stockings and your most recent edition; red bottomed strappy stilettos.

They’d been your birthday present to yourself, courtesy of Yoongi’s most recent tip. And needless to say, you felt hot as shit. No one could tear you down tonight.

All your friends met at your house before ridesharing down to a club. It’s loud, hazy, and filled with other Devil’s Night party goers as you arrive, smoke lingering in the air and you can feel the wave of dancing coming from further inside.

Someone buys you your first round within a minute of being let in, lemon drop filling your taste buds as you knock back the shot. Another is ordered immediately after the first, it runs smoother and tastes like chocolate as you make your way to the dance floor.

Aside from you, your friends are dressed up as a wild mix of characters. Rey is dressed as Daphne from Scooby Doo, Yaejin is Nezuko from Demon Slayer, Bryce is a gender bent Legolas from Lord of the Rings, Declan is Donatello from the Ninja Turtles, Cam is a ghost, and Trin is a character from a book you’ve never read. Something about dragons and magic and vermin—or was it venin? Whatever. But they were in all black and had used silver hair spray on the tips of their hair.

You let the alcohol make its way through your veins as you dance, loosening up. The DJ mixes songs together in a way that never has the crowd thinning out and you laugh as you move with your friends, swaying and rocking and grinding.

You needed this.

A night out just to let go, have fun, forget everything and hopefully get lucky by the end of it. It’s been a while since you’ve taken anyone to bed, and birthday sex sounds amazing the more the lemon drop, and what you finally learned was a tootsie roll shot, settle into your system.

You aren’t drunk by any means, but you are buzzed and having a blast. An orgasm sounds like the only thing that could possibly make this night any better. So you make your way around the dance floor, keeping one eye open for any potentials, but mostly just dancing with Rey and Cam. The others either grabbing another drink back at the bar or resting their legs in a booth.

“Babe,” Rey says, hands around your neck with Cam behind you, hands on your hips. You all sway to the beat of the admittedly sensual song playing.

“Yeah?” You ask, opening your eyes to meet hers and she leans in closer.

You can hear the smile on her lips, “Major tall, dark and handsome at 9 o'clock has been eyeing you for at least a half hour. I say you ditch me and Cam and go enthrall the man with your company for a little while. We’ll be fine on our own.”

Heating at her words you’re excited to see who’s gone and done half your job for you tonight when your eyes stop dead on target.

In a private booth in the VIP section, blending in far too well with the mortals around him, he wears a button down black satin top and dress pants. Thick silver links adorn his neck, complimenting the hoops in his lobes as well as the mouth watering rings on his fingers and you’re quite sure the bottoms of his black leather shoes match the red of your own.

Yoongi.

God he looks good. Unfairly so. And he carries that knowledge with him in his movement. His confidence never wavering like a mortal’s would.

Aside from two twisting black horns you’ve never seen before protruding from his deliciously tousled hair—hair you still want to pull on until he’s making sounds no ones ever heard come out of his mouth before, now moreso than ever—Yoongi is a darker version of yourself.

Except for him, it isn’t a costume, it’s real, real, real.

And he looks like sin incarnate.

Fitting.

Fuck, you’re so screwed. What were all those reasons it could never work again? The ones that explain why you shouldn’t take the Devil home and let him fuck you into next Sunday?

Suddenly, you can’t remember any of them. Not when Yoongi’s eyes never leave your red-clad form as he sips on what you know to be subpar whiskey. Your core melts into lava at the way he looks up and down, taking all of you in like you’re the one thing on this planet he needs to survive, and he’ll stop at nothing and spare absolutely no one until he gets you.

Rey gives Cam a look and their hands drop, allowing you to almost float over to where Yoongi lounges, maneuvering between bodies undulating to music that’s being deafened by the heartbeat in your ears.

When you reach him, you leave a somewhat respectable distance between you two, a step down from the dias the booth sits on.

Seeing him so much clearer now, you almost whine. How does he look even better up close? You want to sit on his lap, his face, have him bend you over the table then flip you over and feast like a man starved.

Fuck! No, you can’t. And you also can’t blame Tae for those thoughts either, he isn’t here.

They were all you.

Maybe his plan was working after all…

“What are you doing here?” You manage, grateful that you hadn’t had more to drink, but even more grateful for the ones you did. You needed a little liquid courage right now, even if it turned your thoughts into gutter sewage.

What he doesn’t know can’t hurt you…right? You just have to keep a lid on it. The one that’s loosening the more you look at him.

“It’s your birthday,” he says, producing a small black box wrapped with a bow. “I have a gift.”

He…he got you a present? He’s never done that before. But then again, before last year, he never knew when it was.

“You remem—I—you didn’t have to get me anything,” you stutter ungracefully, mouth trying to keep up with your racing thoughts. “I already got these shoes with the tip you left me last time,” you say, extending your leg to show off your newest purchase. The action reveals more leg than you meant it too and he catches the garter you have pulled around your thigh.

A fire ignites in his eyes at the sight, and you can feel their sparks everywhere he looks. Starting at your toes and moving all the way up back to your pretty irises.

“I’m flattered by the way,” he says. “In your costume choice.”

Huh? You look down and heat rises to your cheeks in a way it never has before. Oh fuck, oh fuck. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

Here you stand, before the actual Devil—horns out in all their glory—dressed as him on his namesake night.

Of course this would happen to you, of course it would. This is what you get for fucking around. You found out. And you don’t know whether to be mortified, beg for forgiveness, or laugh yourself hoarse.

Going with none of the above, you choose to play it off instead, the way you always do when he manages to fluster you. “Consider me inspired by how recently I last saw you,” you say, taking the single step up the dias and twirling for him.

You show every angle of your costume you can, letting the booze in your system do its job of making you more confident than you currently are.

“What do you think?”

Yoongi stands, taking the two strides needed to be face to face with you, his voice is quiet and even, so only you can hear.

“May I touch?”

You don’t hesitate.

“Yes.”

Yoongi reaches behind you and pulls the fake tail from the back of your dress, then the pitchfork from your grasp and throws them into the booth, not caring where they land.

“Mmm,” he hums, placing his hands on your hips and spinning you once more. Lightning strikes every single nerve ending where his fingertips meet your body.

This time when he speaks, his voice is touched with the bit of demon that’s inside of him, dragging its claws along the floor of the 9th circle of Hell as he growls, “You’re perfect.”

Your heart does backflips and cartwheels and nose dives all at once. You’ve never heard him sound like that before, and if your panties weren’t wet before, they definitely are now.

Tugging gently, he guides you to the booth, sitting first before dragging you over his lap, knees meeting his hips. One of his hands rests on your thigh while the other reaches for something you can’t be bothered to figure out because oh my god, oh my god, you’re straddling him. Your straddling the Devil, dressed as the devil and probably already looking semi-fucked out while you do. This is probably a bad idea—no. This is definitely a bad idea. But you also have absolutely zero plans to stop literally anything that’s happening.

The gift box makes a reappearance, and he hands it over to you.

“Thank you,” you say automatically, trying and failing to ignore the fact that both of his hands now rest on your thighs. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck…..

Undoing the little black bow, you open it, revealing a delicately simple necklace. Its light weight chain holding a small pink stone pendant.

Beautiful.

“Pink Tourmaline,” Yoongi says.

“My birthstone,” you reply.

“Your birthstone.”

You stare at the little crystal, cut and polished to perfection. Not a single flaw.

“Yoongi I—I don’t know what to say. It’s incredible…Thank you,” you take it out of the box, profoundly grateful you decided not to wear a necklace tonight. “Could you help me put it on?”

“Of course, Angel,” he agrees. But this time when he says your nickname, it’s different. Like an unholy vow made only to you.

Makes you wonder what he promised.

Regretfully removing yourself from his lap, you turn around, only to be dragged back down by strong fingers.

Your ass is now flush against his dick, and it’s taking everything in you not to tease. Whether you’d be teasing him or yourself, you don't know, nor do you care. All you know is that friction can be a good thing if you want it to be. And you're starting to want it to be.

Lifting your hair for him, Yoongi fastens the necklace around your column, and to your complete and utter doom, places a gentle kiss at your nape. The simple contact makes you quietly moan, and you feel a twitch under you.

Ohhh, this is bad, this is so bad. But you can’t bring yourself to stop him. Not when his hands roam up and down your back, your sides, your hips. Exploring, feeling, learning. You dissolve into the touch, welcoming every whisper of pleasure they bring.

What is he doing to you?

“Angel,” Yoongi purrs in your ear.

“Mmm?”

“Would you like to dance?”

Fuck would you ever, but wait—

“Are you asking me if I’d like to Dance with the Devil?” you muse.

Yoongi chuckles lowly, understanding the meaning behind your ask.

“Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Yes.”

You feel more than hear the dark rumble coming from his chest before he gently taps on your thigh. And you get up quickly.

“That’s a good girl,” he says, and fuck could you ever get used to him saying that to you.

Fingers laced in his, he lets you guide him to the dance floor.

Both of you ignore what the DJ plays, instead moving to the rhythm you feel like. Slow, sensual, a hand on his neck while you grind into him. Fast and heated, bodies touching any and every place you can get contact. You’re putting on quite the show for anyone brave enough to watch. And you know at least a handful of the eyes you feel on you are your friends’.

They don’t know about Yoongi.

They don’t know about the nature of the clientele at your job either, like every other human. They don’t know you're dancing with the most dangerous and volatile man in the room. And it’s better that way, because if they did, your ass would’ve been hauled out of the club and in a rideshare the second anyone saw him.

You’ve never been more thankful for the figurative wall between worlds. And the fact that you stand on both sides.

You brush up against his hardening dick and fuck, that’s it.

You’ve decided.

To hell with your reasons. To hell with the constant flirting and overuse of will power.

To hell with letting your anxieties and your moral compass and your conscience get in the way of the one thing you’ve been denying yourself for years.

You spin in Yoongi’s hold, looking straight into the darkened eyes of the most forbidden man you could ever want for yourself, only to see pure desire staring right back. It’s all you need before you’re crashing your lips to his, taking anything and everything you can get before one of you comes to your senses and pulls back.

But his grip on you tightens like a vice, pulling you closer, bodies flush amidst the dancing crowd. He’s magnetic in his want, lifting a hand to the back of your neck and tracing the seam of your lips with his tongue.

You let him in without hesitation and he nearly swallows you whole with how he invades your mouth, claiming it for himself. It makes you moan and he lets up, if only to let you breathe for a moment, and you take this reprieve to whisper in his ear, finally giving in to what you crave more than anything.

“Let’s go to yours.”

“We should go to yours, Angel, mine’s a bit harder to get to.”

Because his is on another plane of existence. Not exactly a taxi ride away. At least not one you can get at the curb of the club.

“Riiight.” A small dose of water washes over the fire in your core, and it’s like he can sense it because immediately, he’s pulling you back in. Nothing but teeth and lips and tongue, animalistic in the passion you’re displaying for everyone to see, the flames increasing tenfold.

Fuck, you don’t want to wait.

And apparently neither does Yoongi.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Yes, but what does tha–”

“Close your eyes for me, Love.”

Any and all arguments fade on your tongue at the new pet name. So much warmer than Angel, so much more affectionate.

So you close your eyes for him, no questions asked. Because you trust him. You trust the Devil.

You trust Yoongi.

“That's a good girl.”

One hand goes to the back of your neck, the other your lower back as he kisses you gently. So gently you think it means something more, but the sounds of the club are fading away, and he’s leaning you down like he’s going to dip you before your back meets something soft.

Are you closer to a booth than you thought? Is he really going to take you here in front of all those people?

But when you open your eyes and your bedroom at your apartment fills your vision, you stiffen immediately.

What?

“I—but we were just—and now we’re he—and you—,” you stutter, amazed and unable to get the thoughts out fast enough before another takes its place. You manage a, “How?” and he catches on.

Not halting his actions, “Consider it a job perk,” he explains, nipping at your neck. You let out a groan as he continues his way down your column towards your chest and you relax into his touch.

“Teleportation, in simple terms, but it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Despite his mouth on your skin, you somehow find the clearness of mind to ask, “Did anyone see?” Thinking about your friends and the potential hundreds of onlookers.

Yoongi’s hands rest at top of the zipper that goes the entire length of your dress, allowing for both easy putting on and quick removal. Fingers tug gently on the slider, eyes meeting yours for consent. You nod, and he answers your question as he drags it down your body torturously slow, savouring every moment he’s worked so hard to get.

He’s going to earn this privilege you’ve given him, if it's the last thing he does.

“No. And your friends won’t worry either.”

You don’t care how he knows that, not when he’s pulling off hot leather and devouring your curves with coal burning pupils. The cool air of your room causes goosebumps to rise everywhere, and your arms fly to your head, covering your eyes as you’re reminded you’d forgone a bra tonight.

There was no room for one without it squishing your tits too much and ruining the look. So with your dress gone, Yoongi has a front row seat to your nearly nude form, a blood red lace thong the only thing keeping you semi-decent.

Years of pining and denial have led up to this moment and Yoongi almost doesn’t know where to start now that he finally has you exactly where he wants you. That feeling doesn’t last long though.

Wasting no more time, he takes a breast into his palm, squeezing and massaging while he lowers himself to the other, lapping the nipple of the one neglected. His tongue swirls over the pert bud, sucking it into his mouth fully and you arch into his touch, reveling in the warmth he spreads across your chest. Hands reaching for the sheets above your head for something to ground you.

“Shit,” you can already feel your pulse in your ears, thundering behind your sternum, and booming lower. He’s barely touched you and you’re already so gone.

He switches his hand and mouth, soothing the other breast with the sinful muscle he’s teased you with after all these years drinking whiskey. And by god if you don’t immediately think what it could do in other places. He’s had thousands of years to practice and the gush you feel in your panties lets you know exactly how you feel about the idea.

Using his free hand, Yoongi traces down your back, rounding your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you hiss in pleasure before settling on the back of your thigh.

You can barely stand having his hands so close to your molten heat without having any contact, and it leaves you begging, “Please…Please…”

You feel the curve of his lip quirk as teeth gently scrape the sensitive bud, gasping when he pulls off.

“Please what, Love?”

“More,” you pant. “Please. Anything. Everything. Please just touch me.”

“Mmm,” he’s back at your neck, inhaling your scent, one hand still on your thigh while the other holds him up by your ear. “Pretty Girl has manners after all, huh?”

“Oh fuck you.” you bristle, but it seems to be the reaction he’s looking for. A deeper, sluttier part of you awakening at the words you want to prove both wrong and right.

“There she is.”

Diving back into your neck, Yoongi trails wet, open mouthed kisses down, down, down. And even though you’ve never been so wet, so in the moment, and so unbelievably turned on before, the human part of you wins for a second, as you try to close your legs.

They’re pulled back open in an instant, his eyes never wavering from yours as he says, “Don’t you dare get shy on me now,” a kiss to your inner thigh. And then the other as he kneels before you.

Yoongi places each foot on either of his shoulders and you’re surprised he’s kept on your garter, stockings and red bottoms, their heels digging into his flesh. You wonder if that hurts at all, but by the way his eyes flutter and almost roll into the back of his head at the pressure they place on his frame, you think he actually likes their sting.

“You’re the most exquisite creature I have ever seen. Absolutely no part of you could ever be undesirable to me.”

His earnest tone makes you believe him, convinces you, and you’re once again pliant in his hold, opening up for him.

“Look at me,” he says, and you do. You stare directly at the Devil between your thighs. The King knelt before your lowly mortal form. “You are the most powerful person in this room, understand?”

You nod, but that’s not good enough for him.

“I need to hear it.”

“I understand.”

“Understand what?” He pushes.

“I’m the most powerful person in this room,” and it feels bold to say in front of him. But watching the way Yoongi’s expression fills with pride makes it also feel good. He wants you to feel like you’re the one in charge.

“Remember that,” he says, before ripping your underwear off and throwing them on the floor, feasting his now wholly black eyes on the sight of your dripping pussy.

The more he loses himself in you, the more of his true form reveals itself.

“Fuuuckk,” he whispers more to himself than anything. “So wet…”

Your core is tormented and throbbing at the back and forth between the cold night air and Yoongi’s hot breath and you whine, “I just bought those!”

He spares you one completely unsympathetic look.

“Don’t care. I’ll buy you more,” a deliciously ringed finger slides along your drenched folds and you’re gasping. “I’ll buy you the entire fucking store if it means I get to see you like this.”

Your voice is airy as you give in, any and all outrage gone. “Oka—ohhh!”

His mouth is on your cunt before you can breathe in the oxygen you so desperately need. He’s not holding back and your movements are not your own as you squirm. An arm rounds your pelvis holds you down, keeping you there as he devours you whole and shows you no mercy.

“Fuck, fuck, oh my god Yoongi,” you cry out, having never felt anything like this before. His tongue circles your clit as he sucks, then glides down, penetrating your opening with thrusts that make you lightheaded.

Your hands fly to his locks, pulling and pushing him down further until you're pretty sure you’re drowning him in you. Your fingertips graze his horns and it’s just a reminder that this man is definitely not human. Definitely not someone you should be letting suck your soul out through your pussy. And that makes this whole situation that much hotter.

If he minds where you touch, he doesn’t say anything about it, only groaning as he repeats his motions to get you near your peak, again and again and again until you're quaking against your will and your body is vibrating with every throb from your core.

Every single nerve ending you have is awake and being put to good use, he’s making sure of it. The dam that holds your release is starting to crumble and you don’t know how much longer you can last like this before you’re screaming bloody murder under his grip.

“Yoon…Yoongi—fuck,” you stutter, staggered breaths from your trembling chest loose as you try to verbalize, “C-close. S-so close.”

He hums, and teases a finger around your entrance, circling a few times before pressing in and up to your g-spot. The simple action undoes you and you're coming with a force you can’t even begin to describe. The waves crash down, over and over and you're moaning and cursing his name at the same time, knowing it’s going to be the only one you’ll think of in this situation from now until forever.

He guides you through the last shockwaves as you come down, and when you’re too sensitive for him to continue, you drag him up to your lips, tasting his efforts on your tongue.

“Need you now,” you rush out between kisses.

“Not yet, Love,” he says, pulling back just enough to reach a hand between the two of you.

He slips two fingers inside and swallows the resulting moan from your lips as he goes so deep enough you can feel his rings proding your opening.

“Gotta stretch you out for me first.”

Your hands are back in his hair, nails scratching the nape of his neck as he begins to scissor you open expertly. He growls into your neck at the sensation and that confirms your suspicions of him liking a little pain with his pleasure. So you scratch further down his neck, onto his shoulders and back and you dig a heel into his thigh.

“Fuck, Angel,” fingers stuttering for a second. “Don’t do that unless you want me to come right now.”

“And if I do?”

“Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because the first time I come, it’ll be with you around my cock, soaking the sheets with your own.”

Head rolling back, his words going straight to your clit. “Fuck, okay.”

“Now give me another one, Pretty Girl,” he says, picking up speed with his digits. “I know you can, pretty little slut takes my fingers so well.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You can feel it coming this time, building and building. He uses his thumb to rub over your sensitive nub and it has you unraveling under him, screaming out and almost sobbing at the convulsions your body makes. He takes your mouth with his again, consuming your pleasure in every form he can get.

And once you come down, you’ve had it. If you don’t have him inside you within the next 2 minutes you’re going to lose it.

Ripping at his shirt, you're fumbling with the buttons. “Fuck, take this off, and those,” you say, abandoning his shirt for his belt.

Yoongi chuckles, low and sinful, “Bossy,” but gets up, and begins removing the outfit that got you into this situation in the first place. You take off the remnants of your costume as he spares you no peace of mind, the way you did him, taking off his pants and boxers in one go, freeing his mouth watering bulge from its earthy confines.

“Oh fuck me,” you say at his size. He’s big, girthy and you’ve never wanted someone inside you so badly before.

Yoongi smirks as he crawls over you, but you stop him with a hand. “Wait,” you throw a leg over his hip, and flip the two of you so you’re on top. “Let me do this.”

“Whatever you want, Angel.”

Picking up his cock, it sits heavy in your hand as you give him a couple strokes. He hisses at the contact and it only spurs you on, gathering as much saliva as you can, you open your mouth to spit, rubbing it all over his shaft and head, mixing it with the precum dribbling out of the tip.

“Fuck—”

Your 2 minutes are up. Lifting your ass, you guide yourself onto him.

“Oh my fuck, oh fuck,” you say as you slide down slowly, the stretch still very much there as he bottoms out. “Big—ohh, shit—so big.”

Yoongi’s not faring much better, eyebrows pressed together, but eyes devouring the spot where your bodies meet. His breathing is so laboured you’d think he just ran a marathon.

“So tight, Love...Fuck, look at you.”

The delicious sting subsides and you start to move, slow but purposeful thrusts that have him kissing your cervix every time. Fuck he’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been. And once you get a rhythm going there’s no stopping you. You become a force of nature as you bounce on his cock without abandon, taking this for yourself. You don’t know why, but you feel like you have a point to prove and by god you’re going to make it.

Because if the Devil chose you, you’re going to make damn sure he doesn’t regret it.

“Fuck, fuck you’re doing so good,” he rasps, throwing his head back into the pillows, eyes shut in pure bliss, murmuring. “Feels so good.”

His praise pushes you farther, riding harder, grinding your clit against his pelvis, owning both your pleasures.

You’re the most powerful person here.

You are the one in control despite being on top of arguably the most powerful man on the planet. It makes you feel safe and strong and invincible.

And you want to continue, you really do, but your legs are starting to give, so you let him know.

“Ass up for me then,” he says, and you listen, climbing off of him and wincing at the feeling of him slipping out. He gets behind you, lining himself up again and this time it’s much easier as he sinks in, both of you groaning at the contact.

Yoongi hands go to your hips, gripping and squeezing and molding the globes of your ass as you anchor your cheek to the bedsheets.

“That’s it, Pretty Girl, all the way down for me.”

His first thrust has you seeing stars. You're nothing and everything as he continues, but you need more. You need to not be able to speak. To walk. You need to have every thought fucked out of your head. You need him so deep you’ll feel it for a week afterwards.

“Faster,” you beg. “Harder, please.”

“There are those manners I was looking for,” he says and picks up his pace.

You’re incoherent, saying things you’ve never dared to utter out loud before, making admissions you swore to take to your grave and Yoongi is eating up every single last one of them.

Because this is about you. This is about proving years of your denial’s fruitless. This is about him and how you make him lose every ounce of self control he has when he’s around you and how badly he’s wanted you since the day you met. This is about ruining every other man for you, making sure you know what true pleasure feels like, know how you deserve to be treated, and hearing his name on your lips when you come. When your cunt clenches so hard he has to fight tooth and nail to milk every ounce of bliss from it.

This is about him wanting to hear him make you feel good. Needing to hear him make you feel good.

This is about you.

And he can feel you starting to clamp up again, can feel you getting close. So he wraps an arm around your waist, fingers going straight for your pussy.

You shriek, body consumed by the even strokes he delivers as well as the smooth circles around your most sensitive spot, and he revels in it. This is what he’s been dreaming of, what he’s desired over everything else.

You, underneath him in so much pleasure you’re almost non-verbal.

Perfect in every single way.

“Taking me so well, dirty girl. Love the feeling of my cock splitting you open?” he hears a muffled cry and you nod your head. “Knew you would, knew you could take me.”

He delivers a smack to your ass and he feels you clench, so he soothes the battered area before handing out another, soothing that one out too.

“You’re so good for me, pretty little whore so greedy, sucking me in. Why’d you make me think you didn’t want me all these years, hmm? Was I not good enough for you?”

You bury your face in your sheets. Well that certainly won’t do. So he slows his fingers as he reiterates. “Was I not good enough for you then, Angel? Am I good enough for you now?”

“Yes,” you mutter, barely loud enough to hear.

“What was that?” he slows again to a near burningly slow pace, soaking in the feel of you around his fingers and dick. It feels like a place he once called home.

“Yes!” you bellow. “So good…so good to me…more than enough.”

The praise fuels him, and he picks up the speed of everything, cock pounding you into the mattress, fingers rubbing an achingly mind-blowing pattern on your clit. It pushes you over the edge for the third time tonight, your fluttering cunt around his dick almost has him losing it. Almost has him coming undone with you, but he manages to hold it back.

Not yet.

You're silent in your screams this time, overwhelmed with the feelings, fingers nearly ripping your sheets in half at how hard it hit you. How hard you contract around him.

Oh he’s never going to get sick of this feeling.

Ever.

And instead of guiding you down this time, he removes himself quickly, flips you over on your back and inserts himself once more.

He needs that feeling again. Needs you again. You claimed him for yourself whether you knew it or not all those years ago, he was simply following orders. He was yours the second your eyes met for the first time and he’s never looked back since. No one was ever good enough from that moment on, not a single creature on any plane of existence.

There was only you.

Yoongi’s never felt anything so pure and so sinful and so right as you pulsing around him does. He exists only for this feeling. Only for you. It took a couple thousand years, but at least now he knows.

And so he doesn’t slow down, pushing you through your oversensitivity.

It’s time for him to finally claim you back.

“I can’t,” you beg, “it hurts.”

“Not for long, Pretty Girl” he says in his lowest registar. “You can take it, I know you can. Give me one more, I know you have it in you.”

Yoongi’s noticed his words have almost the same effect on you as his motions, so he uses them to their full potential. And as he can sense your fourth orgasm about to land, you surprise him by whispering directly into his ear and raking your nails down his back as hard as you can.

“Only for you, Yoongi.”

His thrusts stutter.

“Fuck!”

He’s coming.

He’s coming hard. With you, with your name on his lips. It's violent and visceral and vicious and vibrant. It’s beautiful. You’re combined divine deliverance.

It’s the first time he’s said your name.

And it’s something he’s going to keep locked away in his memory for millenia to come as he covers your inner walls in the most sickeningly sweet shade of white.

You’re relentless, milking him over and over and over for all he’s worth, not letting up until your body is ready too, ruthless in your quest for ultimate euphoria and he takes it.

Whatever you want. Whatever you need.

It’s yours.

He’ll make it so.

At whatever cost to him, you'll get it. There isn't a doubt in his mind as you finally come down, body lighter, eyes glazed over, devastating smile on your lips.

He’s the first to move, going to the bathroom and grabbing a warm, wet cloth to clean you up. You’re blissfully spent, unable to get up even if you wanted to, limbs like jelly, still in a brain fogged haze.

You got exactly what you wanted.

He cleans his release from your form, naked save for the pink stone he gave you around your neck. Then tosses the cloth in your hamper and lies back down, covering you both with sheets. You cuddle up to him, tossing a leg around his torso, and lying your head on his chest. Contented.

And he’s silent until he can’t stand it any longer. He has to know.

“What changed?”

“Hmm?”

“What about tonight made you change your mind?”

You take a deep breath through your nose. “I…stopped fighting it. The feeling like we would never work, the feeling that I would never be good enough, that we were too different,” he listens intently as your fingers trace patterns on his chest, explaining. “And I was sick of denying myself. It’s my birthday. Shouldn't I get whatever I want on my birthday?”

That seductive smirk makes an appearance.

“Yes.”

“Plus you looked to damn fine in that outfit. A girl only has so much willpower, you know? It’s easier at work when there’s a bar and my job between us, but there was none of that tonight. Just the shots in my system and my unwavering desire to ride your face.”

Yoongi laughs, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen something as beautiful as his smile before.

“Next time,” he says. A promise.

You fall back into a comfortable silence that has you thinking.

“What about you?” you ask.

“What about me?”

“Why am I the only one you like? The only one you put up with.”

He ponders for a moment, thinking about how to phrase what he wants to say.

“I think about the time we met often. There was something about you that was different that day, and I’ve never been able to pinpoint exactly what, but when I saw you I knew I would never think of you the same way I do everyone else. There was something special about your gaze in mine, your company, your soul.”

“My soul?”

“Mhm.”

“You’ve never asked for mine before.”

“Never needed it.”

At that, you joke, “Is there something you’d sell your soul for?”

“You.”

Before you can say all the nothing in your head at his answer, he takes a deep breath that has you rising and falling with it. Something about what he’s going to say next is going to have heavy importance to him.

You just know it.

“You… made me—make me…want to be better. Do better.”

You’re speechless. Not the kind you were moments before. No, you’re truly and genuinely speechless.

You never expected anything like that.

You knew your presence in his life carried a different weight than others, a different air. It’s why you could speak so casually, insult him, and exist near him without fearing for your life. It was something no one had seen from him in thousands of years.

Kindness. Patience.

The man who’s job it is to run the universes torture capital, punishing those who deserve it without an ounce of mercy for eternity and killing those who looked at him the wrong way. The physical entity of the word evil, wanted to be better.

Because of you.

“I don't know what to say.”

“You don't need to say anything,” he kisses the top of your head, tender. “Having you with me is more than enough.”

You can do that.

“Okay,” you say, craning your neck to kiss him. It’s long, languid, and full of emotions you don't want to acknowledge right now, there’s too many of them to sort through in your post four orgasms brain to be able to process properly.

Tomorrow you can start. Right now you just want to bask in the afterglow of the most amazing birthday you've ever had.

“So this wasn’t a one time thing?” Yoongi clarifies.

“It definitely wasn't a one time thing,” not a chance in Hell.

He was yours now.

The Devil was yours.

King of the Underworld, god among men, catastrophe breathing evil was yours. And it brings the biggest smile to your face.

“Oh thank fuck.”

“Not thank God?” you tease.

Yoongi groans. “Do not bring my father into this.”

A/N 3: As always, thanks for reading, loves. Xoxo, - Yoon <3

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mikeysbabygirl · 1 year ago

Text

𝑻𝒐𝒌𝒚𝒐 𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 𝑯𝒄'𝒔

Warning : you read it pretty well. NSFW. Which means minors do not INTERRACT.

Ft : Rindou, inupi

𝙍𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙪 𝙃𝙖𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙞 :

Perfect boyfriend, right ?

You'll never run out of playlists to listen to with Rindou as boyfriend.

Cold ? He's got about ten hoodies that he likes seeing on you, hanging lose on your thighs, would spray them of his own fragrance after washing them just to know you have his perfume on you wherever you are.

I'm getting at the main point which is...

The jealousy of this man is vice.

As you know, Rindou is a man of few words. Your boyfriend would never tell you straight forward that he is jealous, or have a healthy, honest conversation with you.

He would rather...

Why did he introduced you to Haruchiyo at first ? He should have known that guy would always go out of his ways to make him mad. Just like he was doing now, brushing his lips every now and then against your cheeks as he tells you jokes that Rindou thinks really do not deserve such overdone laughs from you.

The uncomfortable feeling makes his chest tingle, yet Rindou would rather die than admit it to you. But don't you think he would forget, this guy is like a ticking clock, registering every little thing you do for the right time.

In the mean time, you would never get to see Haruchiyo again. Nor any other Tenjiku member.

Rindou really thinks he loves you. Though he still holds that grudge, he can't help but driving you home from school every evening, can't help but think about you randomly during the day, or at night when he's fucking that fist on a pretty nude from you.

But he's registering, and he secretly hoped you would not make any other "mistake", but you do.

You were having so much fun tonight, and if Rindou was anyone else, he would have felt guilty.

But he is Rindou fucking Haitani, and he warned you. These days, Tokyo, at night was not one of the safest places, Kanto Manji was having some troubles with an opponent gang. Would you have been any other girl he dated, he wouldn't have cared. But again, you're so more than that.

He thinks you're so pretty, so eyecatchy. As always, your eyes are the shiniest, and when you spot him from the other end of the club, making his way toward where you're dancing with your friends, they widen the slightest.

He is not the type to embarrass you in front of your friends or anything, believe me.

Close your eyes, imagine this.

The crowd, the dancing bodies, and everything disappears as soon as his lips brush against your cheeks. His blonde locks tickle your neck, and his hands too gently lays on the small of your back. Rindou's fragrance invades your nostrils as much as his deep voice does with your ear.

-" have it your way, love. 'm just gonna sit here and wait for ya. Just be sure you're ready for whatever I got for you. "

Then, just as if it was a dream, his touch flies away, as much as his perfume which lingered a little longer behind him, reminding you just how fucked up you are.

From the other end of the club, your boyfriend looks... Devilishly handsome, first buttons of his white shirt are undone, hair slightly messy, you could almost see his bloodshot eyes from afar watching every move you make. At some point, you're pretty sure you've seen those pretty lips smirk.

This is where I'm getting at, my next main point.

The most important thing I could say as a nsfw fact about Rindou, is his relentless dominance.

He is, the perfect boyfriend from outside. The most protective, caring lover you could ever dream of.

Perfect boyfriend, has his hands around your neck, his tie wrapped tightly around your wrists, that purple gaze usually soft for you looks like it could kill you right now.

-" I'm sorry- Rin', move please, I'm so... So, so fucking sorry, just move " moving your core to chase some friction doesn't even work, he's hell bent on making you cockwarm him all the night, watching you slightly struggling to breath with his hand on your throat.

Usually, he is a man of few words mainly because he is a good listener, especially when you are talking. But tonight, he doesn't even care to hear a word you're saying. He dives deep in the feeling of your pussy wrapped up around him, an expressionless face while he presses kisses on every damn inch of your face and neck.

You both know that these kiss also aren't meant for reassuring, just because he can't seem to get enough of you.

The cold metal of his rings tightens slightly around your throat, having your eyes widening, a groan leaves his mouth so much your doe eyes make his cock throb.

-" Love the way you're taking me. Got me goddamn obsessed. "

Just because you're his own little addiction, just because your walls clench tighter around him at his words, he rolls his hips the slightest bit, making your eyes roll back in your head.

-" You look just as good as a Haitani's wife, laying all pretty under daddy, hugging my dick like my lil pillow princess ".

Because that is what he had wanted to make you, and no matter how independent you are, there is no other way being around Rindou. He lived to mold you into his perfect girl, no way of taking the lead, a simple sharp glance from him makes your heart drop.

Best Tenjiku boyfriend, they say. Yes, he is. So caring, always so much...

And the smirks, small laughs from that pretty face seeing the pain mixing with pleasure on your face are the proof. The perfect, most sadistic boyfriend. Giving a sharp, rough thrust inside you so suddenly that it had you crying his name, balls rubbing against your abused clit.

-" cry all you want " he crooked an eyebrow. "Your screams only got me wanna ruin this pussy. Ain't it the best way to make sure my baby's gonna behave ?"

-" Hm ? Say, love ?"

-" What a man gotta do to protect his best fucking girl, nah ?"

𝑰𝒏𝒖𝒊 𝑺𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒖 :

What a sweet guy, he is sugar coated, honey dripping.

You two could have met after a kinda hard time of your life, you were lacking a lot of trust in people in general and particularly in men.

But Seishu was so soft with you, so careful and fair-play that you ended up trusting him with your life, going around everywhere calling him your...

Your best friend.

Maybe he hadn't been perfectly fair-play into that last one... But he swears he had wanted to be your best friend, at a time.

It was just about how your hands moved around your face as you talked with excitement, about your teeth flashing and eyes sparkling with every smile you reserved only for him. It was about your scent lingering in his t-shirts after hours of hugging him from behind on night rides on his bike, the scent he never truly wanted to wash.

And soon, he started noticing his eagerness to have his hands lingering on you ( what was honestly foreign for Seishu), began feeling the need to find hidden meanings in the books you recommended him, and being even more protective toward you than usual.

Now Seishu would never disrespect you, or your will. If you wanted him as a best friend, then he would take what you had to give him. He would rather suffer that way than lose you at all, believe me, for someone who experienced loneliness, he would rather not go through your absence.

And so it goes, the play starts, he puts the mask, some make up on the ugly unwanted feelings, carries your shopping bags for you, helps you chose your outfit of the day, listen to all your stories about you how much of a loser your ex was, and kisses your cheek goodbye right before turning his back, dropping the mask, and untying his lacerated heart.

But deep inside, Seishu Inui is not as sugar coated as you think he is. Seishu Inui wished he was as innocent, honest with you as you thought he was, but he was not, and the first time you discovered it was...

-" You're my best friend, Sei. It's pouring outside, no need to argue, no bike. you're staying the night. "

It's too late now, you fell asleep, and he should've known, not even a king size bed could've prevented this from happening.

Your ( his) shirt was riding your hips, the covers sliding lower, the cold weather pushed you closer to his heat radiating body. A sigh escaped your lips, just as a beat escaped from his heart as you trapped his leg between your thighs, unconsciously laying your head on his arm.

Picture this, Seishu's blonde hair sprayed on your pillows, his flushed face, sleepy eyes, not moving an inch, frozen.

Or maybe just an inch, just to get into a more comfortable position-

But the friction his leg brought between your thighs had you knitting your eyebrows, a small gasp leaving your lips, something to awaken few things in Seishu.

As the respectful man he is, Seishu tries pushing your thighs away, but that only adds to that friction. And now he has you in your sleep, unconsciously rubbing yourself against him, he thinks he lost it.

Your t-shirts hangs on your waist now, Seishu hates the way his abdomen contracts seeing your bare lower half. And you're wearing nothing but your cute white panties, thus making him feel every move of your clit against his thigh.

He hates himself, and you would probably hate him too, but he swore he saw your eyelashes fluttering at some time, as you desperately chased more friction, and that convinced him to bounce his thigh harder against your clothed cunt.

-" Fuck... " He swears he's gonna stop, but he freezes the moment he hears a broken whisper.

-" Sei- ?"

Your interrogating eyes feel like a stab in the chest, Seishu would bend the knee, apologize until the end of the world, but-

But it seems your little dry humping made you unleash all of the restraints, you roll on your side and find yourself on top of him, legs on each side of his waist.

Seishu's just so pretty, mouth agape, the blue of his eyes is a meer ring around those pupils dilated from pleasure, you think he's gonna push you away. But some god must have been generous enough to give him that chance, he'd be damned to let it go. His hands find your bare hips.

-" You sure 'bout this ? " He hesitantly whispers, though his dick throbs crazy in his sweatpants, he would never neglect your needs. " Just a word, pretty girl. Just a word and I'm giving you all of my fucking love. "

From now on, Seishu solely believed that good things come to those who wait for it. Since after months and months of running from the shadow of his feelings for you, now his eyes were in bliss, swallowing every inch of you sinking on every inch of his hard cock.

Now now, Inui is a gentleman, a respectful, harmless guy.

But with your walls so tightly wrapped around him, he can't help but buckle his hips harder to meet your thrusts, can't help but grab your tits, kneading the flesh in his hands until he had you crying from pleasure and pain. Yes, Seishu is such a sweet guy, he solely believes this behavior is only what months of frustration have made of him.

And his best friend, Kokonoi had already told you once, though you didn't believed it " Seishu can be blunt sometimes ". Another thing you were yet to discover.

Those pretty lips that usually talked so nicely to you, those words that comforted you through your worst times seemed to get trapped behind the pleasure ravaging his lower half, because-

-" gotta slightest idea what you do to me ?" He thrusts his hips once again, circularly, giving particular attention to your clit. " How many times your slutty little skirts made my cock hard ?"

It drives him crazy, how your eyes widen innocently at his statement, meanwhile your pussy clenches in such a sultry around him. Intoxicating. You never knew you'd like those dirty words from the softest man you've known.

-" Pretty girl got me fucking my fist nearly every night. Shit- can feel you close, you like it dontcha ? My gorgeous baby, that's everything you truly ever wanted, right ? Having me fucking obsessed ? Pushing me to my damn limits ? Uh-"

But Seishu Inui is a dirty talker, behind closed doors, Seishu Inui is a hard groper, a carelessly harsh fucker, a sweet lover. Seishu Inui is the perfect mix.

Does anyone even remember who I am ?

Yeah I'm back, I guess ?

Hi everyone 🫶 Hope y'all doing fine and all, wassup ?

#tokyo rev x you #tokyo revengers spoilers #bonten x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers angst #rindou haitani x reader #rindou haitani #rindou x y/n #haitani rindou #haitani brothers #seishu inui #seishu inui x reader #inui x you #inui x reader #tr inui

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yanderes-galore · 5 months ago

Note

May I ask for a Daemon Targaryen concept from A Song Of Ice And Fire?

Daemon is certainly... terrifying as a yandere, actually-

Yandere! Daemon Targaryen Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Flirtation/Implied unwanted advances, Possessive behavior, Controlling behavior, Violence, Murder, Blood, Threats, Isolation, Mature themes, Mentions of bedding, Toxic behavior, Forced marriage, Biting/Marking, Forced relationship.

Daemon is arrogant, a prince uncontrolled and demanding of approval.

He's known for seducing those that capture his interest.

Out of most of the ASOIAF yanderes, I assume Daemon is among the worst.

He's persistent, demanding, and controlling.

He wants power as much as he wants approval.

He has a twisted form of love towards those close to him and isn't afraid to do immoral acts to get what he wants.

Need I remind you Daemon had his original wife killed as he didn't like her?

I imagine Daemon would trail behind his obsession like a shadow if they caught his interest.

It's nearly impossible to get rid of him.

Plus, Daemon has one of the fiercest dragons at his disposal, Caraxes.

The Rogue Prince is described as charming yet dangerous.

He is quick to take offense and hates others wounding his ego.

Which means if you refuse him, he tries harder.

Daemon is used to people finding him attractive.

He could take anyone he wants to his bed.

Except you.

You refusing his interest... would no doubt wound him and his pride.

Daemon definitely likes what he can't have.

He's someone who has learned he has to fight for the attention he deserves.

In fact, it's canon he cherishes the approval of his brother Viserys.

He hates being neglected.

He hates being controlled.

I'd imagine Daemon's courting is not only persistent, but violent.

Daemon would fight in tourneys for you, find you gifts, anything to impress you.

Daemon originally saw seducing you as a challenge, yet another little conquest to add to his belt.

But over time I can see Daemon... crave your presence.

A way I think a yandere Daemon could start is certainly with someone who doesn't immediately give in to him.

At first he's obsessed with the challenge, but soon realizes he can't bring himself to stay away.

Daemon can't even distract himself with other partners.

Brothels don't have much appeal anymore, maids offering themselves to him just makes him irritated.

He wonders if he can't part from you due to his ego at first.

He can't admit that you won this little game of his.

In reality, he's obsessed with you.

He craves your praise, your attention, your approval.

He no longer wishes to seduce you and be done with it.

Now he feels he needs you... all of you.

It's not just about bedding or pleasure now...

He feels no one else can satisfy him but you.

By this point... he'll do anything for you.

Just so he can get that approval he craves, even if it harms his ego.

Daemon is known to quickly take to violence.

With you it's rare, thankfully.

To others? Well... it's certainly more common.

Daemon wouldn't want anyone else courting you once he has his eyes on you.

Daemon pays close attention to those around you.

Servants, knights, lords....

The moment he sees someone court you, he's quick to stop it.

He may simply step in the way, perhaps even threaten them in a low tone as he grips his sword.

I wouldn't put killing other suitors past him.

He may excuse it as a "duel gone wrong", even though the reason his sword is dripping blood is because he played unfair.

Daemon's selfish, he doesn't care about your freedom.

In the end he ultimately wants you as his.

He even turns down other proposals for a betrothed, his gaze fixed on you.

After all, he's willing to go beyond immoral to have you.

He'll spill the blood of countless others if it means locking you into a marriage with him.

You could have a betrothed, or merely a secret lover, Daemon will find out.

Is it really that much of a surprise to learn he's killed them?

The scene is no doubt grotesque, his blade deep inside their flesh as their blood pools on the ground.

Surely you'll see just how serious he is, yes?

Which means... you should know what your answer is when he asks you to marry him, right?

Obviously, Daemon is possessive.

Possessive to the point he'd paint the streets red without even needing Caraxes to make you his.

You, as his beloved, can only resist his need for so long.

It feels fantastic when he marries you, a traditional Targaryen wedding.

By the end of it he knows you're his.

No one can touch you without expected consequences.

Touching what belongs to Daemon is the same as disrespecting him.

He never wants you far from him, keeping you by his side with a hand around your waist.

Any who insult you are met with their tongue taken... in the literal sense.

It's hard to calculate how many would fall to Daemon's blade over you.

The blood means nothing to them.

In fact, their corpses help feed his steed Caraxes, the blood wyrm even seeming to appreciate your presence.

Daemon doesn't understand why you bother mourning.

He's making a point, he's showing you're his.

You're his to possess.

You could try to flee, you could try to hide, Daemon knows you're his even if you don't.

Why bother looking so upset...?

Daemon showers you in affection and gifts, anything to earn the approval he craves.

He wants you to feed his ego, to tell him you love him.

He wants you to kiss him as he holds you in his lap.

He wants you to squirm when he digs his teeth into your neck.

You should be happy he's so dedicated.

He's even had his previous lovers killed to show you he's focused on you.

Is that what you wanted?

Do you crave his dedication?

If that will make you his... then he'll do anything.

To Daemon, he takes his House's saying seriously.

Daemon would spread 'Fire and Blood' if it meant you'd be his alone.

You'd be mistaken if you still thought he did all this just to bed you.

No, Now Daemon has truly given into his obsession... He only wants you...

No matter how many have to burn or be cut down... you'll always be his.

#yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #yandere asoiaf #yandere daemon targaryen

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tonkatsubowl · 1 year ago

Text

love sick.

✱ warning — the reader is the yandere.

how would the xianzhou boys react to you as a yandere?

blade is definitely into this side of you. however, there are times where he had to calm you down. it was surprising that someone like blade even knew limits...especially when it came to necessary manslaughter.

"y/n." you ignored blade's voice, the warmth of a deceased woman's blood splattering upon your visage as you took another one's life.

this "innocent" woman in particular got a little too bold and tried to flirt with blade, trying seducing him to a form of prostitution sale. of course, he was immensely loyal to you... but he wasn't surprised for the woman's death, as he saw this coming. was he upset at you? definitely not, for he would do the same thing if a man touched or spoke to you in a disgusting way.

"y/n." he called again. "she's dead."

his hand reached towards your shoulder, stopping you in place. you breathed the fresh scent of iron, your distraught and psychotic eyes casting towards blade, and immediately your gaze had softened. decorated with blood, an innocent smile creeps towards your lips as you turn to embrace your lover.

"i just wanted to make sure she learned her lesson too." you reply, snuggling your face into blade's chest, smearing the woman's blood from your face all over his clothing.

"i'm sure she did. but now we have to bury the body."

"she doesn't deserve a burial," you nearly snap, "i'll just burn her body to crisp."

blade's gaze softens, pressing his thumb against your lips, "shh. take it easy, y/n. i'll handle it."

your eyes sparkle, but you nodded. you knew kafka didn't like seeing you in this mess, but you enjoyed it whenever you came back to the stellaron hunters and kafka had a handkerchief in hand. though, she did scold you a few times... and now blade doesn't want you to have that sort of attention from kafka.

dan heng would definitely try to find ways to not trigger this side of you. he knew you have a good heart and you would do anything to help and save the astral express team, but whenever it came to other women flirting with him and trying to seduce him... that was when you snapped.

you definitely couldn't control this side of you, and himeko and welt would continue to deeply monitor your well being whenever these sorts of things happened. there were multiple incidents where you've taken a few lives because they simply looked at dan heng's direction... but you've improved a bit? you were at least killing women and random people who decided to flirt with your lover, rather than anyone who sneezed in his direction at least.

"y/n, please..." the sounds of you ripping a woman's head apart from her body echoed through the halls, covering your body with her beautiful blood. you breathed, smiling through it all. unable to think.

but dan heng couldn't stop you. he was too late.

"y/n!"

it was an innocent saleswoman who used flirtation to gain sales, and it was nothing more... nothing less. it was purely business related. but your jealousy got the best of you.

his voice finally snap you back to reality, your hand raised to stab her one more time came to a stop. you drop your weapon, looking to dan heng. your eyes softened, no longer were they... so psychotic. so evil.

"ah. there you are! i was looking for you," you innocently beamed, waddling up to him as if nothing had occurred.

right, this was an issue, too. you killed, and you don't remember what happened. or rather you just acted like nothing happened.

"are you okay? i really missed you," you innocently said to dan heng as you embraced him, his arms reluctantly returning the hug.

if he didn't return the affection, you would become worse.

"i was moreso worried about you, but i missed you too," dan heng said in a soft tone, "let's clean you up."

he'll have to report another incident to welt and himeko.

jing yuan has monitored your well being for a while, and has used different methods of therapeutic sessions to help you maintain this side of you... or get rid of it. he knew you had a killer instinct that's hidden inside of you that you cannot control, whatsoever. and it was... terrifying. not even yanqing or fu xuan really trusted you, even doubting their general because of you.

"get rid of them. they're going to cause you trouble." fu xuan would say to jing yuan. and boy, if you heard that? a life would be taken away. and it wouldn't be yours. you were significantly stronger than fu xuan, which was why she tends to stay away from you.

yanqing didn't want to make a comment. he knew you were always listening at one point. there was an incident where you nearly killed fu xuan because of her comments, but after some restraint, magic and a bit of therapeutic sessions, you had... improved. a bit. just a bit.

"i believe in them." jing yuan would say. "i never want to give up on them."

and even if you were currently killing some random woman right now for talking about wishing to be wed to general jing yuan, he would still love you. he would try to change you.

"that's enough, y/n."

he came to retrieve you after knowing you were headed out to kill this woman. your hands stopped as he reached out, grabbing your wrists, pulling you closer to his chest. "that's enough."

you breathed, leaning into his touch, innocently smiling faintly. you were finally "awake", no longer focused on a mere corpse. "oh, jing yuan," you cooed, "sorry, i got distracted. i was heading out to grab you a drink, and—"

"it's alright," jing yuan murmured, eyeing on the corpse. goodness, you were getting collectively worse with these murders. never had he seen these types of deaths before, even in his years on the battlefield. "let's get you back home. i'll have the cloud knights clean this up for you."

it was time for some therapeutic sessions again.

#honkai star rail #hsr #hsr x reader #honkai star rail blade #dan heng #hsr blade #hsr dan heng #blade x reader #jing yuan #hsr jing yuan #yandere #hsr yandere #yandere y/n #dan heng x reader #jing yuan x reader

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year ago

Note

Hi Hal!

Congratulations on finishing all the requests (there were so many good ones!!) and thank you for opening them up again!! I’m excited to see what you have in store for us with all your other projects, bestie!!! 😊😊

I was unsure of who to request at first because there are so many good ones but then I saw Hesh’s name and an idea hit me.

If you’re ok with it, could you possibly write one for Hesh where the reader is part of the Ghosts has been taken/captured by the Federation and after some time, they get intel on where she is so they go out to rescue her and she and Hesh are reunited? I don’t know if you want it to be a pre-established relationship or one where they both admit their feelings after they get her back, so I’m leaving it up to you. But I need a little rescue/reunion fic to fill the void in my heart that the ending of Ghosts made.

As always, feel free to change it up as you see fit and do whatever you want. I just think that Hesh deserves more love and I wouldn’t be opposed to seeing Riley again (aka: the best dog in the world)!!

Thank you and remember to take care of yourself and I appreciate you and your work!! 💕💕 Love you, bestie!!!!

Lengths Of Love

PAIRING: David 'Hesh' Walker x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You'd loved Hesh for as long as you can remember, and you'd pulled him out of trouble for even longer, but you'd never had the courage to tell him how you feel. Until you do. Until you're being dragged away from his broken body.

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Major spoilers for CoD: Ghosts, heavy angst, blood, guts, descriptions of wounds, canon-typical violence, weapons and firearms, death, torture involving: drugs/hallucinogens, physical violence, mental stress, talks of PTSD, anxiety, paranoia, rescue fic, best friends to lovers plot, wounds that would 100% kill you that you live from (plot armor fr), etc.

A/N: Bestie, I don't know what you put into your prompts, lmao, but I always end up writing so much for you!! Thanks so much for sending something in <3<3

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

The beginning of the end started with good intentions and one statement.

“You hear this? It’s Rorke. He’s here. They’re evacuating on the train system below.” Hesh’s green eyes darted to you and Logan, his painted face a collection of rage and surety. The three of you were, in an instant, in agreement of revenge—there was no question as to what had to be done. Merrick couldn’t stop you, not on this.

Rorke had made one of the most dangerous decisions of his life, and that was underestimating the Walker boys and their partner in sinful crime.

“Harp,” you look away from the body of the warhead as it enters the atmosphere, locking onto Hesh’s hard eyes; the ones that had grown steadily colder since the death of his father, Elias. But it wasn’t just him—the patriarch had been close to you as well. The knowledge of his passing, witnessing it as the rope restraints seared into your flesh, had lit an all-consuming fire in your gut.

Like hounds, the scent of blood had hit the air.

“Let’s get the bastard. Now or never,” you ease out, and Logan darts his gaze down to you from behind his balaclava.

“Damn right,” Hesh barks, nodding firmly to you.

Anyone would have missed the way your gaze lingered on him as he darted off and began rushing down the stairs from the control room, Logan ever quick at his heels. But they wouldn’t have missed the way your breath pushed out a soft sigh as your eyes kept locked on the back of Hesh’s head as you followed after.

You’d been childhood friends since practically infancy, a neighbor to the Walkers. It was natural that Hesh would grow to be the object of your daydreams ever since grade school; a constant and digging knife into your heart when he’d repeatedly pick other girls over you.

But such was life.

All that mattered now was bringing down Rorke, silly love could wait.

“Merrick,” Hesh yelled down his line, the world outside this building rampant with open war. “The missile’s away and we’ve got a lead on Rorke, we’re going after him!”

The white double doors meet the three of you as you all rush to them, and the panicked man’s voice flashes down the line immediately.

“Negative Hesh! You three get back here and return to the rally point. We’ll track him down together.”

You call, “Isn’t an option, Merrick. We can’t let this one go.”

You and Hesh ram your shoulders into the doors, Logan darting through first with his weapon drawn down the hallway. The brunette’s and your shoulders brush in a jostling of gear—pulling the back as your eyes lock. Cold light seeps from overhead, metal under your feet clanking in-key.

You look away before Hesh agrees and levels with the Ghost over the line to push your point. “Sorry, Merrick. Your mission is complete…ours isn’t.”

Federation heads pop up from behind makeshift barriers of barrels and other stacked items and as you all enter and clear rooms, alarms blare with the ferocity of fighting lions. Hesh keeps by your side, offering you openings that you greedily take as another soldier falls with a stiff twitch of your finger on the trigger.

Darting behind cover, the man slams to the space beside you, calling over above the noise and the whizz of bullets.

“How long till impact?!” You shove a new clip into your FAD, brushing sweat and blood from your cheeks, smearing patches of your own paint.

Glancing at the watch on your wrist, you hear Logan pushing the line. You dart out of cover to help—locking onto hostiles and backing up the younger brother with quick feet.

“Eight minutes, Hesh! You got a plan that doesn’t leave me with scorched hair?” He finds it in himself to laugh, clocking a soldier to your left and riddling him with bullets.

“We need to get to that train, Harp. Don’t worry—I’ll kiss the burns away for you.” He rushes past and sends a smirk over his shoulder. You’re left stunned for a second, wishing that the teasing tilt to the older brother’s words was more than that. You blink, and the feeling is forced away.

Later.

“Keep pushing, Logan,” Hesh moves on. You all sprint down descending ramps, farther and farther underground with every step; adrenaline building to a breakneck level like weight slowly being added over and over to a chest. “We need to get to Rorke!”

You didn’t want to tell him, but, while revenge was on your plate as well, this was a very reckless idea.

As you grab for a grenade from your belt and jerk on the pin, you chuck it down the way and call out a warning to the boys, who, like a well-oiled machine, dart and wait for it to detonate. Bodies fly, bloody splashes of torn limbs, and three Ghosts materialize from the smoke with masked and painted faces; eyes like fire and veins boiling.

“Fire team suppressed in 3-1,” Hesh shouts through the line as you slide your knife into a man’s eye, his goggles breaking in a shattering of glass. “Advancing to loading bay!”

There’s a large elevator ahead for transporting crates, and all of you jog inside as the gate creaks shut.

Merrick’s stiff voice replies, “Roger that.”

Silently, you click into the channel and mutter out as a moment of relative peace coats your body like a blanket, even if for a few small seconds.

“I’ll keep ‘em safe,” a small twitch of your lips, “Commander.”

A deep and unimpressed voice wafts into your ear with a large sigh. “Know you will—just remember to keep yourself safe in the process, Kid…Don’t do anything stupid.”

You shift your gaze to Hash and find green already staring at you. Blinking, the man quickly darts his vision away and after a moment you turn your face back down to the connection and huff through a burning epidermis.

“Haven't you heard?” The elevator shows the train as it descends down, and you call to the boys, ‘six minutes’, with a firm voice.

“Stupid seems to follow us three everywhere.”

Hesh points as the figures of more soldiers walk around below. “There’s Rorke’s train, straight ahead!” Sure enough, the worm of black and gray metal extends to your eyes across the large room

“He’ll be on there soon. Logan, take left.” You order and the brown-eyed man nods from beside you, shouldering his rifle and checking the clip. “Hesh?”

“Taking right—you got Point, Doll.” He stares at you, licking his lips. “Clear the way?” You tilt your head at him as the elevator jumps to a stop, the barrier sliding away. It pains you to look away.

There were so many things you had to tell him. Too many things.

“Always.” Shiting your face forward, you take a breath and take notice of points of cover, scoping the room in three seconds flat. Screeching wheels and alarms ingrain your eardrums. “On me.”

As you head out first, fire the first bullet, the two peel off in opposite directions, Hesh only sliding up beside you and uttering into your ear.

“Be safe.”

That comment makes you want to be anything but, if only he’d whisper into your ear like that again.

Clearing the room, you can’t get your mind off the fact that this crush was overtaking nearly every part of your life—years of quiet agony and staying your tongue in fear of losing what great friendship you had.

The stock set into your shoulder recoils with another burst of fire, Federation soldiers scream in pain, but you barely register over the shadows in the sides of your vision.

“Damnit, Hesh,” you growl, bullet grazing your shoulder as you grunt and slip behind a concrete divider.

“What’s that?” Your eyes widen comedically. Shit…had you forgotten to close the line?

“Eh,” you clear your throat, grimacing at the small sparks of pain in your shoulder. “N-nothing.”

There’s a bout of silence and then a panting voice, rough and growing more serious. “You alright over there, Harp?” You can’t even respond before Hesh quickly continues. “I’m comin’ to you. Stay there.”

You violently shake your head, although he can’t see it.

“Hesh, I’m fine! Keep right and clear that hallway.”

There’s a deep grunt. “Fine, but if I see one scratch I’m makin’ Riley chase you down the Base when we get back.”

If we get back.

You roll your eyes with a growing smile, steeling yourself and slamming your weapon to the top of the divider before locking onto your targets. “Please, we both know he loves me too much for that.”

“Most I’ll have to do is put a treat in your pocket, Sweetheart.” His sly smirk is heard easily, and you swallow tense-like and breathe shakily. That low drawl in his tone left you more distracted than you could ever get used to. “Hell,” There’s a struggle over the line before the shink of a knife meeting flesh. A breathless chuckle that leaves your gut swirling. “Maybe I’ll just chase you down myself.”

Logan coughs over the line and you have to click off before you scream. Your face flares up until your ears ring and you have to duck behind your cover again before you get metal right to the forehead.

Behind the barrier, you glare at the floor.

When did general teasing get so hard for you? Jokes and jabs carrying weight—since when? Sure you’d liked—more liked loved—Hesh since before all of this, but you’d carried on well enough.

“Fucking hell,” you grumble, shaking your head to clear it and rushing.

The brothers pop through the side hallways to flank the enemy, taking out the one or two hostiles that were still breathing after you level your barrel with the last standing head; firing with a burst of gunpowder.

“Train’s leaving, let's go!” Hesh screams, waving an arm quickly at you, walking backwards on quick feet. “Harp, C’mon!”

You chuff, hopping the divider and sprinting as the metal object speeds up—there’s a moment where you fear you might miss it, Hesh and Logan both forced to hop on even in your absence.

“Harp!” Green eyes flash, one hand on the railing and the other extended out.

“On it!” Snapping, you slam your palm into his and feel his strong fingers curl to clutch you. Logan grabs your collar and helps; the both of them easily yanking you over just as the wall of the tunnel engulfs you all in illuminated shadow.

Back meeting the train’s body, you pant and chuckle as Logan shakes his head, amused, and pats your shoulder. You wink at him jokingly.

“Good save there, Walker Number Two.”

Hesh grabs the side of your neck, looking you over as he leans back with a breathless chuckle at the title for his brother. He blinks quickly at your shoulder, eye narrowing before he reaches out and looks at the blood on your gear.

“You mind telling me what this is, Doll?” You make a nose in the back of your throat as the smell of his musk hits your nostrils; the deadly concoction of his scent and his digging gaze.

Stuttering, you huff. “Eh…bullet graze?”

You’re leveled with thin lips, but Logan grabs his brother by the upper arm and peels him off you, motioning to his radio as the train gains even more speed. Wind whips past your face as Hesh clears his throat, quickly avoiding your eyes.

The man’s splotchy paint shows his red skin under the darker pigment.

“Merrick, we’re on the train,” he speaks, shifting past you without another look. “We’re going after Rorke.”

“Solid Copy.” You watch the brunette walk away and hold your breath, though you don’t know why—heart beating not just because of adrenaline.

Embarrassment breeding in your stomach, you ignore Logan’s knowing stare and push off the wall, rubbing at your bleeding shoulder with a stiff hand.

—

You break a man’s neck against the wall, hand on the back of his head before you slam it into the hard metal. There’s a crunch of bone and a broken rattle before the broadcasted feed from the screen on the train’s panel spits out a message in panicked Spanish to the already deceased men.

“Evacuation protocol C is in effect. All personnel secure cargo and supplies—”

Hesh interrupts ahead of you as you let the body drop, scowling at the heavy sound of its dead weight. At his angry voice, you perk and tune in.

“Tell Rorke we’re comin’ for him.” There’s a quick shove from the other end of the feed, the previous man disappearing as the individual that takes his place makes your eyes go to slits. A great growl like a wolf echoes from your heart and seeps from between your clenched teeth.

Rorke’s scarred face appears with a smirk and a cocky voice.

“Why don’t you just tell me yourself?” You look at your boys, more concerned for them as you watch firsthand the trauma the death of their father brought them.

Logan holds his weapon tighter, fixing his grip. Hesh is a bit more direct. He leans closer to the screen, bearing his teeth like a dog and snarling with rage and hatred.

“You’re done, Rorke.” All of a sudden he peels back a fast fist and sends it careening into the screen—making a shattering of glass and a hard thud emanate deep into your bones.

Blinking quickly, you tense as it happens, not expecting that. But as soon as you try to make sense of it, the brunette is already banking off to the side door, calling a sharp, “Let’s finish this!”

He grabs the side of the train car and wrenches on the handle, grunting and pushing with all of his might.

“Hesh,” you try to reason, stepping in now before things get too hot. “We need to think of a plan before you rush into things. This could get us in a heap of shit that we might not be able to get out of.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear you, and you spare a glance with Logan for help. But he, too, has already joined his brother with a swish of gear on the handle. With one great push, the door opens to the outside brightness, making your face turn away for a moment.

Along the far expanse of open sand dunes outside; mountains flanking the bridge this train flies across, you get the perfect view of a warhead meeting the ground in an explosion of fire and death. It bursts far across the valley, and you cover your eyes as the sharp ball of light burns your retinas.

The shockwave hits moments later, and Hesh says easily as the train shakes and squeals like a metal pig, “Looks like Icarus got control of the rods!” The boys step out onto the platform along the train, and you have no option but to follow. “All that’s left is Rorke, let's go!”

“Hesh,” you try again, hissing out his name, and you’re graced with a quick glance.

“Harp,” he comments, “what is it? We can’t wait any longer—”

“What we can’t do is go in blind!” You shout above the wind, legs stanced to help you stay up. Green eyes twitch with confusion, perhaps even a little hurt.

“Blind? What are you talking about, we push forward and take what’s owed.” You know how much this means to him—to Logan—but there was a point where pride and stubbornness outweighed sense. This was dangerous, especially for Hesh.

You were always the one to keep him level; keep him from becoming too much like his dad.

You’d promised that old bastard you’d look after his boys, albeit in a teasing sense, but to you, it had been a stark vow on your soul. Logan was a brother to you, and Hesh…Hesh would always be more, but that only made your love for them both grow.

“You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear? They mean well, but there’s no one I trust more than you to level them out, Harp. I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.” Elias had said that, and when he died you bottled it up and used so much force that coal had turned to diamond.

You would keep Logan and Hesh safe. Safe, and level, and not hard-headed.

For as much as you secretly loved your brunette, he sure was stubborn as all hell.

“If you want out, Harp,” Hesh calls to you, gritting his teeth. “Just wait back in the train car. This is something we can’t put off like everything else—this ends now; today. I’m not letting Dad’s killer survive.”

“Son of a bitch, that’s not what I’m saying!” You’re quickly losing your standing. Logan jogs ahead to scout, time ticking. “Hesh, you know that I loved Elias as much as you two did—not one is denying that this needs to happen. I'm with you. But this is too damn dangerous! We can’t rush into this without a plan of attack; of exfil! Do you even know how we’re going to get off of this thing?!”

Hesh had been isolating the few days he had on the U.S.S Liberator, keeping to his room. The man idolized his father and put him on a pedestal of gold even when he was a teenager. He’d even pushed away from you, which all together was unheard of. Logan had nearly had an aneurism when you’d come back to the cafeteria and shook your head in disappointment after trying to get him to open his door.

The two of you told each other everything. Always. That was just…how it was.

But the man that Hesh had donned the skin of was not the man you loved.

Hesh glares at you, eyes going alight with anger.

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t be holding me back.” He turns and runs after Logan, leaving you behind in the open air as the train banks left and right with the sway of the bridge.

Staring. Barely breathing. Mouth parted and eyes wide.

When the man is at the end of the current train car, having to jump a small distance to the next, he pauses. His back is tight, and under him, his feet shuffle.

There’s a moment you hope he’ll turn around and come back, take you into one of his hugs, and squeeze the life out of you. It wouldn’t be such a cruel way to die, you think, to be held in his arms.

But the next moment you see the back of his head shake, and he jumps over to the next section, not even giving you a second glance.

You don’t want to admit how long you waited there, your mind jumbled and confused.

Don’t take it personally, you try to tell yourself, sucking down a breath before slowly walking forward. He’s hurt. Grieving. He didn’t mean it.

Rationality was a tool of the level-headed, and you were anything but that nowadays.

Over the line Hesh’s voice makes you flinch as you slowly follow after, train car after train car.

“Rorke must be at the front of the train!” You step over dead bodies and lend merciful bullets to the ones still writhing, boots coated in crimson. Following a trail of wreckage with stiff lungs.

Stay out of his way? Fine, you could do that.

You stayed back from the head-to-head fighting, laying covering fire and keeping off the comms—whenever Hesh managed to look back at you, you simply moved on to the next hostile.

Eventually, you all ended up on the rooftops, the boys far ahead and yourself blank-faced at the rear. Logan was acting more concerned than Hesh was, glancing at you constantly in confused worry. But it was very much short-lived.

“Incoming!” The right side of the railcar bursts with fire, and you gasp before grappling for the opposite side of the train, keeping you there before the swaying beast leveled out. “Helos. Take cover and take out the gunners!”

You scoff, quickly making your way behind a connector joint to lean your back against it and catch your breath. Two helicopters fly alongside the train, Logan already firing at one, and Hesh…your eyes narrow with annoyance. Hesh was already running ahead of the pack, his low grunts and growls over the line giving way to his impatience.

You click your jaw and try to remind yourself that this is the same man who held you close during movie nights and carried you to bed when you fell asleep. Made you waffles when your boyfriend in eighth grade broke up with you on Valentine’s Day.

Stitched your wounds before he gave them a teasing ‘kiss better’ and looked up at you through dark lashes.

You wildly shake your head to force yourself back to the present.

The gunners are harder to hit not only based on wind and distance alone, but on the erratic movements of the pilots. It’s several clips before you down the second Helo, and Logan’s follows immediately after as they both collide and ram into the mountainside.

You both share a glance and rush after the misguided brunette.

At the end of the train, only the engine remains.

“Clear!” Hesh relays, jumping down from the roof of the railcar and hurriedly walking to the white door, leaning against the wall. “We’re at the last car, Logan. Rorke’s pinned, he knows we’re comin’.”

You gaze down from the top as Logan follows, silent and brooding. Your hands along your FAD tighten under your gloves. You don’t even look at the man.

“Merrick, do you copy?”

“Copy, Hesh.”

“We’re moving in on Rorke.” You slide him a look, seeing him glaring those pretty greens into the ground. “If you hear the word “Checkmate”, you will fire on our position! Confirm?” Your eyes snap with horror, heart lurching.

Surely, you hadn’t heard that right.

Merrick’s voice echoes your frozen confusion. “Say again, repeat your last.”

You jump down and stagger for a moment, barking out a harsh, “What the fuck are you doing?” Inside of your chest, your heart rampages like it never had before. “That’s suicide!”

He was going to kill everyone to bring down Rorke, and you get no answer beyond a clenched jaw and a quick side-eye.

“You heard me, Merrick, on “Checkmate”, hit this train!” The connection is cut and Logan gets into position to shoulder the door open, you watch, stuttering.

Hesh levels with his brother, “We can’t take any chances, Logan. Even if we fail, Rorke dies.” Panic builds, and you’re taking quick steps forward.

You keep those two from getting in their heads, you hear?

You have to stop them, you have to drag them away—but even you know that deep down the only thing that will stop these two is a bullet.

Eyes snapping back and forth, you only get close enough to try and snatch at Hesh’s arm right as he finishes a countdown of three; at the end, Logan kicks down the engine room door with a violent connection of his boot.

Even with the drop on the three guards inside, it doesn't stop the bullet from ripping through your lower side, preoccupied and distracted yet again. You yell loudly, balking back into the door frame and hunching over as blood spurts out of you. Hesh’s head whips your way immediately, jaw going slack and a soul-deep hysteria takes over.

So now he pays attention.

“Shit, Harp!” So little time.

Logan can’t take care of the last remaining Fed soldier by himself, and in a large act of self-sabotage, that very soldier just happened to have a missile launcher.

The entire left engine explodes—the train jerks; everyone is sent in a back-and-forth motion, first hitting off the last train car before being sent right back through the engine room entirely. A transference of force gives you whiplash as your head bounces off the door frame.

The world goes blurry, body hitting and slamming through layers of glass and pain before the control room is suddenly where you end up, using the body of a stunned guard as a cushion.

There’s a second of muffled gunfire, struggling and yelling—and then it all comes back into focus like a sniper’s scope being correctly sighted. You gargle an expletive and shove the guard under you back down despite the searing heat in your side and head; struggling to unsheathe your combat knife as the world tilts.

Hands push at your cheeks, grip at your neck futilely, but when you get the blade out and struggle the hands down once more, you hammer the point into his throat with a thump of your boot pressing for purchase on the floor.

The man spasming, you push off of him and slam to the ground, coughing in great lung-shattering segments.

“You can’t win, Rorke!” Hesh’s voice brings you back from the swirling, and you hear your blood patter to the metal floor like rain.

“Shit,” you mutter, gasping for air.

Gazing up you see Rorke holding Logan in a chokehold, free hand pointing a gun at Hesh. Your eyes bulged, trying to push onto your knees and reach for your weapon as you saw Hesh continually looking away from the target and worriedly watching you. His hands at his sides are loose, but when you lock eyes with him, they clench and shake.

“It’s over—” He tries, but the loud gunshot bounces off the train’s enclosed space. You’re yelling before you can think, darting forward and leveling your gun right to Rorke’s head as Hesh’s form collapses to the ground.

Standing on unsteady feet, you pant and stumble, but the devil’s brown eyes hold you captive. Rorke smirks as you guard Hesh behind you.

“Well, well, well, seems the girl’s just as promising as you, eh, Logan? She’s the other one who slipped her binds in Las Vegas.” He laughs. “Look at me, I’m surrounded by young talent.”

“I don’t exactly care if you are or aren’t,” you growl, shuffling to keep Hesh even farther behind you as you instrumentally cough again. Your legs are wobbling. “Just that you put my fucking friend down.”

“You willing to die for him?” Rorke looks demented, with his scar and his intimidating build. Whatever torture he had been through to make him like this—a Ghost killer—it had worked perfectly. There was no coming back from this. He whistles lowly. “That’s some loyalty you have there.”

His mind was dead to all else.

You don’t hesitate in an answer, even as the man behind you grabs your leg, trying to move you with a wheezing breath.

“H-Harp,” his spine moves in a cough. “Don’t…please.”

“Always.” Interest alights in those dark, tiny eyes. Logan tries to give you messages with his gaze, but you ignore him. Ironic. “That’s not something I’ll break on. Unlike you.”

“Shit, Kid,” there’s a grand laugh, “now that’s heartless…but good,” Rorke glances at Hesh, raising a brow and chuckling. “I’ll love to see the look in his eyes when I—”

“Checkmate!”

“Checkmate confirmed.” You look down at Hesh and see him watching you, his gaze open and bare.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, but all you can do is watch.

There’s no time to think.

“I love you,” you confess in a fleeting moment of bare nothingness, blurting it out. “I’ve loved you.”

Hesh’s body entirely halts, jaw slowly slackening in horror; something shifts behind his eyes but before he can open his mouth, a rageful bark bullies the smooth tone of his throat back.

“What did you do?!” Your form is bodied into the controls behind you, colliding as you snarl and are forced to recover. With a snap of your finger, you fire a shot into Rorke’s foot.

He yells and whips his wrist back, slamming the butt of his gun into your temple.

As the bridge ahead of the train explodes, Hesh drags himself to cover your body, muttering into your flesh words you cannot name as the darkness sets in.

“It’s over,” Hesh speaks grimly to Rorke, turning to look at him silently as he presses your head into his chest, sharing a nod and thin-lipped look with Logan still stuck in his arm. “It’s over.”

“Shit, Son…” The train gets thrown and broken in a wave of utter destruction and rebirth; and through it all, Hesh never lets go—not even when the water below comes up to meet you.

—

The beach’s sand is coarse, and it sticks to your gear with a fervent hold. To your skin, the paint, and blood, for the moment washed away as hands dragged you from the water, small puffs of breath and whimpers greeting you.

“C’mon, Sweetheart.” Hesh. And he sounded frantic. “C’mon, open…open your eyes, dammit. Please, you just told me the best thing you possibly could. Please.”

Water slips off your neck, and as you’re weakly lying back, propped against a rock, hands slip to your cheeks, moving the skin as a barely conscious body tries to make you wake up.

A forehead hits against your shoulder, a deep groan of pain emanating from the man who grips at your gear.

“No, no, c’mon,” Hesh can barely keep himself sitting up, bloody and broken. Logan had to drag him from the water not seconds prior, and in turn, Hesh had grabbed what little strength was left and helped him get you. “Logan!” Green darts to brown, and the older brother pleads in a broken voice, “Help me!”

You bend your head forward and cough up blood and water, shoving Hesh away from you so you can collapse on your side and expel your stomach.

“Harp,” the man quickly mutters, dragging himself over and grabbing your shoulder to keep your face out of the sand. “Fuck, okay—it’s okay I’ve got you.”

“You,” your voice cuts out, and you shake as you gasp and sputter, “A-are a fucking idiot!”

Hesh chuckles, and you feel his head hit off your arm, his struggling breath. “God, I know. I know, Sweetheart.”

Logan crawls over to you, pushing you back against the rock and grappling for his medical pouch as Hesh patches into the comms. You grunt and look down at the younger brother, head swirling in colors and ears pounding with your pulse.

“Merrick, do you copy? Merrick, come in.”

“Hesh! Hesh, is that you?” You weakly smirk at the shock and relief from the tone, letting your head tilt back as Logan hurriedly packs your gunshot wound with gauze. You wince and stare at the sky—blood infectiously tinging the sand below you.

Hesh tries to help too, but you and the man are in far worse shape than Logan. The older brother’s shoulder leans into yours heavily, and you shift your eyes to the side as they flutter.

You haven't forgotten what you told him, what you confessed, but right now pushing back the black in the sides of your vision was more important.

And Rorke. What had happened to Rorke?

“Yeah,” Hesh watches you, face screwed with concern. “Yeah, I’m with Harp and Logan. We’re…we’re alive. Rough shape, but alive.”

“And Rorke?” You hold your breath.

“Dead.” Logan ties off a quick tourniquet and your spine tightens in agony, hissing out as your nerves spike with electricity. The brown-eyed man spares you a sorry glance but you shake your head in dismissal. “He’s dead.”

Out in the water, the enemy warships are firing off missiles inland, some smoking and others already sinking. Merrick gives you the news as Hesh brings a hand up to your chin, tilting your head his way. You go willingly, skin on fire from the scrape of his gloves.

Logan moves back, having done what he can, before he collapses back into the sand, panting with an arm over his stomach. His older brother’s forehead bumps into yours, eyes stuck.

“Copy that. The Federation is in full retreat—the rest of the payload is inbound to finish the…”

Whatever else Merrick relays is lost and Hesh’s lips splay over yours, his nose letting out a long breath and body sagging, dead-weight. Cheeks hot and mind running, you let instinct take over and reciprocate, quick fingers pulling at his vest straps.

“Since when?” He asks, breathless when he moves back an inch.

“After you introduced me to your first girlfriend, Cassie Albrook,” you smile, eyes crinkling. “Seventh grade. The one with the black hair? God, I was so jealous.”

Hesh chuckles deeply, body jerking as he kisses you again, pulling back and holding your cheek in his hand. His eyes are wide and open.

“You mean to tell me, I could have been kissin’ you all the way back since seventh grade?” Your face moves with pure love, flesh going soft—even the pain diminishes somewhat.

Merrick’s voice still gruffly moves down the line, and the last bits of his sentence are heard.

“...Sit tight, Recon’s comin’ for ya.” Everything was looking up.

Missiles slam into the Federation ships out in the water, the sudden burst of liquid and fire making Hesh briefly cover you with his side to protect you from the shockwave. When you turn to look, nothing but sinking metal remains.

“I’m sorry,” Hesh tells you, and you don’t have the energy to pull away from his neck as you let your head rest—the thumping of your brain and the calming shadow of his form giving way to believe you had a concussion.

“Hm,” you hum, letting him continue. His voice echoed in his breast.

“I…I’ve been an ass these past few days, weeks, I shouldn’t have said what I did—wanted to take it back as soon as I turned away from you.” You close your eyes and sigh long, sarcastic even now.

“You owe me dinner and a movie, then I’ll see if I can forgive you.” Hesh chuckles, nose pressing down into your scalp. He kisses you there as water falls from his chin.

“Sounds like a plan, Doll.” The man lets himself rest, curled around you and waiting for the recon team as the sand and the water move. “I love you too…just so you know. Long time.”

Your failing mind lets off a scoff. But a happy one.

When you wake again, not remembering when you’d fallen asleep, it is to the sound of screaming.

“Logan!” You jolt up and have to place a hand on your head to stop the pounding. Hesh is struggling to move, fighting to get to his younger brother who you turn as quickly as you’re able to face. “Logan!”

Your face voids of blood.

Rorke is dragging the other man away, pushing him to the ground as Logan tries to fight like a dog on his back, with only one arm working properly. Growling, you try to stand—body falling and sliding right back down as Rorke kicks Logan’s combat blade from his hand, walking over to you and Hesh.

He stands and pants, limping from your shot to his foot and a hand across his abdomen in obvious pain.

“Look what you did,” Rorke motions behind him to the still-falling missiles being disposed of from space into the ocean; atop the wreckage of what Rorke had been a part of. Falling to your side, you leave behind a raging Hesh who attempts to move and get to Rorke while you go to Logan. The devil wheezes and points from you to the boys, forcing a grunt of approval. “You’re good.”

Hesh is shoved back by a ruthless boot into the rock, and you snarl, coming over to Logan and his very broken arm as he weakly writhes on the ground. You place your body over his and bare your teeth as if a beast.

“Rorke!” You bark. “It’s over! It’s done. Everything you’ve built is dead and recon is on its way for us…you’re finished.”

“Nothin’s finished, no,” Hesh tries to lunge again as Rorke’s body stumbles closer to you but falls into ragged coughs and stays on his side in utter agony.

“Stay away from them!” The man you’d just confessed to hisses, hand grasping futilely at the sand. Green eyes run back and forth from you to Logan, desperate and breaking by the second. “Rorke! You son of a bitch!”

“Nothin’s ever finished.” Grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, you’re being tossed off Logan and thrown to the side in a cloud of sand, body screaming at you as you yell out loudly.

Rorke bends a knee to look Logan in the eyes, shaking his head.

“You’d of been a hell of a Ghost.” Yelling, you wrench at the combat knife in your vest, set your feet, and tackle Rorke off of the Walker boy with a feral curse on your breath.

“Get the fuck off of—” Your leg twists with a defining crack as you’re grappled and thrown off, only able to slice a nice long cut down his jaw and at the beginning of the man’s throat.

Screaming you hear briefly Hesh’s rageful bellow, his calling of your name in high keens of helplessness. Promises of revenge and justice.

Breath breaking as tears line the back of your eyes, Rorke comes over you and pins your dominant hand to the ground—you look up and grimace, trying to make your body function.

Move!

Rorke laughs, great shoulders shaking with glee. He’s fucking demented as he continues his sentence from before your fruitless attack.

“...But that’s not gonna happen, is it?” The man smiles and you struggle as Logan and Hesh rapidly try to assist.

“Harp!”

“There ain’t gonna be any Ghosts.” Rorke’s eyes shift to Hesh, and you follow with a sense of dread and horror. The man’s mind had been made up when he turned back around, disregarding Logan entirely in favor of you and your ‘unbreakable’ loyalty.

The joy it would bring him to destroy you and set you loose after such. Set you loose on Hesh.

He leans in close to you, so you can feel his breath and his conviction.

“We’re gonna destroy ‘em together.”

“Harp!” You’re shoved back, knife grasped and ripped from your hand as your broken leg is grabbed and pressure is applied.

You scream again, arms carding across the dunes as Rorke begins dragging you backward like a child holding onto a stuffed toy. Blown green eyes meet yours, Hesh reaching out and screaming at the top of his lungs for you.

But he can’t move.

“Harp!”

And you can’t feel your fingers.

“I love you,” you whisper, perhaps for the last time and he sees your lips move. Hesh screams and slams his hand into the ground, Logan stumbling to his knees but immediately dropping back with a small cry.

And Rorke chuckles.

—

You don’t know where he took you, but you do know the jungle floor is cold and wet, and the mud under your fingernails makes you feel gross.

What you do know is that the earthen walls of the pit you are in are pointless to try to climb—the top is slatted with a covering of long sticks with wide square openings. You know it’s going to rain by the smell in your bloodied nostrils.

You know that your leg is broken, your bullet wound is festering through the tourniquet, and your concussion is making you sleepy.

In your head, you count these ‘knowns’ and sprinkle them like seeds as you stare blankly at the sky far above. Everything aches; hurts. When you breathe, it comes in and out with a wheeze.

You know that Hesh loves you, and perhaps that’s the only fact you care about. Wherever he is, you’re glad he can’t see you like this.

Rain patters against your head, the storm clouds finally rolling through. Leaves can be heard shuffling on their branches. You breathe in and out, rising and settling your lungs slowly.

You can’t break—not like Rorke.

No matter what he did to you, you can’t betray the Ghosts. Logan. Hesh.

Elias’s words echo as you curl into a tiny ball, shivering and whimpering as your wounds move and pull.

...I’m proud of you. And I’m sure your folks would be too.

You know this game. Torture. They’ll pump you full of hallucinogens, starve you, beat you within an inch of your life; and through that you cannot give in.

But it’s easier said than done.

In the middle of the night, the top of the pit is pushed away and there are the voices of multiple people that dance above the rain storm. They jump down and in the state you are, there’s nothing you can do to stop them from hooking their arms under yours and hauling you up, limp and motionless.

The words are in Spanish, and you still can make out some over the commotion and the way your hearing dips in and out.

“Where do we inject….”

“...neck, I believe…arm could work too…”

“...nasty…was it? I heard…mix of drugs…Who knows?”

Your head is harshly yanked back, and the sharp pinch of a needle digs into your neck, the action making your good leg kick out in panic but there’s little you can do.

A flood of thick fluid enters your veins and like sap seeping out of a tree some drops exit the wound and mix with the rain weighing down your clothes. They’d taken your gear, only your undershirt and cargo pants still clothing you.

When they’re done, they let you drop back to the floor, where you flop and smash your face into the mud with a weak drag of your cheek along the sludge. With calls from above, a rope is tossed down and they all ascend. The top is clattered back over moments later.

Laying still and groaning, teeth clenched, already you feel ten times more strange than before.

“Ah,” you grasp at your head, which was bursting to begin with, as it gains a looseness to it—the mud below you shimmered with puddles, the chill got colder, and your clothes felt grating against your skin. “Not good. N-not good.”

You pull at your shirt collar, coughing as your eyes bulge; your heart breaks itself as it immediately can be felt hammering into your ribcage far more sensitive than you’d ever experienced. It felt like your chest was going to rip open.

Panicked sounds emanate from the back of your throat, fingers digging into your scalp as the drugs carry their venom through your blood.

Your wounds blazed.

You start screaming, babbling for nothing, and pulling at your flesh, but the overhead striking of lightning leaves the desperation mute to all but the trees.

—

Hesh stares at you from the corner of the pit, but his eyes are not green. You watch, silent, barely moving, from where you curl into a tiny heap of bloodied flesh. You’d torn at your skin for days; time looped together with more injections and no food. Water you got from the sky.

They had offered soup, but you knew better even as you dug harsh lines into your neck. There were just more drugs in the broth.

But Hesh. Hesh.

He wasn’t right—didn’t stand like him, or breathe like him; there was something off about his smirk as he watched you gaze at him in an addled stupor.

“Feelin’ good over there, Kid?” Not Hesh. Not. Hesh.

You’re panting, your body sweating profusely in the humidity and so, so hungry.

Not Hesh takes a step forward and his image tilts like the turning of a page with Rorke taking his place, but as soon as it happens it flips back on itself to your Love.

“N-not right,” you hurriedly whisper.

Not Hesh puts a hand to his ear, kneeling down in front of you. “What was that, now?” A long chuckle. His voice is…is…deeper. Your eyebrows flinch up and down. “Who do you see, Sweetheart?”

“Hesh,” you whimper out. “Hesh, what are you talking about? What’s going on? I…I feel like I’m…I’m twisted inside out.”

“Hesh, huh?” The man looks to the side, smiling. “Well, that’s better than I expected. This’ll be fun.”

“W-what—” A fist connects with your face and you get catapulted into the wall. Before anything else, your stomach is kicked, making your call of alarm get forced out as a gasp as your clotted bullet wound reopens in a great tear. A large hand grips you hard by the chin, snapping it forward to stare into those wrong eyes but the familiar face of Hesh.

What was he doing to you?

“H…Hesh,” you can’t even stutter out his name before you break down into coughs and gagging; tears rolling down your cheeks, and blood and mud everywhere.

“Yeah, that’s right. You just keep lookin’ at me.” You dry heave and push at his hands, fingernails digging into his skin to create crescent moons. “Keep lookin’ at Hesh.”

—

It’s three months of the same, and you can’t go on anymore.

You lay in a near comatose state on the ground, flesh completely covered in mud and open wounds—maggots eat at your dead skin, wriggling deeper. Not having the heart to pick them out, or even move the few non-broken fingers you have, you lay in blank agony. Pain so deep you can’t scream or make a single noise. It would make it worse; it is making it worse.

Breathing is becoming a chore.

“Is today going to be the day?! God, I sure hope so.” Hesh looks down from over the edge, fiddling with another syringe of drugs. “Enough blood down there to make a fuckin’ painting out of. Shit…You lasted longer than I thought, Kid.” You don’t look at him. At his dark, wrong, eyes.

“I’m nearly impressed.” There’s a low chuckle and the crackling of branches.

You close your eyes and try to think of a single kiss and green eyes, but the rest of the image is tainted to you. Your mind can’t call it forward without the corruption of the puppet ahead of you, this shifting specter of mist and smoke.

Memories that used to bring you comfort call to fear and spine-curling hurt.

This couldn’t be Hesh, you told yourself for the millionth time, but…who else could it be? Your body was too broken to try and work through the hallucinations, to think or rationalize.

There’s a thump of boots and a grunt. Someone coming closer as birds speak far above. Singing. It's the first you can recall another living creature being this close to the smell of infected decay.

“Now, now, let’s see that neck of yours.” You’re seized and pushed onto your back, head lulling and eyes fluttering. Hesh’s image shifts and bends into another, one you should be able to name but can’t quite recall. It’s hard to focus. “Just one more, and we can fix this. Together. No more Ghosts, huh? We’ll make it right.”

Birds songs. Birds and flying shadows. Rapid wing beats like an eagle or the pound of paws on the ground.

There is an un-godly snarl and a call of rage.

“Rorke!” The dark-eyed Hesh snaps his head away, his needle stilling in his grip only inches from your flesh. He’s grappled and ripped away, thrown up and slammed down into a full-body jerk of pure strength not a second later with a cry of shock. “Get the fuck off of her!”

Shadows roll and wrestle, feral yowls like that of beasts bounce off your impaired hearing, mud stuck in your ears. You think your vision cuts out for a moment because the next there’s a different man gripping your shoulders, slightly shaking you back awake.

Blue eyes like the ocean. Your brow barely twitches in confusion.

Keegan?

“C’mon, that’s it. Right here.” A light is taken and directed right into your eye in the fading light. “You’re doin’ great, Harp. Just keep lookin’ at me.”

The light passes over your blood-coated eyes and barely diolates. Keegan’s lips under his balaclava thin to an alarming degree.

“Fuck,” he grunts, looking down at you before he darts his vision over to Hesh, the actual Hesh, who’s locked limbs with the former Ghost; fists to guts and primal anger.

In his haste to get to you, Hesh had damned himself—he’d left no opening for any of the others to get a clean shot at Rorke. But no one could blame him, even if it was reckless; incredibly stupid.

The man had been on your trail nearly every day since you’d been taken. Barely sleeping, eating little. A man possessed.

The Ghosts had been half convinced something had taken over his image and scooped out his personality.

“Merrick,” Keegan patches into the secure line, looking back down at you. “Positive ID on HVT, three klicks West. Hesh has engaged—we found Harp.”

There’s an instantaneous response, worried breath. “Solid copy…how’s she doing?”

“We need MedEvac immediately. She won’t last another night.” There’s a curse on the other end, a loud and quick call to the rest of his squad.

“Copy! I’ll call it in!” Keegan tries to stabilize you as Hesh and Rorke rip each other to shreds, and Hesh, who had the upper hand in the beginning, is quickly losing it.

“Awe, look who tracked ‘er down!” Rorke snatches at Hesh’s collar and lays two jabs to his ribs—there’s a definitive crack as the younger man shouts in pain. “Young love! So fucking pointless.”

“I’m going to rip you into pieces,” Hesh bares his teeth, eyes wild and unrestrained. For a moment Rorke looks taken aback by the utter conviction in his green gaze. “And make you choke on your own damn teeth! You hear me?!”

Ripping away with a tear of fabric, Hesh bends low and tackles the former Ghost to the ground, splaying him out on his back before his fist is snapped back and brought down; again and again and again.

“Hesh!” Keegan shouts, pressing deeply into your wounds and trying to give you fluids with one hand. “This fucking kid.” The Sergeant gives up, shaking his head.

Trust had to be given, and Keegan knew that at this moment he had to trust Hesh to hold his own. He needed to keep you conscious.

“Easy, Harp.” You can feel the cracks in your dry throat as the water seeps past them, and you cough up droplets before the blue-eyed Sergeant tilts your head and helps you. “Easy, Sweetheart.”

Keegan doesn’t even want to look at your body as the brutal sounds of a fist on bone continue, clothes scuffling and gargled breaths—the savagery and barbarous remnants of mental and physical torture too much even for him.

“Christ,” he hisses.

You gulp down water slowly and let it fill your stomach like a brick.

Hesh reduces Rorke’s face to a mess of flesh and busted bone, sweating and not even stopping as his knuckles split under his gloves or his fingers dislocated from their sockets. His eyes burn, his face goes red—he looks insane.

He looks like a spirit of utter revenge.

Only when Logan and Merrick drag him off the spasming body does he stop, but not after he tries like hell to fight out of that hold as well. Whipping around, he attempts to land a punch on Merrick before Logan is forced to put him in a restraint hold.

Hesh’s cheek meets the mud, face being sunk into it as his right arm is twisted so far behind his back it nearly breaks. The older brother growls, free arm and legs moving—back sliding.

“David!” Merrick barks at him, face pulled in a sneer, enraged at the man’s lack of sense. “Shut this shit down. Look at her, dammit!” Logan gets bucked off, but the youngest Walker boy has enough sense to wrestle him back down and grab onto his chin; forcing those green eyes to lock on you and Keegan.

The second he sees you, he entirely freezes.

Merrick sighs out harshly, jogging over to you and already checking in with the MedEvac that Kick’s flying in. There would be no resistance—all the other hostiles were dead.

“Jesus Christ,” the Commander breathes, kneeling by you instantly and studying your body.

Hesh’s reaction is slower, but the spread of vile tears burns the back of his eyes. Logan lets him go at seeing this, standing and holding out a hand, but the brunette stays on the ground a moment longer; utterly still.

Hesh’s mouth opens and closes.

All at once he’s rushing over and limping up at your side as Merrick grabs more medical supplies from his packs to help you.

“Oh my God,” Hesh breathes, and Keegan sends him a glance. You’d drank all of the water. “Harp, hey, you’re going to be okay—it’s gonna be alright, you hear? I’m right here, Logan and I are gonna get you home. Back to California, okay? Riley’s waitin’ for you, Doll.”

You flinch at that voice, and Merrick looks sharply at the blue-eyed Sergeant. Their eyes lock, holding for a long moment. Logan’s brows tighten in confusion.

The brunette seems not to notice it at all, hands finding your cheek before Merrick can give him a warning. Your eyes slowly shift to him before they peel back with fear.

Hesh’s vision goes glossy, clenching his jaw. “Shit, what did he do to you—”

“Hesh!”

You yell and yerk back, shoving the man off of you with a fear-filled sob.

“No!” Keegan and Merrick grapple to keep you down, not wanting to aggravate your wounds as Hesh falls to his ass, hands slapping behind him before he hisses and brings them back up. He blinks quickly in confusion and panic.

Logan rushes over and hides him from your view, beginning to understand what was going on.

“No!” You call again, Keegan having to hold your head into his chest to hide you away. Merrick yells down his comms to hurry the Helo up, and that he doesn’t care about anything else. “No,” your voice gargles off as you sob into Keegan. “Please, no more.”

“Shh,” the Sergeant mutters, looking over his shoulder at a pale and shaking Hesh. “Nothin’s going to happen to you. Not anymore.”

“Harp,” Hesh whispers, jaw slackened. “I…I don’t…”

“Hallucinogens,” Merrick says grimly, watching you shake and wail. Logan has to look away, his fists clenching. “Who knows what she’s seen. Reckon it wasn’t anything good.”

It’s like he doesn’t hear anything besides your cries. Whenever you gasp Hesh tenses as if he wants to run to you—comfort you the best way he knows how.

Hallucinogens? He thinks and feels tears dribble down his cheeks as he blinks, rubbing at his jaw and shakily placing a hand over the back of his neck. Logan puts a heavy grip on his shoulder, weighing them down even more.

—

Rorke’s death should have been a time of celebration—of honoring the fallen. Elias Walker, Ajax, and countless others. The Federation was nothing more than broken factions now. Dust to the wind.

But no one can celebrate when they’re trying to fix one of their own.

You were being kept in the secure medical ward under twenty-four-hour surveillance and around-the-clock care; only Keegan was allowed in, seeing as you were the closest to him outside of Logan and Hesh and had no adverse effects to his presence.

Merrick had said he didn’t want to risk Logan going in, as it might worsen things. Hesh was taking it hard.

He just got you back, how was this right? How was it fair that you’d had to go through that right when it was supposed to be over and done with? The man got sick over it, thinking about what Rorke had done to…break your mind like he had.

Two months.

Two months of nightmares plaguing him, of your eyes when you looked at him. If Hesh had just been stronger, then that bastard would never have dragged you away on that beach. He resulted in working out more, running laps around Fort Santa Monica with Riley at three in the morning—he grew bags under his eyes. He grew quiet.

When all of his broken ribs and fingers healed, the artificial wounds, he was offered awards for taking down Rorke; even a summon by the President.

He’d denied all of them.

If a medal was going to get you better faster, he’d have taken them in an instant. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hesh was withering, and everyone saw it. He loved you more than anything—more than fame or recognition. The man lay awake at night fearing that you were too cold or uncomfortable in the far-off ward, he was paranoid about your safety.

More often than not, the nurses found him and Riley fitfully sleeping outside of your door on the hard ground, arm used as a pillow. They didn’t have the heart to move him.

In the last two weeks before the third month of your isolation and evaluations, in his nighttime routine, Hesh finds your door open.

He stares at it now with a blank expression, fatigue once burning his eyes all gone for a deep and pounding panic. With a hand gesture, Riley halts and sits, and, sensing his handler’s mood, lets his ears go straight up in attention.

Hesh reaches for the gun in the back of his pants, peeling it out slowly and taking a nearly silent step forward. Ready, his ears strain for a sound…but there is none.

His free hand reaches for the door, the short sleeves of his gray sleep-shirt bunching. A moment later, he lightly taps the barrier farther out before entering the room with the gun drawn.

He said he wouldn’t get distracted, but it would be a lie to say his eyes didn’t immediately go to you.

You were there, asleep, curled up on the far recliner chair instead of the bed. Head lulled to the side and knees kept close to your chest. But it was the scars that broke Hesh.

They were large and long—on your face and arms; legs. All moving and stretching like a child’s drawing up your sleep shorts and shirt, disappearing only to reappear somewhere else. Healed over but still fresh.

Hesh drops the gun and turns his body slightly away, staring at the side wall before he takes an unsteady breath. He re-hides his weapon and turns to leave, not seeing anyone else.

Maybe Keegan had forgotten to close the door…he’d have to chew him out for that. Already a dull point of anger was making his jaw clench at the sly older man.

“Bastard,” Hesh mutters.

Before he can exit and close the door softly behind him, he hears a broken squeak of alarm. He halts as you stare heavily into his back—awoken by the sound of nearly silent feet. In a steady motion, the man’s hands are by his sides, open and visibly holding nothing.

“I was just leaving,” Hesh whispers, not looking at you. His heart hammers. “I’m sorry, I thought someone else was in here—the door was open, okay?”

Your hands twitch, body still and breath held tight.

“Hesh?” He flinches, eyes closed tight.

Don’t look at her. Don’t turn around. Leave.

“Are you really…him?” You ask silently, eyes darting nervously around the room and quickly waking up fully.

It’s a moment before he answers you.

“Yeah,” he forces out, voice tiny and sad. “Yeah, it’s me, Doll. Just David Walker.”

Your throat bobs with a thin swallow. Treatment was still ongoing, but it’s not every day you wake up to find the man who you had nightmares about standing in your room.

Breathe, you have to remind yourself. It was the drugs. Not Hesh. Never Hesh. Rorke.

But you were still scared.

“I…I need to see your eyes,” you say.

Hesh turns carefully, staring hard at the floor. His heart lurches, hands going clammy.

What if she has a setback? He asks himself. What if I mess this up…Shit, Hesh, you couldn’t have minded your own business?

Oh, but he never could when it came to you.

“Then look at me, Sweetheart.” The man breathes slowly, darting his eyes up to your face. “They only belong to you.”

But your gaze can’t slip to his sockets, only able to glare fearfully into his neck. But this Hesh felt different, more like the one you grew up with—those memories still coming back but tainted; you need to see green, but it was hurting you to think that you might not.

“I’m scared,” you admit, shakily. The man’s thighs tense, but he stops himself before he can go and take you into his arms. That wouldn’t help. “I’m…I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“I’m real. I swear to you, Harp, I’m real. I’m right here and I’ll wait for you as long as it takes. Even if it’s years, I will always be right here.” He pleads, hands still at his sides and going nowhere if you don’t tell him to. It’s like a floodgate opens, months of internal pain and heartbreak spilling out. You needed to know this, even if he never got to see you again.

“I have loved you since I saw you get jealous over Cassie Albrook in seventh grade and tried to hide it because you thought she made me happy—she could never make me happy, Harp. That was you. That was always and will always be you. I…I can’t breathe when you’re not near me, I don’t know how to act right when you’re hurt. Seeing you hurting is…is…” Hesh’s voice breaks and he falls silent.

“Please, if you need to look into my eyes, I’m beggin’ you, Sweetheart, please, do it. Even if it’s only one glance.” Your breath is stuck in your throat, tears welling and sliding down your cheeks.

In your skull your brain pounds, bordering on hysteria and an urge to flee. There was so little that you trusted anymore. Keegan, yes—the nurses and doctors? You had no choice there.

You knew that the Hesh you’d seen in the pit was Rorke, Keegan had explained it all to you after the drugs had been pumped from your system; you understood that part. But it didn’t make the sickening confusion any better.

Symptoms of severe PTSD, paranoia, anxiety—you’d seen the charts when the nurses thought you weren’t looking at them.

You still wouldn’t let anyone with a needle anywhere close to you, had to be put under for it.

But you’d been so lonely here. A simple kiss seared into your mind before the horror set in, a stain of a smile on your lips. A chest vibrating with a content purr.

Hesh. You want your Hesh back.

Taking a stuttering breath, your eyes dart upwards. You push through your misty gaze and lock on a color that can only be described as a grassy field of verdant growth. Great open plains of viridescent being—showing you a world bathed in tender belonging.

Home.

You sob and rush from the chair on legs that still hurt even now, meeting Hesh in the middle as he takes a step forward and wraps his arms around you. You’re covered and kept in a hold so tight it’s like he’ll never let you go, heart pounding and his face loose with shock.

But he says nothing beyond a loud shuttered exhale of relief, pressing you to his chest and burying his face into your scalp, breathing you in; taking you down like a sinner in church until all that remains is you. Your fingers digging into his shirt, your face in his neck, how you call his name as if calling a ghost back from the dead.

“Oh, my Girl.” Hesh chuckles through the tears in his eyes. “My Girl. I missed you so much, you won’t even believe it.”

You push yourself into him tighter.

Riley, at some point, had come to stand in the doorway, his dark beady eyes seeing only the colors in gray, brown, yellow, and blue, though that never truly mattered. Color was only half of the picture.

And the rest of the image in front of him was seeped with the pigment of love.

The dog’s tongue lulls from the side of his mouth, and in the air behind him, his tail moves back and forth into a soft arch.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @waves-against-a-cliff, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

#cod #cod x reader #call of duty #cod x you #x female reader #call of duty x you #call of duty x reader #hesh walker x female reader #hesh walker x reader #david hesh walker #hesh walker #cod ghosts #cod ghosts x reader #call of duty ghosts #cod x female reader #x fem!reader #call of duty: ghosts

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aran-morinorea · 2 months ago

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Tar-Telepta, Aran Morinórea: I want to hear about Annatar's Shit Paradigms, of course :D

...All right so here's the thing you don't get Annatar's Shit Paradigms because it needed so much groundwork before I can begin to write actual prose. But you do get this whole thing describing Annatar's interiority in the months after The Inciting Event for the whole au. Because I needed to pin it down so I can even start Annatar's Shit Paradigms.

Celebrimbor confronts Annatar - Tar-Mairon - about his activities in Mordor, gives him the “Your evil plans or me” ultimatum, and then Mairon fucks off to go have a tantrum.

This tantrum involves:

Going back to Barad-dur and killing some people who definitely 100% deserved it for sure.

That thing where someone goes to a bathroom and splashes water on their face and looks in the mirror while leaning on the sink except it’s lava instead of water.

Laying facedown in the fires of Mount Doom and rethinking his life.

Causing multiple earthquakes.

...Thinking about the joy of watching Celebrimbor learn and make things.

Thinking about the satisfaction of working in partnership with someone else, someone as vibrant and strong and smart and wonderful as Celebrimbor.

Thinking about going and taking Celebrimbor by force, laying siege to Ost-in-Edhil and putting him in chains and bringing him here and keeping him.

… Thinking about how strong and vibrant and stubborn and principled Celebrimbor is.

Thinking about whether Celebrimbor would be one of those people who would rather die than live as a thrall.

Realizing that yes, Celebrimbor absolutely would die for what he believes in, and it would be so much work to try keep his spirit around, and it wouldn’t be nearly the same as having him - really having him - having him to work and argue and play with - having his love.

Remembering that Celebrimbor still doesn’t know about the Sauron thing, and he might be able to keep it that way.

Remembering that Celebrimbor did not cast him out of his life unequivocally - he will not be the friend or lover of a slaver and an imperialist, but if Mairon takes steps to stop being those things -

Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to stop being those things.

Realizing he’s genuinely considering just giving up on the vision of Melkor.

Spontaneously filling the whole room with flames.

That was the throne room. He’d been sitting there, motionless and completely unresponsive, for four days.

There might have been people in there who will be annoying to replace. Mairon simply cannot care about it right now.

Remaining on fire while thinking about Melkor’s promises.

He said it was only a matter of time.

He said it would be better to put the rightful king on the throne of Arda quickly, and get back to the business of metals and fractals, than to fight a long defeat and be judged unworthy at the end, never having time for beauty again.

And then He lost.

Three times out of four.

As soon as the Valar bothered to interfere.

And maybe, at the end, after the final battle, it would be better, safer, to have been working toward His purposes the whole time He was gone, but -

Thinking about what would happen if the Valar bothered to interfere with his current projects.

…Thinking about how hard it would be, really, to be - in truth, even, maybe! - someone Celebrimbor could love.

How hard would it be to act within the boundaries of Celebrimbor’s principles?

He did not say “Believe what I believe.”

He did not say “Cease to be a monster.”

He said “Your policies are monstrous and I cannot support them,” which suggests that it is the action that matters most to him. That the problem is what he is doing, and not what he is.

Changing that does not seem so hard.

Perhaps it will be a fun challenge, like an arbitrary restriction for a jewelcraft competition.

And really - if anyone is going to change him - if he’s going to accept anyone’s judgement - if there’s anyone currently in Arda who Mairon thinks is right - would it not be Celebrimbor?

Of course it would.

Deciding that, you know what, Mairon would be willing to commit to Celebrimbor’s vision - if Celebrimbor will fucking commit to him.

This is so Mairon can keep him.

So that they will twine their souls together and be - be that partnership which is so full of joy.

Deciding that if Celebrimbor won’t do it - if he wants “Annatar” to give him this without giving anything in return - then - yes.

Then he will find another way to keep him.

And it would not be as good, it would not be Mairon’s shining vision, but it would be something. And eventually Celebrimbor would see the value in Mairon’s methods. He’s sure of it.

When he’s finally done with his tantrum, Annatar climbs out of the magma-filled crevasse he'd been sulking in and goes up to draft the words to a wedding proposal.

#silvergifting #gem writes #aran morinorea #significant formatting was lost. hm. whatever #...tbh this might be ao3-ready?#huh #it's in a kind of silly tone for what it is but i'm not convinced i care #thanks for the ask ^-^#i dont have any more...#maybe i'll actually go to bed on time then lol

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yandere-wishes · 1 year ago

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I'm considering the idea of a yandere cheater in spiderverse. All after reading your Miles G, I confess. Miguel was the first wave, but Hobie and Miles G, hit like a tsunami behind.

I don't ask you to write it. Just babbling about my favs... although there's also Aaron, Peter B, Noir,... I love everyone.

But, but in your yandere expert opinion, who would have the toughest nerve to become a cheater and on top of that, being a yandere about reader? From all the charas into and across the spiderverse.

ALSO, WHO IS YOUR FAVORITE, KINDA FUCK, MARRY, KILL???, Tell me, tell me *googly eyes*

In my "expert" Yandere knowledge (jk 🤣jk🤣) I'd say that 90% of the Spiderverse cast could be "cheater" if they couldn't physically be with the reader. Or if they thought that they don't deserve the reader.

1610-Miles: would never cheat, he'd just sit around mopping and dreaming about the reader. He'd also never really think about not "deserving" the reader. He's a really lonely boy and would latch onto his crush no matter what. He'd also fully believe that he was a better match for them than anyone else. He's also confident enough that he's sure he could protect them against anything.

Pavitr Prabhakar: Would also never cheat. When he's in love he becomes devoted to said person and would do anything for them. Cares for them too much to ever be with anyone else. Also if that person is in love with someone else then he would respect their choice and bottle up his emotions. Laching onto the hope that one day the reader would realize they love him more than their current partner. He's practically the walking embodiment of "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift.

Gwen Stacy: Gwen might cheat on the reader if she's trying to distance herself from them. Make them hate her so they leave. But really it's just to protect them, she's fully convinced that she's cursed. Anyone who get's too close to her ends up hurt. So she'll make them leave. Also if her lover is in another dimension then she might go for a relationship in her own dimension just to distract herself from them.

Hobie Brown: Wouldn't mean to cheat. But he might get tempted into having an affair. Nothing serious just something casual. But he tries to keep it a secret from his one true love. Also if Hobie did end up kidnapping the reader and locking them up somewhere then he may have another relationship with someone else. But that person is like a substitute for the reader. He pretends that they are her and that He and the reader are a real couple, but it's actually the other person. Until he can trust the reader enough to take them outside. Does this make sense? I feel like it doesn't make sense.

42- Miles: Will have some causal flings here and there to get their mind off the reader. But also watches them through their window each night. Like he's obsessed but too prideful to fully admit it. If he does kidnap the reader and sees that she's being incompliant. He'll try to make her jealous by going out on cute dates with some other girl. Then showing her pictures. Show her how easily replaceable she is. He'll obviously break her mind until she's begging him not to go out, not to leave her alone. Why is it that every time I write anything for this guy it gets real dark, real quick?

Miguel O'Hara: YES!! THIS MAN IS NOT EMOTIONALLY STABLE. Like he might just make an AI of his lover, talk to her, program her to love him, and convince himself that this is his real lover. If his lover is in another dimension then maybe he'll date someone with certain similar characteristics to her but then kinda get distracted by his duties. He'll just go back lovingly looking at them through a screen.

Peter B: He might get drunk and cheat by accident. But I think that's more something he would have done in the first movie. If the reader is MayDay's mother then no way he's cheating.

Spider Noir: He's too old-fashioned to cheat. He'll treat his lover like a princess. I can't really see him doing anything like that.

Aaron: He might cheat on the reader if he loves her enough. Like his life as the Prowler is dangerous, he knows this. So he'll distract himself with other people as apposed to getting mixed up with the reader and risking their life.

As for me: (I'll do kiss, marry, kill)

MARRY: MIGUEL O'HARA. I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN. He means everything to me😍😍. I just want to be his cute little housewife. Someone he can look forward to coming home to. Plus I'd also try to help him out with his whole Spiderman thing.

KISS: MILES G MORALES (prowler miles) I LOVE HIM SO MUCH!! He also gives me lowkey season 4 Eren vibes from AOT lol.

Kill:... Honestly no one. I love everyone so much. Like maybe Miguel so no one can have him but me. But like also Miles G, so you know, no one can have him but me. 😂😂 sorry about that went full yandere for a moment.

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thisisourlovestory · 11 months ago

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Safe and Sound

Finnick Odair x reader soulmate AU

Summary: you are a victor from district 4. The Quarter Quell has just been announced. How will you cope with the turn of events coming your way.

Wordcount- 3.1k

Notes: Sorry this one was so late, it was just not chaptering but it's here now so enjoy!

Chapter 5

My heels clicked as I walked across the stone floor. My dress swirling around in the light breeze that flowed through the opening at the other end of the room. I felt eyes on me as I walked. So many eyes. All latching onto me and following my every movement. I locked my own gaze on the horses. Beautiful creatures, tall, strong and powerful. I stopped next to the chariot I would be riding in and stroked the horses pulling it. I found myself drawn towards the one on the left. His depthless black eyes pierced my skin. I felt as if he knew everything I was feeling, everything I thought, everything I had done. I stood directly in front of him. My own eyes locked on his as I lifted my hand to stroke his face. Dark fur like velvet under my touch. He nickered quietly, hooves pawing at the ground.

“It's okay. It's okay.” I soothe him gently. “I'm a friend, I won't hurt you.” I hold his head and stroke along his nose to calm him down as I chatter mindlessly to him. “You're very beautiful, you know. I'd love to see you free, running in the wild. I'm sure it would be a sight to behold, you in the meadows. I think you'd like that, meadows are pretty. Especially if they have lots of flowers, my favourites are the blue and purple ones. Then again you might eat the flowers.“ I frown. “I don't know if flowers are good for horses so you maybe shouldn't eat them.” He snorted as if laughing at me and I smiled before turning around and taking a step forward. Immediately, eyes were on me again, assessing, questioning, some downright sadistic- as if they were already plotting how to kill me. I shuffled nervously on my feet, putting my hands behind my back and fiddling with my fingers as I peered around curiously myself, Cashmere and Gloss were stood chatting to Enobaria and Brutus, their sneering expressions as they glanced over me giving away exactly what they were talking about. Other tributes were milling around, chatting to each other quietly, trying to not draw attention to themselves. I decided to mingle a bit, I meandered through the room, not looking directly at anyone but nodding hello or raising a hand in greeting. Without realising it I somehow ended up by the district 12 tributes, Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. The winners of last year's games, the star crossed lovers. I gave them both a quick nod and turned, in doing so I lost my balance and wobbled, almost falling over but Katniss grabbed my arm and righted me.

“Thank you.” I muttered. She said nothing in response so I thanked her again awkwardly and made to walk away.

“Wait,” I turned to see her holding a hand out to me. “You're Y/N right. The winner of the 68th.” I nodded.

“Yes, I am.”

“I remember the year you won. I watched your entire games. You won by killing the three career tributes didn't you.“ I shivered at the reminder and replied softly.

“Yes.”

“Nobody thought you would be the one to win. I didn’t either. Thought it would be the district 2 boy.” I laughed lightly.

“That makes two of us.” I stopped for a second before continuing. “I know you don't know me or anything but for what it’s worth I’m sorry you have to do this again. You and Peeta. You don't deserve it.”

“None of us should have to do this.” Peeta interrupted. “None of us.” I quirked an eyebrow as I studied him. His face set in a stony expression.

“You shouldn't have won either but you did and here we all are again.” I turned away from him to face Katniss again. “And what you did for your sister last year was brave.”

“What you did for Annie this year was brave.” She countered. I hummed

“How do you know I didn't do it for glory?”

“Because none of us want to go back in there.” I studied her, a sad smile on my lips.

“That's not entirely true.” She looked confused for a second and I shook my head. “Some of us want to go back in, not for the reasons you're thinking, not for glory or bragging rights. Some of us just want to protect other people.” I shook my head slightly, my hair falling over my shoulders. “Like him,” I nodded to Peeta who was petting the horses,”He wants to protect you and he didn't want Haymitch to go back in because he would have probably died.“ She gazed at me for a second.

“So you volunteered to protect someone as well.” I stared back at her.

“I didn't mean to volunteer. It just happened.” She opened her mouth to respond but we heard a scream of my name from across the room. I turned and was immediately enveloped in a huge hug, my face filled with coiffed hair and I spluttered as it covered my mouth and nose.

“Effie, hair. Face. Hair. Breathing.” I stuttered out, Effie pulled away from me and gasped.

“Oh you look so beautiful! Absolutely gorgeous!.” She grasped the fabric of my dress and inspected it closely. “The stitching is impeccable and this colour is so lovely on you.”

“Wait a minute, how do you three know each other?” Katniss interjected.

“We met when I was in the games, Effie loved me from the start because according to her I was ‘just so adorable’ and Haymitch warmed up to me after a while. But we’re only acquaintances, very rarely see each other.” She looked sceptical but nodded anyway.

“Effie’s right kid. You look pretty incredible. They'll all love you out there.” Haymitch said from behind, patting me on the back. “How’ve you been doing?” I shrugged. “Come on, something must have happened since we last saw you. It's been what, three, four years since you refused to see us again?”

“Four years, eight months and twenty seven days.” I muttered, looking down at the floor and laughed awkwardly. “There have been some tough moments, nightmares that you can never get rid of, but other than those I've been fine. Same as I always was. Same as I always will be.” I squinted at him. “What about you?”

“We’ve been very busy looking after these two and making sure they are adapting well to life as victors but other than that it's been much the same as usual.” Effie chimed in, sending a glare Haymitch's way and mouthing something I couldn't discern. Haymitch rolled his eyes at her and spoke to me as she fussed over Katniss.

“You volunteered. I thought you said nothing could ever make you come back.” I looked down.

“I lied.”

“I don't know why you did it kid and I know you won't tell me because you don't get close to people if you can help it, so just,” He sighed, ”Just try and stay alive as long as you can alright.” He patted me on the back again and went to talk to Peeta as Effie

“I have missed you like you wouldn't imagine darling. Although I did see you dancing a few times, it was so graceful and beautiful.” She covered her mouth. “You've grown up so much. Now where is that escort of yours, Lysander?” I shrugged again.

“Don’t know. Probably hounding Finnick or something.” Effie let out a loud sigh.

“He really is useless. Utterly useless. And I’ve told him that before you know. But apparently my advice is meaningless! Does he even know what his job is? It’s to help you win by getting you sponsors. And ignoring you completely is not the way to help.”

“It’s okay. Finnick has got the better chance of survival anyway, it makes more sense to focus on him.” Haymitch sent me a look.

“Do not look at me like that. I'm going to try my best but let's be honest it's not going to be enough.” I scrunched my nose up and tipped my head to Katniss. “See you out there girl on fire. It's been a pleasure meeting you.” She shook my hand.

“See you out there.”

“And you Peeta.” I called out to him. “We’ll all bump into each other again at some point I'm sure.” With that I walked off, leaving them all staring at my back in surprise. I let out a shuddering breath as I leaned against a wall, my head tipping back and my eyes shutting in a moment of peace that was over as soon as it began when they called us all to our chariots. I pushed myself off the wall and made my way back over to the horses and chariot, stroking their noses quickly before being helped up into the chariot. Dark metal and deep blue flowers at the front to represent District 4. I picked a petal and smoothed it over with the pads of my fingers, smooth and velvety. I felt a tap on my shoulder and jumped, turning to face a smirking Finnick.

“Sugarcube?” He asked, holding them out to me. I took one hesitantly and bit into it, the sweetness spread across my tongue, coating my entire mouth.

“Thank you.” I mumbled, sucking the rest into my cheek. Unfortunately, I finally clocked what he was wearing, or lack thereof, and almost choked on the sugar as I inhaled sharply and swallowed at the same time. I had been prepared for this to happen. But clearly not as prepared as I had thought I would be. Because there stood Finnick Odair, still smirking, biting a sugarcube with his back teeth, dressed in nothing more than a golden net tied in a knot to secure it around his waist. He was perhaps the closest thing to naked I’d ever seen a person be before, I thought to myself idly and swallowed again, the grains of sugar scratching my throat. I averted my gaze quickly as I felt heat rising in my cheeks and resolutely stared anywhere but at him. He laughed next to me.

“I didn't expect that.” I admitted quietly. “I thought you'd at least be wearing actual clothes.” I peeked at him for a second, the man was built like a greek god. All muscle and tan skin and just unfairly perfect.

“My stylist is of the belief that the more they see of me the better.” He held out a hand towards me. “I don't think we've been properly formally introduced. I'm Finnick Odair.” My heart broke in my chest at his words but I shook his hand and whispered my own name back as the chariots began to move forwards. I smoothed out the creases in the delicate fabric of my dress and plastered a pleasant expression on my face just as the noise of the Capitol hit my ears. And we were out. Parading down the Avenue of Tributes with people cheering for us yet again, but this time multiplied by a million. It was the one event of the week that every single person in the Capitol came to see and they all blurred together in a mass of whirling colours. I smiled faintly and tapped a small raised gem sewn into the sleeve of my dress. Immediately, water began to trickle down from my tiara. It seemed to have a life of its own and left cold trails on my skin. It touched the fabric of my dress and a brilliant blue bloomed from the patch. As it trickled further down, the rest of my dress turned similar shades until the water stopped flowing and collected in a pool at the hem of my dress, dripping slightly and leaving a damp patch on the surface of the chariot. I gazed up at myself on the projections as the people went wild and threw flowers at us, hollering for our attention. The top of the dress had become a dark blue the colour of the deepest parts of the ocean and it faded into a powdery blue the colour of the flowers that had lined my mothers porch years ago. I looked like a queen of the sea. My dress was a representation of the ocean and of District 4, of my home. Megara had outdone herself and I would wear it with pride. So I waved and blew kisses to people, a smile as bright as the sun on my face. I could hear the commentary vaguely in the background. Exclamations of how they had never quite seen something like that before, how beautiful the dress was, how perfect it was for me, for their angel. Others had attempted to copy the artificial flames but compared to the original they seemed like cheap knockoffs. Hardly impressive. I could understand why Megara would use water then, to make a different statement. Fire had already been seen, it was old, except for on district 12. But water, the opposite of fire. They had never seen that before and it really helped that she was styling for our district. And yet when Katniss and Peeta emerged, dressed in a blazing inferno, I was forgotten. As expected the attention all shifted to the star crossed lovers of district 12. Not that I could blame them, they were a sight to behold, even more dramatic than last year. The chariots circled and everyone waved up to President Snow. I simply nodded my head towards him, my gaze cold. Eventually we came to a stop in a semi circle and President Snow stepped up to the podium overhead.

“Welcome all to the 75th Hunger Games. We thank our tributes for their great sacrifice. We shall be sad to see them go.” With that he sends us on our way, we roll out and back where we came from. I leapt out as soon as we passed the entry way, my dress dragging along the floor, dust sticking to the damp fabric. I saw Mags waiting and brushed past her without a glance. I walked around for a bit, the architecture of the building was so new, it was clear they had it built especially for us. It was like a fortress, cameras everywhere, the thickest glass they could have found for windows, doors that couldn't be opened unless the guard stood next to them opened them for you and white walls all around. It wasn't just a training centre. It was a cage, our cage for the next week.

I laughed. They really didn't want us going anywhere at all. And they weren't taking any chances if they could help it. They could mask it with pretences of hospitality and wishing for us to enjoy our stay but even a blind man could see that this was a prison, and one made specifically to keep us in. I pressed a button on the wall and stepped into the elevator. Katniss, Peeta and Haymitch all greeted me with nods and Johanna grinned widely at me as we started moving upwards.

“Well well well. If it isn't the little princess. Tell me, how's life been treating you in the Capitol?” She asked, venom dripping from each word. I regarded her silently, assessing as she stripped off her dress. She had never liked me. She thought I was just some pretty little doll that the Capitol kept and never touched. They all thought that though, each and every victor knew I danced and sang and that was it. They had never been so wrong in their lives. But who was I to tell them that? It's not as if they would listen to anything I had to say.

“Life has been,” I paused, “It's been wonderful.” I watched her eyes darken with anger as she pulled off the last of her dress, leaving it in a heap on the floor. She quickly turned to Katniss and Peeta, flashed a cat-like grin.

“Thanks. This has been fun, we should do it again sometime.” With that she flounced out of the open doors. Haymitch whistled.

“Thank you.” Katniss sent him a disgusted look and I disguised a laugh with a cough. As much as I disliked her I could admire her. She was everything the Capitol didn't want her to be and the looks on Katniss and Peetas faces were something. She was confused, he was almost impressed and Haymitch was just like me, trying to not laugh out loud at their reactions

“Johanna Mason, district 7. Won the 71st games by pretending to be weak and then killing the remaining tributes with her axe. Delightful girl.” I rolled my eyes.

“Except for if she hates your guts. So try and get her to like you.” Peeta glanced at me.

“What do you mean?”

“If I know one thing about Johanna Mason, and I think I do. It's that she doesn't care about anyone or anything. And I'm pretty sure she has a hitlist and I'm number 1 on it.”

Before they could answer, the doors opened again and they all got out without a word, leaving me alone to go down again. I leant against the glass, looking out to see peacekeepers crawling about like insects, escorts rushing around for no reason whatsoever, tributes and mentors staying well away from the two former as if they were the plague. The doors pinged open and I made my way down the corridor. I pushed through the double doors and was met with expectant looks from everyone. Mags, Lysander and Finnick all sat at the table.

“I'm not hungry.” I said quickly before they could even ask me to sit.

I practically ran to my room and threw myself on the bed, silk sheets scrunching up under my weight. The door clicked open and I looked up to see Megara standing there with an eyebrow raised.

“They want me to convince you to come out. But I've got better plans for tonight.” She pulled out two tubs of ice cream and a plate of intricately decorated cakes and biscuits. She set them down on the table and waved me over.

“First of all, get changed. There's clothes in the drawers. Second, by my logic if they really wanted you to sit and eat dinner with them they would do it themselves. Third, I brought food,” She picked up a spoon and dug into a tub of ice cream, “And I'm not waiting for you to start. Plus,” She grinned, teeth coated in chocolate,”I want to know everything.”

Taglist:

@nekee-lilac02 @hinata7346 @bambikitten @the-lonely-abyss @mxacegrey @m-maxie-ie @not-aya @camatchoum @maw1dk @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @somdreamy @thehairington86 @millzluvrs @val-writesstuff @erindiggory @reader-bookling123 @elisa20beth @maxinehufflepuffprincess @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @mystargirl-interlude @ponkaniee @missunicorn @thatonegayloser616 @livibbu @cherrsnut @honethatty12 @purplelavin @user123453226780536 @littleanubis21

#finnick odair x reader #finnick x reader #finnick x you #finnick odair x you #thg x reader #catching fire #the hunger games #angst #implied finnick odair x annie cresta

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flyingwargle · 7 months ago

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sakuatsu fanfic recommendations!

i am back with more fanfic recommendations. i still have 100 fanfics to read so this will definitely be updated in the future x3 but away we go!

the highest rating for these recs is m!

oneshots!

soft but what light by min_mintobe teen. 2.1k. sakusa pov. atsumu woos sakusa by quoting shakespeare. very cute and endearing <3

i'll see you in court by yamscooper teen. 2.4k words. sakusa pov. post-anesthesia sakusa doesn't remember his husband. it's funnier than it sounds, trust me.

clean™️ by kiyoomi by sifuhotman teen. 3.7k words. atsumu pov. sakusa gets sponsored by mr. clean and sends samples to atsumu. he reads too much into it. fluffy and hilarious, especially the ending <3

the lovers' rivalry by strawberrypound_cake gen. 3.9k words. bokuto pov. the only thing bokuto knows about atsumu's partner is that they've been together since high school. after seeing him freak out that sakusa kiyoomi is trying out for msby, bokuto concludes that they must hate each other still and fears for atsumu. i love outsider povs, and this one was done very well!

let's get physical by rosegoldwriting teen. 4.3k. atsumu pov. atsumu falls head over heels for sakusa, the student nurse at the student center. cue atsumu doing whatever he can to cross paths with him. we love a pining atsumu in this house

the sakusa kiyoomi drunkenness scale by yamscooper mature. 4.3k. atsumu pov. atsumu discovers what six-drink kiyoomi is like. cute, hilarious, and the second part absolutely killed me (in a good way). we love drunk sakusa in this house (please drink responsibly)

raincheck? by escapist_090807 teen. 5.4k. atsumu pov. 3 times atsumu and sakusa postpone their first date, and 1 time they make it happen anyway. very fluffy and cute, especially when there's a weasel involved!

particularities by shizuumi151 teen. 5.7k words. atsumu pov. sakusa has sole claim of the apartment for deep cleaning days. roommates hinata, bokuto, and atsumu find him intense, except intense means something different for atsumu. absolutely hilarious, especially with osamu's part in the last half!

haha what if we kissed at the [undisclosed store name]-? by fried_squid teen. 6.9k words. atsumu pov. atsumu forgets his costco card and asks the first person he sees (i.e. sakusa) to help him out. i love the flirting through cash transfers, atsumu's wild goose chase to find out who sakusa's cousin is, and the pining! it's also very funny, go treat yourself to a laugh <3

sleeptalking by makemestagger teen. 6.6k words. sakusa pov. sakusa learns that atsumu talks in his sleep and uses this opportunity to see if atsumu reciprocates his feelings. fluffy and lighthearted!

on the back burner of love by aurite teen. 7.8k words. atsumu pov. sakusa leaves to play for a team in paris and atsumu pines. a narrative of two boys toeing the line of haha what if we're in a love but we won't tell the other until they're halfway across the world

the airport test by calicofern teen. 11.3k words. sakusa pov. how do you tell if you have serious feelings for someone? travel with them at the asscrack of dawn to assess if you'll do it again. i absolutely loved this, it's very much like sakusa to test himself (and affection) in this way x3 also with a sequel!

longfics!

under pressure by ghostystarr gen. 8.1k words. 2 chapters. sakusa pov. my first introduction to sakuatsu and damn is it a good one. sakusa learns how to flirt from bokuto and hinata. it goes as well as you'd expect. please read this.

(un-)deserving by sipsutus teen. 11.1k words. 2 chapters. atsumu pov. unlike most might think, atsumu cared and he can't believe that anyone would deserve him, until sakusa tells him he does <3 we love and care for atsumu in this house, no matter how painful it gets

the dos and don'ts of loving sakusa kiyoomi by liliapocalypse teen. 15k words. 2 chapters. atsumu pov. the jackals have a little game to try to make sakusa warm up to them and somehow, atsumu ends up with negative scores for four weeks. cue an intense investigation on how he can be the best teammate ever...and eventually gets the man, as well x3 very cute, highly recommend!

flowers bloom in our masks by unicornflowers gen. 24.k words. 3 chapters. sakusa pov. a beautiful exploration of sakusa's mysophobia in a developing relationship with atsumu. it has a happy ending, don't worry <3

point of view by lonelydoctors teen. 27.9k words. 3 chapters. atsumu pov. atsumu grows up thinking he's too much to love and sakusa shows him otherwise. deals with heavy themes, please heed the tags before reading <3

frankenstein's monster by starbeyy teen. 83.6k words. 10 chapters. atsumu pov. atsumu accidentally pisses off sakusa on the first day of practice and vows to avoid him, but this fails when they see each other for group therapy that same night. deals with themes related to ocd, proceed with caution <3 very detailed and personal, with comfort to balance the angst

easy to love by harubo teen. 145.5k words. 40 chapters. multi-pov. although this is mainly sakuatsu, i blame this fic for making me fall for sunaosa as well x3 canon divergence where sakusa is a food critic and stumbles upon onigiri miyas. the slowburn is so, so good, and the writing is so, so beautifully crafted and oozing with love. cannot recommend this enough, please love yourself and read this <3

your hands only by odd_bear mature. 200.4k words. 20 chapters. multi-pov. atsumu gets into a very dangerous relationship and those around him help free him. features multiple pairings, endgame sakuatsu.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fanfic recs #fanfic recs #sakusa kiyoomi #miya atsumu #sakuatsu #inarizaki #itachiyama #msby black jackal

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murmishhy · 6 months ago

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When you first meet Gortash, he proposes a partnership, whether you're Tav or Durge. This, to me, suggests manipulation. Even the Emperor claims Gortash genuinely means what he says, but I believe Gortash rolls so high for deception that our player's perception can't see through his charade, even if it's successful. Gortash probably believes that once you deal with the brain, he can take the stones for himself, push you away, or use your tadpole against you.

Whether you are Durge or Tav, Gortash knows that while the Astral Prism exists, he cannot touch or influence you. So, why lie to you? He wants to dominate the brain. You are a better partner than Orin, you already proved yourself with killing Ketheric. If you're Durge, he knows what other things you are capable of already. But once the brain is under control, you will have no reason to keep the prism. Trusting him and starting a partnership dooms both Tav and Durge. Although we enjoy the interpretation suggests that Gortash truly loves and cares about Durge, the truth is, he remains a tyrant. He may like you, but he has no love in his heart for anyone. You were useful, so he used you, as you used him. When you were gone, he simply moved on to the next partner. He didn't mourned you. He didn't look for you. Sure, he prefers your methods to Orin's, but he didn't necessarily need you at that point. For any romantic implication, I think even when he says he wants to be partners, he mostly wants you as a symbol, not a lover. To him, you are a prestigious prize: the child of the Murder Lord kneeling before him and his god. He flaunts you as his greatest achievement.

If you manage to dominate the brain before Gortash dies, he will likely seize all the power, leaving you as his pet or having you killed later. If you're Durge, he might keep you around for social events, showcasing you as his partner or consort or his guard dog who helped defeat Ketheric's army. However, you would lose all autonomy over your body and mind. After all, you are not the same Bhaalspawn, you are not his equal anymore, so you don't deserve a place on the throne. Also, as Durge having plans to betray him in the end, I see no reason why Gortash wouldn't have the same. He is a tyrant. Tyrants don't share their power. He never plans to share his kingdom with you. Even if you were not lobotomized by Orin, he would still betray you when you lowered your guard anyway. That's who he is, a liar tyrant.

As Tav, Gortash would probably kill you as you celebrate your victory with your friends. A partnership with Gortash can only work if you are the same Bhaalspawn who helped initiate his plot. If you are not the bloodthirsty killer who admires him enough to let him live until you kill everyone else, then you can't live up to his dreams. You can't be his partner. And still even if you didn't lose your memories, he would still betray you. Or if you managed to succeed the plan with Gortash, as being the wicked creature that you are, maybe you would kill him in the heat of the moment. There is no happy ending for Durgetash, or Tavtash. Everyone is an obstacle to Gortash's pursuit of power. If he didn't die, the game would have likely ended with you playing right into the Chosen's hand despite your efforts and have a Failed Ending, where everyone is kneeling before Bane and Gortash while you're either dead, or by his side, on your knees, just like everyone else.

I love Gortash, but I think for the story, he had to die... It still doesn't change the fact that I will always love Durgetash, I'll always convince myself that they loved each other and defied their beliefs for one other... But whether they loved each other or just used each other, their partnership was doomed to fail from the beginning anyways.

#bg3 enver gortash #bg3 #durge #durgetash #enver gortash #the dark urge #the baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #tav #tavtash

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dmbakura · 1 year ago

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I often see ascension fans say how much they don't care about 7000 spawn, and I can only imagine what's going on in Astarion's head, when their Tav looks him in the eyes and says "Actually, it's ok to hurt and exploit these people BECAUSE they are vampire spawn (the thing that you are). I, the person you love, think that since they are dead and potentially dangerous (just like you), they don't deserve happiness by default, they don't even deserve to live. Now let's be lovers forever."

I was thinking about this today actually and even made a thread somewhat related to it on twitter.

Like, indiscriminately killing a group of people is fucking BAD no matter how you slice it. It's an evil act and the game treats it as such for a reason. Blanket term deciding none of them can control themselves or should be denied a chance at life is so ridiculous to me too. Like OK, if you think that then I hope you stake Astarion himself too every time you have that first scene where he tries to bite you out of hunger. Why is he afforded grace to get his cravings under control and nobody else should be?

There's also a huge difference in the way the spawn ending treats this decision. Either killing them or sparing them is treated as an act of mercy (the only thing worse than this is leaving them in their cages to rot forever). Killing them makes it clear Astarion is not happy about this choice, nor the Gur or anyone else for that matter, and it's only done out of necessity. The spawn also just die instead of being sacrificed to Mephistopheles. Contrast this to the ascended ending where it's very much done of selfish intent to gain power, and the spawn's souls are lost to the Hells forever.

And that's another part of this, the question of whether Astarion loses his soul in the ascension ritual. Personally, I think the question of if he loses his soul *literally* is not all that useful of a discussion. It doesn't matter. What matters is the marked shift in his personality post ritual. You don't need to look in a dnd manual or do a deep vampire lore dive to see the Astarion that comes out on the other side of the ritual is not the same man at all. Whatever it did to him fucked with him immensely - psychologically, emotionally, whatever. I don't think you can just throw away 7000 lives and come out unscathed.

Oh and also I don't believe for one second that the ritual was something Mephistopheles just allowed Cazador to do out of the goodness of his heart or some shit. It's an INFERNAL CONTRACT. Devils always have an ulterior motive and you do not get into deals with them without losing more than you ever bargained for, so make of that what you will too.

#astarion #ascended astarion

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ideasarestuckinmyhead · 8 months ago

Text

Because I am his, and he is mine.

Idea, Y!Rook threatening a random lady that wouldn't leave Auron alone. Graphic but like Yandere so yeah- cracking heads, thinking of killing, possessiveness but its mutual.

Rook tighten the grip on the shovel as their eyes locked with Elizabeth. Rage was boiling in them, their skin felt like a fire and their head was pounding to the rhythm of their heart. They stalked her for a few months, needing to learn how their prey worked so this plan of theirs would go without a hitch.

It was funny, all this could have been avoided if that fuck lowlife bitch who doesn't even deserve a sliver of Auron's time...Just left him alone! At first Auron handled it well.

"It's nothing but a crush, dear. Don't worry yourself over it." Soothing his lover he gave the a kiss. That was months ago, Elizabeth just couldn't get the fucking hint he was happy. In the most loving and strong relationship anyone could DREAM of, the one she wished- no prayed for. Like some higher being would make Auron realize she was the better 'choice'.

Flowers, cloths, cologne, and alcohol was sent to him on different days. At first Rook scoffed at it, please like Auron would ever be swayed by things he could get at the drop of a hat! The gifts were given to co workers of Rook, Trish gave them the idea. It was good because some of the co workers really liked them, but when Elizabeth kept coming to the office unannounced to see Auron wearing his gifts.

She kept a poker face when she saw random people with her gifts to her 'one and only'. Elizabeth than thought just giving it personally, would work. Trish was cold to her after the first time, at first thought it was sweet but told her never do it again. But this stupid fucking bitch kept doing it, Rook wanted to take a pencil from their desk and slit her fucking throat and watch the blood pour out while giving her heart to Auron. Elizabeth even called Auron pet names that Rook was only privileged too, the fact they had to bite their tongue as the bitch tried to hang off his arm.

Strutting into the office like she owned it, everyone hated her, Auron was always trying to be professional. Auron and Rook had a date to talk about it, they both are obsessed with one another, Rook knows he'd never leave them. But the fucking fact she has the balls and the audacity to go up to their man, partner, and lover that only had eyes for them. Making him uncomfortable...In the limo Rook was on the side she was on. The silence setting in of the shit the bitch did seeping into Rook's memory and their thoughts.

"I want to crack her fucking head open for touching you." Slipped out in the most venomous hiss, Rook could let out. Auron gently lifted his right hand, stroking his lover's hair, who had their head on his shoulder and they were clutching his left arm.

"If she does something drastic we can deal with it." Softly spoken as he gives them a kiss. Both sides wanted her gone, but if Rook dealt with it first there will be a body that needs to be hidden. Auron just sees this lady as a distraction because shes up in his office when she can and he hasn't been alone with Rook at work for a minute. It was annoying him, so when he saw her once again in the office the next day he snapped.

"Get. Out." Iced shards disguised as words shot out into Elizabeth's heart. She shook her head gently as if trying to tell, Auron, what to do which mind you, isn't something you want to try because that will NOT work out well. Taking in a breath through his nose Auron felt the anger rising, causing him to get a headache, this lady just won't catch a fucking hint? "How many times have I fucking TOLD you to leave me alone politely?" The black haired women tried to speak but was cut off, "I will be having security escorting you out." Words made the woman's heart shatter.

Security came quickly escorting the woman gently as she was still in shock at what was told to her. But seemed to snap out of it when Rook walked by and greeted her quickly. Turning her head Elizabeth gasped as Rook was welcomed into Auron's office by him personally. And before the doors closed Rook showed off that his love was only theirs to have, as Auron wrapped a arm around them, giving them a kiss on the lips.

"YOU FUCKING SKANK!" She screamed as she got farther away from her crush. Is that why he didn't look her way? Because of that mediocre person? They weren't even pretty! Unlike her they wouldn't be accepted by the public! She's obviously the better choice! Elizabeth and Auron would have been a match made in heaven!...She bet that Rook had something above him for black mail. She just has to figure out what it is and free Auron! Then he'll see she was better than that fucking slut.

Months went by and Elizabeth had nothing on that 'Rook" Auron was forced to call them lovingly. But what she didn't know Rook was better at covering their tracks than her. Emails, interviews and old blogs gave Rook all the information they needed of Elizabeth Lovechild. She woke up around 7 am to get ready to go to her job by the office, she has a break between 2 and 3 pm, thats what she used her break for? Please Rook could drop anything and see Auron whenever they wished or if he wished.

A key detail stuck out to Rook, Elizabeth met Auron when she first moved to the City. Posting about a gentle red head that helped her to the train station after a man tried to grab her. Calling him her guardian angel and stuff, Rook really wanted to bash her delusional head in even more. This was because there was so many posts about Auron, how she would give him children, food, love, and support more than anyone could ever think of. How she would get rid of anyone that come between them, even breaking up with her boyfriend that couldn't even meet her standards that Auron reached so quickly.

Also how she figured out who Auron was after seeing him in an article about him being a rich bachelor. The obsession about him got bigger as she tried to learn where he goes for eating, enjoyment, and other things. Giving her followers posts how she was better than any of the toys he played with before her, they couldn't stay with him more than a night is because he was looking for her. Rook was giggling as they found that, Auron who was cuddling them asked what was going on.

"Hhmm nothing much just found Elizabeth's blog where she talks only about you. It's really fucking pathetic." Humming as they showed the pone to him he scrunched his nose in annoyance and kissed Rook's head. "I don't even remember that interaction where I first met her." Truthfully Auron forgot all about her, he's a busy man that needed everyone at a distance, he also doesn't remember crazy love sick girls that run after him. Rook giggled even more as they tossed their phone on the bed and turned to Auron, kissing his neck and getting a groan as they nipped at it.

"I know and I'm going to deal with it next week. She tried to get information on me but I have so, so much on her." Auron chuckled "If you want too, do it. I'll cover it dear." The permission they got made them fall even more deeper with Auron. The next day Rook had a off day, telling Auron they were going to go to Elizabeth to handle her he nodded.

"Be safe okay?" Seriousness was in the command he gave, Rook kissed his cheek "Of course love, she wouldn't even be able to touch me." Even when Rook said that Auron was a little paranoid to leave them to deal with it. So slipping a small tracker on them he set them off because sadly he had a meeting to go to. Now Rook knew Elizabeth was going to use this day to stalk them, she had nothing and she was getting skittish.

Walking pass her apartment Rook knew Elizabeth was following, she was sloppy making too many mistakes that Rook knew exactly where she was behind them. Rook went to the store, simply looking at things and at one point even a worker came up to them telling how there was a suspicious character following them. feigning surprise they used this to their advantage "Can I be let out the back so I can call someone to help me get home?" The worker nodded and rushed them to the back where they explained to the manager about the woman following Rook.

The manager even gave a shovel to Rook in case the woman got the hint they were running away. Rook, acting like the innocent helpless person thanked them and walked in the back alley's. They heard something fall and decided it was now time to act, whipping around they held the shovel to their chest.

"Is..is someone there?" Quivering their voice just right as Elizabeth came out around the corner. Wild eyes meet Rook's, like a wolf finally catching their prey but Rook was the apex predictor she forgot existed. The woman said nothing as they got closer to them, a knife flashing in her hand as she brought it in front of her.

"I'm going to get rid of you. Then Auron would finally only love me!" Shooting forward the stupid bitch didn't see Rook's shovel in their hand. Rook swung the shovel like a bat and connected with Elizabeth's arm that was holding the knife. A piercing scream was heard as the woman fell to the ground holding her broken arm. Looking up, her breath hitched as Rook showed their crazy smile then the giggling started as Rook raised the shovel again. Elizabeth tried to shield her head with her other arm which was broken as well. Another scream was heard, luckily it was a busy day as cars in the distance honked and roared loudly.

"Awe I thought you were gonna get rid of me?" Elizabeth growled at them as she shuffled backwards pathetically. "What would Auron think?" The woman froze, looking at Rook again "He already wants you gone and I want you dead." Elizabeth started shaking like a lamb as Rook go closer. The person still standing put the shovel to her throat and began "I know where you live, work, where your family lives, your friends, your blogs and the fact no one will come to save you." Elizabeth could have sworn horns came out of their head as they told her all the things she does in a day.

"Are you okay? I checked your location and you haven't moved I was so scared you...What the fuck are you doing here?" Cold words were pointed at Elizabeth like the knife she had for Rook earlier. Which Auron saw, and glared darkly at the woman who was bleeding.

"I could have you stripped of everything if I wished because Auron would do anything to make me happy. He's madly in love with me, you know? But you just couldn't fucking get it through that think skull of yours!" Resentment seeped through their words as their voice got louder and the shovel got more into her neck. Elizabeth couldn't even responded as she was trying to think of a way out, but her mind went blank as all the things about her was thrown into the air. Then there was a noise of a car pulling up and a door slamming shut, Auron was here! She had a big smile but it was ripped away when Auron checked over Rook.

"Did you try and hurt my partner?" Words meant blood as he stood high and tall before her. Elizabeth tried to speak but Rook beat her to it, "She followed me all day apparently, I was shopping and if a sweet worker didn't tell me she probably would have tried to hurt me in the store." Rook gripped the shovel tighter "I didn't want to hurt her, Auron..." Small tears began to fall and Auron's anger became more clear. Whipping out his other phone he made a call, telling a doctor on the other side to go to this location to treat someone and get the away from him or the body will need to be hidden.

"I'm going to tell you this once, because I had to repeat myself os many times with you and I honestly don't care what you do after I leave. Dont EVER come back." Elizabeth chocked on her siliva at those words. But...he loved her? W-

"Why? You may ask? Because if you do I will have you fucking tortured for thinking you could hurt my partner." The woman looked to his side where he was holding Rook, their eyes only on him as they smiled sweetly at his words. The person on his arms smiled at her after getting kiss from Auron, "See what I mean? Auron would do anything to make me happy." Sounds around them started to muffle in Elizabeth's ears as she looked down, everything was hitting her. Dreams, her heart, and her dignity was shattered by one person a person that didn't even deserve Auron.

Hatred filled her as she thought about everything that she could have being taken by one person. She didn't even care what she was screaming "Why? Why them? Their nothing and they deserve to fucking DI- ACK!" A hand was wrapped around her throat before she could finish. Auron tighten his grip as she gasped for breath, the the burning fury he had against this woman for insulting Rook was overriding his logic side for a second.

"Apologize." Commanding and firm the simple words made her do it quickly. The apology was a stutter of shallow breath, then Auron threw her on the ground, wiping a hand before escorting Rook to the car. Loud gasps filled the quiet alley way as Elizabeth tried to think of what to do, the car drove off and she felt desperate for someone to help her quickly. Her arms and neck hurt so much, she started to sob on the ground, she didn't care anymore just wailing like a wounded animal.

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And with that I'm ending it here bc if I go any farther I'm gonna lose my marbles! This was suppose to be a small thing than it got like super fucking long </3

#red rants #yuurivoice #yuurivoice auron #red writes #holy shit did I cook here #also this was so long omg

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