#Intel Drivers | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kithtaehyung · 7 months ago

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minted: two (explicit) | myg

title: minted: two (explicit) pairing: street king!yoongi x street vendor!reader series: one | masterlist rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , action ; haegeum au , gang au summary: after a whirlwind of a detour, you have second and third thoughts about the guy you saved. who even is this man? and what the hell is in that bag? note: holy shit, y’all. thank you so much for the love on this series already! it’s been a minute since we started a new series here, so nerves were firing on all cylinders. but you all showed out and gave me enormous relief and motivation to keep going, so thank you! note 2: as always, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, trauma/pstd, poor reader :(((, but also YES READER???, tension to the max, inner turmoil, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, yoongi visuals in this one areeee… a ha ha, did i mention tension?, tense situations, crass af yoongi lol, reader is also a baddie but who is shocked, slow burnnnn drop date: september 30th, 2024, 9:03pm est word count: 9.8k help me @ god

There’s something to be said about the human gut.

Not for being the source of multiple health aspects, nor the way it’s connected to the brain.

But, other than when violence tears it to shreds, it can be quite the defense mechanism. Just like yours churns and churns with each mechanical click of the elevator shaft.

Who is this person next to you?

Who exactly did you decide to follow upstairs hours ago, killing your daily life to save and join on the run?

You don’t know if you release your hand or if Yoongi lets it fall, but you take this unlinking to create space. As you slide your gaze toward your companion, he merely shifts his weight and finds interest in increasing, beeping numbers.

How can someone’s profile be so troublingly handsome? You’d be able to think more clearly if he wasn’t both attractive and dangerous. Or if you simply weren’t on the verge of collapse.

Frankly, if you didn’t just murder a man you’d pass out as soon as you took too long to blink.

To keep yourself alert—and to hopefully gather some much needed intel—you suddenly question aloud, “Where are we?”

No answer.

Alright.

“That driver called you Agust,” you recap on a second go. “What was that about?”

All Yoongi does is stare at his reflection in opulent, dim mirrored walls. Or whatever else he’s doing besides talking.

Okay. Well.

You can face forward, too.

“Those guys after us,” you try a third time, because who are you to give up now even if he radiates annoyance. “They didn’t look like Crane.”

“Doesn’t mean they weren’t.”

Your neck almost snaps when you turn. “Are you kidding me?”

As you watch Yoongi scorn the ceiling again, you can’t believe he doesn’t agree.

Mm. Does he?

From the flex of his jaw, you have to assume you’re right to some degree. Because it looks like he’s very, very bothered by the people that chased you down.

If those weren’t any of the high-powers but had equal resources and numbers…

What the hell were they? Where did they even come from?

Geez, it’s freezing. Is a drop in temperature the best barrier to you making sense of things? You can’t even appreciate the way Yoongi’s veins protrude with every adjustment he makes to that mysterious duffle bag.

Lies. You absolutely can. But there’s no way in hell you’re ever complimenting that. Or anything about him anymore because he clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you!

Why did he even hold your hand? Was that just a ploy, too?

But that taxi drive…

Yoongi looks down before lightly scuffing his shoe, and both of you fall silent as you finally give up with a huff.

Massively dehydrated. Sore. Still covered in a myriad of unmentionables and now being ignored by the guy you saved.

All you wanna do is go home, and you don’t even know where that is.

How far did you travel? What district is this? You’ve never heard of a grey zone, but they seem fairly peaceful even at night. Neutral enough for you to consider relocating even if it meant sleeping on the street.

That brings up another question. “If we’re in a grey zone, how did you know—”

A ding interrupts your last thought, and you look to see where you ended up.

But the elevator doesn’t say a number. Only letters? What kinda floor did you stop on?

One thing’s for sure, though. Whatever room you end up getting, if there’s only one bed you’re hogging it or taking the…

Floor…

There are many things that have shocked you in your lifetime. Many things just from today that had your head positively and forever reeling.

But when the elevator doors slide open, you can’t even fathom what the fuck you’re dealing with.

And in this second, more than ever, you understand how ludicrously out of your element you really are.

“Holy shit,” you blurt, barely hearing the huff at your side.

Don’t elevators usually open up to hallways? Why are you walking into an entire living space? Is this a real place people choose to sleep in for a night? A whole floor?

Forget a whole floor, it’s a whole other place.

You slowly survey everything, wondering how much this has to be because you have never seen a living space so big. Or pretty. Or anything like this.

The ceilings vault and the furniture looks nothing like you’ve ever seen. Everything looks pristine. Clean. Is that a whole kitchen?

How are there living arrangements this big? This one place is bigger than your entire apartment level back home.

And here you are: speechless, virtually homeless, and dragging your filth onto white marble floors.

Perfect.

“What.”

You turn at the scrape of Yoongi’s voice, wondering why now is when he finally chooses to acknowledge you. Head pounding, you ask outright, “Who… Who even are you? What is this place?”

He levels your stare before walking towards a long couch, dumping the duffle and raking his hair back in minted waves. “There’s a shower in every bedroom. Take your pick.”

…Is that really his only response?

“That’s not what I asked,” you fire back, wondering what the hell his problem is so you can add more out of spite.

“But it’s what you need.”

“Say what now?”

The fucking nerve? Even though you obviously, desperately need one, hearing him mention it makes you wanna re-use the chopsticks in your pocket.

But Yoongi simply waves you off, grabbing a remote and flicking on a television so wide you would struggle to reach both ends.

This is all too much.

“You know what I need? To go home,” you huff out, leaving fire in your determined trek to the elevator. “Have a nice life, Yoongi. Or Agust. Whoever the fuck you are.”

You get to the door and run into a dirt-slicked forearm. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

“You serious?”

“Yes, I am. So move.”

Yoongi pauses, jaw working overtime before he steps aside—wait he’s gonna let you go that easily?

…Oh.

That was certainly not what you expected, but what else would you even think? This isn’t one of those stories that ends perfectly after trials and tribulations. Yoongi has proven more than once—in mere hours—that he’s no regular civilian.

But despite that, you blink before freezing at a terrible realization.

No matter how you slice it, you’re much better off with him right now than you are by yourself. Even if he is a secretive criminal with a smoking gun.

He did keep you alive that whole chase.

But there’s the smallest, tiniest chance that you aren’t quite safe with him, either. You don’t even know who this man is anymore—maybe you never did.

So in a quick decision, you skim his side to slap the elevator button, chucking daggers at his brows until he leaves you to wait alone.

Good. You don’t need this. You can find your way back to your city block somehow and live the life you’ve chosen to lead again.

Yes. You can do all of that by yourself. The chase is done.

And so is your story with the man that will never buy your tangerines again.

Grabbing your sleeve, a second fact stings your fingers. A jacket woven in Dragon teal.

Shit. You need to ditch this, too. Either right now, or before you get the hell out of this grey zone because if you don’t, this is the biggest target you could ever have on your back.

No good. No good no good you didn’t plan any of this well at all. Fucking pride blinding you to everything else logical. Is this how your story ends? Because of regret and resistance?

You wait for the sliding doors, about to leave the biggest room you’ll ever see to occupy a box. How poetic.

Your heart pounds as you close your eyes. Yoongi just cut you loose; it’s obvious he doesn’t care so why should you? No going back now. You’ll figure it out. The doors are finally opening.

And someone’s inside?

Wait.

Your brain both whirrs and skids to a halt at the sight of the staff member occupying the elevator. When they give you a look, you find your hand drifting towards your back pocket.

Fucking hell, relax. You should be safe with a staff member, right? They wouldn’t be out to kill you. This is just your adrenaline on its haunches.

However, one foot in the elevator and your senses go haywire.

Because you can’t do this alone. You aren’t nearly as prepared to brave this foreign space as you need to be. With red in your hands and Dragon on your back? Absolutely not.

You bow to the hotel staff before you face forward into the expanse.

And as the doors start to close, you see Yoongi’s stare over his shoulder, storming with emotions you can’t name.

Yeah, you fucked up.

Fuck.

Fuck you actually made a big mistake go back don’t let the elevator close shit—

As you lunge for the door, you get your arm through to block it from closing, turning to the employee inside and seeing their expression change.

What was that about?

“Sorry,” you blurt to their pressed and polished grey uniform. “I forgot something inside.”

“I can wait, Miss,” they immediately offer, to which you politely and cautiously decline.

“No need.” When you step out of the elevator, something happens that you think about hours and hours later. “I’ll come down when I’m ready, thank you.”

You can suddenly breathe again. Why was it so stuffy in there?

The worker bows stiff. “As you wish.”

Without pause, you nod, waiting until the doors close to face someone turned away.

Ugh. It’s like Yoongi knew you weren’t gonna leave. Either that, or he really didn’t give a crap about what you did at all.

Either way, fuck this guy and fuck your indecisive ass!

In full aggravation, you march through the entrance before grating out, “You’re lucky I—”

“Shower.”

“What?”

“The blood,” he calmly breathes. “If you’re gonna hit the streets, wash it out.”

“It isn’t mine.”

“I know.”

Your mouth snaps shut.

Fuck. Yoongi’s right.

“Okay. Well,” you scoff, “Good point but how can I trust you to not do anything.”

When he tilts his head with a bored, unamused, borderline ticked off expression, you almost scoff before he drawls,

“Not interested.”

Oh. He’s…

Oh.

But the taxi and the hand-holding and the the the kiss what the hell? Was your liplock not up to this Dragon’s standards? Why are you questioning something so trivial?

The nerve. You plunge your shoulders in exasperation, hating how you chose to put yourself in another situation with this pain in the ass and he isn’t even… “I swear to—You know what? Good. Not interested, either.”

A lie.

Scrambling, your stomach speaks the next sentence for you, “But there better be food when I come out cus you robbed me of lunch today. So do something about that.”

Fucking hell you do not need his lips to quirk up so deliciously. That one look completely offsets what he just said and annoyingly tickles your core.

Stop. Focus. You cannot entertain any of those thoughts so ignore him and find a bedroom.

Opening the first door you can see, you continue your tirade, “And no more stealing my chopsticks.”

“Closet.”

Of course it’s a closet! Shutting it with force, you let out a high curse. “Who needs a closet here? Whatever, just—figure it out, I’m starving.”

“Yes, princess.”

You flick Yoongi off as you blaze down the hall, not even knowing nor caring if he sees or not.

The next door works, and you shut him out before falling back onto its weight, so fraught with emotion that you can’t even register the appearance of the room.

Today has aged you multiple years. So much has transpired ever since this afternoon that you can’t even think in straight nor curved lines. As soon as you remember something, another thought juts between. Why are you simultaneously thinking about dingy, stained floors while agonizing over Yoongi’s lips? Is there a place other than hell or heaven you can settle on?

As soon as you’re physically and mentally patched, you are out of here.

The plan is simple. Shower, eat, give this man a piece of your manic mind, then go home.

Although… It would be nice to at least know what’s in that duffle. If it’s something worth taking you could finesse a piece of the loot.

Swallowing dry, you push yourself off the door and finally notice a flood of ambient light.

At your side, you come across an expansive bathroom, eyeing the wall-to-wall entrance before taking in the center shower with disdain and awe.

The whole setup is lavish.

Does the water just fall straight from the ceiling and into that large square tub? This looks nothing like your cramped, chipped one back home. There’s even lush plants lining the area and towels already folded nearby for use.

Maybe you did get killed on the run and you’re in some type of dreamworld.

Too bad you aren’t alone.

As you drag tired feet onto heated tile, you search for the shower knobs, realizing you have a whole panel to work with instead.

Uhh.

What.

You quickly find that one button blows water like a hose straight from the top, scaring you so bad you jump. When you hastily try another, something whirrs in the floor that has your brows kissing—

“You good?”

Fuck!

You flinch and hit the wall, groaning when you see Yoongi lazily resting against one side of the bathroom entrance. Both of your voices echo in the extravagant interior.

“You ever knock?”

“No.”

“Shocker.”

He walks up the tiny steps, and you’re more than relieved you’re still wearing his jacket. When he gets closer, you turn and face the panel, “I can figure it out.”

“Move.”

You get slightly displaced as he gets close, resting a hand on the wall while bending to operate the buttons. As you inhale his musk, you respond to his second question instead of his first. “What?”

“Is this fine,” he repeats, checking the settings before turning to the shower area.

Oh. Wow. It’s a lot more than fine.

A circle of rain falls into a beautifully lighted tub, steam wafting through the glow and coating your skin.

You’re so entranced that you are quite literally left speechless. Skirting around your present company, you gaze up, down, silently observing the plants sway with the shower air.

Strangely, this whole bathroom makes everything you’ve seen today believable because of the sheer wonder of it all. It’s almost enough to make you forget what you’ve done.

Almost.

When you pause, you see Yoongi watching your face from beyond the rainfall. And he looks so handsome, even now, not doing a thing.

Is it because he’s clearly roughed up but still so poised? Very unlike you in your banged up, dirty state?

Huffing, you fold your arms a little too harshly—out of jealousy or whatever else, who is to say. “I’m good now,” you proclaim, keeping your walls high. “I can do the rest myself.”

Again with that little slant.

Ignore him ignore him. If Yoongi keeps doing that, you’re really gonna have to brave the outside world instead of dying by smirk. A tub has never been so interesting in your life.

“Suit yourself.”

You look up again.

But he’s already left you alone.

Solely to undress and contemplate what the hell he implied by that.

Why did you walk left today instead of right?

Under scorching rain in the middle of luxury, this is the question you repeat in your head. Watching all the burnt streams of your decision swirl, and swirl, and swirl.

The blood will never wash out.

Does the price of saving a life have to be this high? It must be somewhat divine, being that in order to save, you took. If only there was another way to achieve that end goal. Though there’s no way to do it all over again to be sure.

Staring at four chopsticks on the ground, you try to assure yourself. You need to.

Because at least you succeeded.

But will your price be more damning because of the one you saved?

Rushing water mutes your hearing as it pours onto sore limbs. When you reach for the scrub for a third time, you make sure to really dig, scraping at every. Single. Inch. In a last attempt to cleanse yourself completely.

Knowing that even after the water runs clear, you still see nothing but red.

You chose left today.

If you had chosen right…

Doesn’t matter.

Your palm tingles.

Blood never really washes out.

Holy fuck, you don’t have clothes to change into.

Wrapping yourself in plush material, you hastily pad around freezing floors as you think of a plan.

You can’t just ask for them. How would Yoongi even have any for you? The jacket was more than enough borrowing for today and you’re in a hotel room, not his place.

Thank the universe.

But the matter is pretty urgent. Because you’d rather burn your belongings before putting them on again. Which leaves zero clothing and a thousand issues. Fuck.

Dragging feet to the massive sliding doors, you steel your resolve. Hoist your shields back upright.

Because there’s no choice. You’re just gonna have to dread another conversation with this man. An embarrassing, awkward, unprecedented shit why is he in the bedroom!

You flinch backward as you slam the door closed. Peeking out, you gawk, “What the hell are you—?”

Did Yoongi just pocket a phone?

The duffle rests at his feet.

Wait. Did he stay in here while you showered? Thank god you had the foresight to slide all the doors shut because you definitely spent a lot of your time scrubbing like mad or standing completely still.

No. Yoongi’s hair is wet, so he did shower at some point. And he’s donning a robe, which is precisely what made you slam the door shut.

How can he look like royalty wearing that? The material is quite lush and silken, but still plain. It makes no fucking sense and you wanna rip it right off—

Gathering yourself, you rush out, “Why are you in here?”

“You took too long.”

“So? That doesn’t—”

“In my shower.”

Wait. What? “Oh.”

You slide the door open a little more to check his claim. And now that you finally see the room, you can tell it’s clearly been used already, clothes and bottles scattered about. “You said pick one.”

“I did.” Yoongi turns to drop something onto a dark comforter. “Figured you picked it on purpose.”

“No, I… I didn’t notice the room.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says after a brief look your way. “Not sharing the bed, though.”

“No need,” you snip. “I’m leaving soon.”

Motherfucker. Yoongi only regards his sheets with a smile that triggers your fight response. And you almost—almost—drop the towel.

Speaking of. How are you even standing in his vicinity with only a single piece of cloth? Are you seriously that exhausted you didn’t even think twice about it?

Suddenly very, very aware of yourself, you squeak, “Umm.” He waits. “I don’t have any clothes.”

“That’s what you get for kicking me out so quick.”

Your jaw hits the floor. “So what, I’m walking around with a towel? Are you out of your mind? If you think I’m some—”

“Fuck, relax,” he slowly groans to the ceiling. “I was gonna say there’s robes in the closet.”

You snap your mouth closed so hard it jangles. “Then just say that!” And you slam the partition closed before fast walking to find them.

Missing the way Yoongi huffs before staring hard at his bedroom door.

On your second arrival into his room, your steps and demeanor are a lot calmer.

Is it because he’s a lot calmer, too? Maybe. Is it also because you smell food, realizing he did exactly what you wanted? Maybe more so.

Noticing a table situated near balcony doors, you blink before regarding Yoongi’s sitting form on one of the chairs outside.

A man lounging while smoking in a robe should not be this alluring. And yet, that’s the only word you can think of to describe him.

Throat drying and aching, you slowly walk over and take a seat, already ravenous enough to dive into broth head first. But you eye Yoongi while retrieving new chopsticks, scowling when all he does is flash teeth through the glass.

Do not engage do not engage do not engage.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your—

“You’re really mad about that, huh.”

You snap your head up to see him leaning on the doorway. “I was hungry.”

“There was a cup of them on your table.”

“So why didn’t you grab those instead!”

Yoongi ticks his brows before peering into the night. And he stays like that for awhile, letting a breeze lift his damp locks. “Didn’t expect to see you there,” he admits. “Gotta say you threw me off.”

Nu uh. No more heart skips for today. “I didn’t expect to see you, either,” you too choose to be honest. “Thought I’d never see you again.”

“You were going to.”

As curious brows furrow, you break your utensils apart. “Figured something happened.” Guess you’re being honest about a lot of things. “Or you found another tangerine girl.”

Yoongi holds his look before taking a drag, smoke spiraling around his words, “Why were you even over there? You’re a bit far from Crane.”

You blink at his deflection.

What was that about? What is that look for?

Holding his gaze because you aren’t done challenging him, you calmly answer, “I was shopping.”

“Shopping.”

“Mmhmm.”

Falling silent, he observes a little longer before flicking ash off his cigarette.

And just like that, the conversation dies.

It’s for the best anyways. If Yoongi kept prying, he was gonna get closer to the truth. And you wanna slip around that as much as possible.

But he keeps standing in the doorway, inked arm bending as he breathes in smoke. Donned in a dark robe and topped in teal, he suits Dragon perfectly. Way too perfectly.

Pretending not to care and severely failing, you focus on your noodles instead.

Your noodles.

You’re not hungry anymore.

Something horrid jams up your throat, and you run through your day in flashes. The restaurant. The food. Dragons. The chopsticks. The kill. The chase. Yoongi. The kill the kill the kill.

Dirt and shouts and lifeless lips clog your hearing, and your grip loosens completely as your vision shakes and shakes why couldn’t Yoongi have gotten anything else why does it have to be—

A hand.

A robed arm.

Your new utensils come back into view.

But when you face reality, you don’t see them put them back into your hand. You don’t even see them dug in your noodles and left there.

Instead, you watch as Yoongi plants one palm on the table, slowly lifting strands from the bowl and staring right into your eyes,

“Eat.”

Words. Get them out. Something something communication. Key is communication. What the fuck is happening to your brain?

“I can’t,” you finally croak out. “I’m not.. I’m not hungry.”

“You are.”

“Not anymore.”

Nose scrunching, Yoongi suddenly drops the food and dumps himself on the chair nearest, stretching his leg and revealing a littering of scars. “Didn’t know you were fine with wasting food.”

The icy descent of his tone freezes your bones.

“Thought you of all people would hate that.”

“I—I’m not—It’s not that—”

“Then eat.”

“I literally can’t—”

“Water. Food. If you’re gonna waste all my shit, then leave.”

“What?”

Is he serious? You’re in the midst of post-traumatic shock and he can’t take the hint? You’re so appalled by this man that you can’t even think straight.

“You heard me. Stop acting like you didn’t.”

“Oh, I heard you,” you snap. “Just double-checking what the fuck you said.”

“So you gonna leave or just sit there? If you’re staying I’ll just walk out the roo—”

“Don’t.”

Both of you still at your words.

And you have to force your palms to unfurl on your quivering thighs. One knuckle. Another. Nails leave half-moons in your skin.

Breath haphazard, you finally break. “Just,” you swallow, hard. “I’m not wasting it just give me a sec.”

You don’t want to tell Yoongi why you want him to stay. Despite him being the most infuriating person you’ve ever met, it beats the alternative. And you don’t want the alternative. Truthfully, that’s another reason why you left the elevator earlier.

Yoongi looks pissed as hell.

But he hasn’t moved.

And that’s enough to get you to pick up your chopsticks and try again.

You stare. Stare. Stare. Mustering courage and inhaling all the aromas you indulged in just earlier today.

Fuck, you wanna hurl.

“You’re gonna have to get used to this.”

Your gaze snaps to his, brows and thoughts knitted in disbelief. “What?”

“This feeling.” Yoongi looks out the glass doors, hands resting on the arms of his chair. “The faster you do, the better.”

There’s no way he’s serious. Get used to it? What reason would you ever have for doing that? Caustic, you scoff, “Why, so I don’t waste more of your food?”

You’ve never seen someone laugh in a negative way. But he does before sliding his eyes over. “So when you have to do it again, you don’t lock the fuck up hours later.”

You shoot up from your chair, hellbent on oh fuck you stood up too fast. “You—”

Yoongi just watches as you grab the table for balance, wincing from the pangs in your head. Words grind through your teeth, unable to fully form beyond the light assaulting your brain.

“Like I said.”

Palms press against your forehead before you slump back into your chair.

“It’s better in the long run.”

Technically, he’s right. It’s better in the long run if you get used to this.

But there’s no way you can do it again. Who does he think you are? Yoongi’s got to know that you aren’t planning on making this a daily habit. This isn’t you. You only killed to protect somebody. Killed to save the person telling you to basically get over it.

Fucking hell, this sucks.

Frustration and exhaustion sting the corners of your eyes.

Eat. Build your strength and get the hell out of here. Deal with it deal with it deal with it.

As you regrettably pick up your chopsticks, you don’t care if your tears season your noodles. And quite frankly, you don’t give a shit if Yoongi watches them fall, too.

Because they’re liquid anger. Hot trails blazing down your face, hardening into sticky paths and dried rivers.

“What were you looking for.”

Your eyes slide up to regard him, his arms folded and brows low. Because of course he doesn’t care about your state, either. Of course he’d rather entertain his curiosity. “Nothing you need to know,” you mutter, banning him from knowing another truth.

“Did you find it.”

You swipe at both your eyes.

As spice coats your tongue, Yoongi keeps prying, “Something you needed to go all the way there for?”

“Fuck off,” you dismiss, slurping and swallowing with ease. “I don’t have to answer you.”

“You already are,” he responds, confident. “Now tell me. Is there one in particular you need?”

Wait. You barely gave anything away, so how is Yoongi asking the right questions? There’s no way he actually knows what you were looking for. No way in hell.

This man is more dangerous than you thought.

“Why do you even care,” is all you choose to say, more focused on your food now because above everything else, it’s quite fantastic. It somewhat reminds you of a past home, and you can’t help but escape to those distinct walls. “It’s irrelevant to you.”

“But I have what you want.”

You take another bite before stilling, looking up to see Yoongi propping his head with roughed knuckles. “You’re lying,” you drawl to his smugness, trying to act as if he didn’t just figure you all the way out. Because he didn’t. There’s no way. “And I’m still leaving.”

“If you stay, I’ll show you.”

When you leer over your soup, he simply stares back with no hint of emotion.

And you’re so curious about what he means that you finish your whole bowl.

When you push it forward, you understand exactly what Yoongi did. It worked perfectly, and you have to hand it to him even though he mangled your character minutes beforehand. “Thank you,” you offer some manners. “This was goo—”

The scrape of a chair cuts you off, and your sentence dies in midair as you watch your runaway partner vacate his seat.

Good riddance.

He knows how to stay on your bad side, that’s for damn sure.

But Yoongi simply heads back out to the balcony for another light. So you chalk up his swift exit to vices and not wanting to breathe your air. Or maybe he’s done with his fun and is already writing you off before you head out.

Clearing your bowl from the table, you walk out of the bedroom and bring it to the large kitchen, noting with a scowl that it’s obnoxiously bigger than half your floorplan back home.

Yearning pierces right through your chest.

The elevator is right over there.

You showered, you ate. You can leave as soon as you clean your dish.

Are you way too curious about what Yoongi’s gonna show you? Yes. But is that gonna stop you from getting out of here? No.

Well. This robe is hugging your figure perfectly and feels way too comfortable to just use for an hour or so… Plus, if you ditched it now, Mister Morals will scorn you for wasting that away, too.

How rude of him to assume that about you. Of course you aren’t wasteful. The only times you let things go are when you absolutely have to, like you should have back in that noodle shop instead of braving the back staircase.

Scoffing to no one, you scrub your bowl in the sink, grunting explicatives and stabbing Yoongi with curses until you hear a distinct beep.

Was that the elevator?

You cut the water off with a twist.

Cautiously, you make your way across the kitchen, peeking around the corner to appease your curiosity and spike your anxiety.

A bellhop? Another grey uniform looking to and fro to survey the area. It’s the same person that sent a look of panic your way before you went up to the room.

And your defense mechanism blares.

But before you can hide behind the partition, their eyes lock onto yours. Arm outstretched, the staff is motioning for you to… join them? Why?

You’re the one bunking with a gangster. Why does this person make you even more uncomfortable? This feeling is just like the one you had when you called the elevator the first time. Was your gut warning you then, too?

Maybe it’s because you don’t like the staff thinking they can come in unannounced. Grey zone etiquette or not, you can’t see how this is ever appropriate. In fact, it poses so many safety concerns. How is this okay?

Walking into the foyer, you rest a hand on a robed hip. “Can I help you?”

“I’m the one trying to help you,” they whisper, harsh and with another swipe of their hand. “You have to get out while you can.”

Wait. What do they mean while you can? “And why’s that?”

Sputtering, the bellhop sticks one foot out the elevator while pleading and, for some reason, that pisses you all the way off. “There’s no time to—”

“Get. Your foot. Off my floor.”

Is that fear in their eyes or surprise? “Oh, apologies. I didn’t realize you were… I thought—”

“Thought what?” Your arms fold, weight shifting to your other tired foot. “Speak up.”

Frankly, you don’t know where this newfound energy is coming from. All you know is that there are certain things you still despise and this person is ticking all the boxes.

“I thought you were taken, Miss. I’m here to save you.”

Pausing, you grip your arms, feeling silk gather under your palms.

There’s a lot you tolerate. Many things that a lot of people can’t. But someone assuming you’re the weak one that needs saving? There is no quicker way to lose your interest.

Stepping towards the elevator, you unfurl your arms, robe swaying and billowing around your freshly showered legs.

“Yes, that’s right. Come on, we can take you away.”

Hand on the entrance, you lean forward. “You’re not taking me anywhere,” you command, finger pressing the button at your side. “And you aren’t coming back up here until I say so.”

Slowly, the doors slide shut, your reflection two halves in the metal shine.

Well.

So much for leaving.

You may spend more time here than you thought.

With more thoughts swirling, you spin, heading back into the kitchen to pick up the same bowl you were washing. Hoping you and your gut made the right call.

Yoongi’s a criminal and a madman. But he’s not… the worst. At least, not horrible enough to warrant someone coming up to steal you away.

Besides. Is Yoongi aware that staff can come and go as they please? He seems like the type of guy that would hate that.

Staying vigilant seems to be a little more important now.

It’s soon after, when you’re placing the dish somewhere to dry, that you hear noise in the living room beyond the countertop. Looking up, you see someone much more familiar enter the space.

Hmm. Whatever’s in that duffle must be worth millions for Yoongi to lug it around everywhere.

As he dumps it next to the couch again, you don’t choose to ask about it just yet. Only because you want to ease into it later when you’re both not at each other’s throats. And while you’re not reeling from another strange encounter at the elevator.

So you go with a safer question instead, choosing not mention what just happened. “Is this whole floor… your place?”

Yoongi looks up. “Only when I need it to be.”

Interesting. “Does anyone else know about it—”

“Do you always ask this many questions?”

You blink. “I mean. I don’t get by selling fruit cus I’m quiet.”

“You’re quiet with me.”

“And even then I get you to talk.”

Yoongi frowns slightly before moving away, more towards the sliding door leading out to another outdoor area.

God, this place is obnoxiously huge. There’s still a whole other half you haven’t seen yet.

When you peer out, you watch as he leans against the railing, seeming to look both up at the building and down at the streets below.

Well. If you aren’t leaving anytime soon, may as well offer some sort of peace offering. Maybe the two of you just need to chill the fuck out.

Rummaging through the kitchen, you manage to find some high quality beer in the fridge. On your walk to the sliding glass, you’re reminded of the time you gave him one before when he helped fix your cart.

That was so long ago.

You’re so lost in thought that you barely register Yoongi whipping a hand to his waist when you walk outside. But you catch the metal just in time.

“It’s me!” you quickly alert before regressing back to annoyance, “Really…”

You’ve had way too much to deal with today. You don’t need a bullet in your chest to be another problem.

Especially since his little maneuver showed a bit more skin than you meant to see.

Yoongi eyes you before his shoulders rest, and you stride forward to offer up the cold can in your palm.

But you decide to hesitate while he goes to grab it, and you instead open it to have some.

Ugh. High quality, your ass. This one is way too bitter.

Your companion snorts as you make up an excuse, “I’ve had better.”

“Do you even drink?”

“Well, yeah,” you pout. Needing to prove it, you decide to keep the can. “Lemme try again.”

Somehow, this leads to you sharing the beer with him, tasting the mix of alcohol and smoke even after he tosses another cigarette off the ledge.

It’s not quite enough to forget, but it’s certainly helping. Observing the clouds so close and the city so far beneath your toes is extremely calming. It’s almost like you’re flying.

“It’s different here,” you mention out of the blue.

“This sector?”

“This high up.” Breathing in altitude, you sigh. “I’ve never been higher than my fourth story. It’s nice.”

“It’s usually silent, too.”

Your eyes slightly stab. “Whatever. You like having me around and just won’t admit it.” At this, Yoongi avoids direct contact. “Mmhmm. Don’t even try to hide it.”

“You’re useful to me.” You freeze. “That’s why you’re here.”

You shake your head. For someone deeming you useful, Yoongi’s pretty nonchalant about you dipping. Taking a tangy sip, you clarify, “But you don’t care if I leave? If someone comes to take me?”

He takes the offered can. “Mm.”

That answers that.

You should probably still tell him about what happened, though. His reaction could give more away than his words.

Instead, you drink in the night with your eyes. Knowing that you should know better about the company present.

The more you converse with Yoongi, the more you pick up. And one of those sad facts is that he doesn’t give a shit about anything you do or don’t do. Because all he really cares about is what he needs.

You can’t do anything to change him. Fix him. Whatever exists in fairytales. So you decide to take the night in stride. Not give a shit about him, either, per se.

Your curiosity gets the better of you now. Not just about what he’s gonna show you, but about that duffle. You quite literally don’t have anything to lose anymore, so may as well go for the question you’ve been wanting to ask all day.

“I was gonna ask for a cut of that,” you divulge with a head-tilt to the bag. “But figured you won’t even show me.”

“Why not?”

“Uhh.” You didn’t expect this. “You don’t like questions? You’re always secretive?”

“Never talk to the streets, princess. They’ll snitch on everything you say.”

“That’s deep,” you admit, taking a once full beer in your palm. “But I’m no snitch.”

“I know.”

Your look carries a slight pang.

“Come here.” Both of you walk inside as he plays with his lighter. When you round the couch, Yoongi dumps the bag right onto the cushions. “If you wanna see what’s in here, do it.”

You stare before slowly walking forward and kneeling to unzip the bag. As your slide reveals the contents, you’re nervous about what you’ll see.

But when it’s open, you freeze.

It’s all…chil-don? Tons of money wrapped in sleek stacks with edges so… Crisp. New.

Wait.

These patterns.

These are il-don?

Holy fucking shit there’s no way these are real. This is currency seven generations old. The first ever of the established system. Worth more than anything in current circulation, especially in their pristine state. Forget being worth millions, these are next to priceless.

You’ve never seen them like this.

“They’re some of the last in mint condition.”

The shock value is so high you forgot you were alone. Slowly turning, your breath catches as you ask, “How did you know where to find these?”

“Like I said,” he drones. “Streets talk.”

You look at the bills before glancing back up. “Can I…?”

Yoongi cocks a brow before angling his mouth. “Touch them? Do what you want, doll.”

You blink at the name this time. Because him saying that with a fresh cig in his lips is making your stomach flutter.

Picking up a fresh stack, you inspect the ancient pattern inlay with eyes wide, admiring how paper so old can have such detailed engravings. “These can’t be real.”

“They are.” He shifts. “And most people never see one in their lifetime.”

You put the money back on the pile inside. Yes, these have got to be worth a fortune. But there’s nothing else in the bag? No drugs, no lethal substances, anything? “Wait, so. This is it?”

Yoongi fully laughs before flicking his lighter again. “You want something else?”

“No, I—” You back away. “There’s really nothing else in there?”

Coolly, he lights up before taking the initial drag. “Nah.”

Smoke spirals around you. “I dunno what I expected but it wasn’t that.”

Yoongi lets a wisp leave his mouth. You know it’s getting in your robe, but caring about the little things has now jumped out the window. “Whatever’s in that bag can feed half the city.”

“What?” As you look, he walks over to what looks like a small section of a bar. “Is that why you stole it?”

“Stole it?” Yoongi grins and shakes his head. “Sure. That’s why we stole it.”

“We? Leave me out of this.”

“Too late.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You step forward in anger, but you only get a sound out before Yoongi straightens, aura blazing,

“I—”

“Say I do leave you out of it. Nothing happened tonight, according to me.” He discards his fresh light in an ashtray, watching it die before sliding his gaze your way. “Doesn’t mean whoever we just fought will suddenly leave you alone.”

Shit. He has a point. You ran for so long and fought plenty of those guys.

Is this what he meant? Getting used to that feeling? Maybe your consequence is joining the cycle of the damned, forced to kill in order to protect. Both others and now yourself.

“But I’m… Just a nobody. A civilian, I…”

Yoongi walks until he’s in front of you, hand cupping your chin and voice whispering mortifying allegations in your ear,

“You took a body for a Dragon, love. You’re not a civilian anymore.”

Your arms shove him backward without pause, face distraught as you watch his smirk bounce with his shoulders. His cackle echoes mad through the room, pinging the floors and piercing through your robe.

Truthfully, it doesn’t even feel like you’re wearing one. So naked and exposed in the open for this man to see. “You’re despicable.”

“That right?” His mouth sets as his lids lower. “And what about the one that killed and kept running?”

What.

“There was a police car at the restaurant,” Yoongi continues, a reminder so sharp it slices clean. “Yet you didn’t turn yourself in.”

Your feet sink into the rug beneath. “That’s not…”

With measured steps, he stalks forward, a harbinger of horrific realizations that you don’t want to hear, “You didn’t have to keep running. Didn’t have to get in that taxi.”

Stepping back, you find the room so stuffy it’s hard to move. “You—”

“Could’ve taken another train.”

“Stop.”

“Could’ve stayed in that elevator.”

What the fuck is happening right now?

Yoongi’s close. Very much too close, and the energy he radiates sets your instincts ablaze.

This is the man you’ve been pining over this whole time? If you ever get back home, you have got to remind yourself to avoid him at all costs. There’s nothing good for you if you stay. Danger surrounds every inch of him, and there’s no telling when you’ll take collateral damage.

“But you didn’t,” he delivers the final blow. “And you’re still here.”

Lifting your chin, Yoongi grins slow when you yank away.

“I should’ve never saved you.” Gaze finally locked, you growl from within, letting a monster loose,

“I should’ve left you for dead.”

Wait.

Stop.

This isn’t you. This isn’t who you are. You’re a helper. A healer. Those words came out so strange that you’re questioning how they left your mouth so freely.

Did you really mean that? Or was this some feeble attempt to hurt him?

Yoongi doesn’t seem phased. But you clearly don’t know him so it’s not like—

Something heavy and dark as fuck is placed in your hand, and you snap your eyes to his in utmost disbelief.

“Go ahead then.”

Oh, this man is psychotic.

“Be my guest.”

No fucking way you’re gonna do it. “Stop—”

“If you regret it, why waste time—”

“Seriously, I’m not gonna—”

Yoongi forces your fingers flush against metal as he holds the gun to his forehead, both eyes piercing right into yours with no hesitation whatsoever.

And it is frightening.

All anger from before flees as fear and intensity rush into its place. Your brain fizzles and cracks as you try to wrestle out of his grip, and you feel burning at the corners of your eyes. “Stop!”

“Why.”

“I’m not gonna shoot you, the fuck!”

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

Mercifully, he lets go, pistol thrown as you’re tugged forward with a—

“What’s stopping you,” he grounds out, formidable presence all-consuming. “Tell me.”

You’re breathing so hard it hurts. “You”—a shaky heave—“You are out of your fucking mind.”

When you struggle from his grip, Yoongi pulls you even closer. Reacting in a rush, you propel your knee up to wrap around his side and twist.

But he proves just as quick, gripping the bare skin of your leg as you shove him down against the sofa. Grunting, you both curve with the furniture, Yoongi locked onto your knitted, conflicted brows.

“You regret saving my life,” he simply repeats to your frustration. “I gave you the chance to fix that.”

“Shut up—”

“But your will is weak.”

“I swear to—”

“Guess I was wrong.”

Who the hell does he think he is? This guy—Yoongi, Agust, whoever the fuck—has no right to play with you so casually.

But something else is swirling inside your ribs. Because through his cutthroat words and actions, this man is somehow stirring the deepest waters of your soul. Ripples rumble and stretch into waves, tugging your toes in undercurrents of obsidian. Dark. Primal. Hazardous. All you.

Is it from being subjected to such a heavy dose of his power?

Or is it because—even if just for a moment—he’s handing all that power to you?

Quite literally, you’re the one on top.

And Yoongi holds your gaze, unfazed by the way your robe completely spread open during your tumble. Or the fact that you have nothing beneath that silk.

He could easily take over. From the feel of his build beneath your hands and between your legs, you know he can.

But he’s not. There’s no hesitation. He’s legitimately giving you the choice and reveals no ounce of remorse.

This revelation courses through your veins, pumping a new kind of life into your palms. You have a shot at a criminal with a bag of il-don waiting to be snatched. And you know you won’t take it.

And that alone alters the chemistry of your brain.

With more fear of yourself than anything else, you shake out, “If I’m killing you, it’s gonna be entirely my choice.”

He’s laughing? You’re instigating a threat and he’s enjoying it? God, you are teetering on the brink of madness and another emotion that won’t dare be acknowledged.

Tugging Yoongi up a notch, you proclaim to the glint of his eyes,

“And when I do, you’ll die exactly how I want.”

Yoongi’s lips slowly, dreadfully spread, teeth shining in the dim lamp lights that sharpen half his features. When he speaks, you shiver. Because it’s a mix of pride and fear, sprinkled with a hint of alarm,

“That’s my girl.”

The room quiets, your bodies locked in a way that you’ll remember years from now. Breaths. Your bare chest hovering inches above his. If there were bystanders, they would no doubt get the wrong idea. Because if things were different, and if this man underneath you wasn’t who he was, you’d entertain another type of ferality and not stop until morning.

To be fair. That same dark part of you would still do it.

But this is about the righteous part of who you are. The one that abides by the rules. The one that fights to keep days boring, uneventful, the same.

So you quell that monster pacing in your core.

One more exhale leaves your lips before you let him drop, sliding off his silken, tone form to quietly readjust your robe. Turning away, you focus on the night skies, wondering if the people back home are sound asleep as you should be.

“My will may seem weak. But I don’t care what you think of me.”

Sound is crisp again as Yoongi rises to his feet. Around you, the air starts to lighten, cold slipping delicately into your skin.

Slowly tying the wrap at your waist, your words float to the ground, “Because I know who I am. And no one can take that from me, not even you.”

His presence fills the space at your back. But it’s muted. Less intimidating. Or maybe you’re just at your limit because you admit a little more than you intend,

“This world has already tried enough.”

Both of you come to another standstill, two black robes staining a room full of white. Even time itself gives you space, slowing and circling until you’re ready for it to flow straight again.

As a cloud shadows the light of the moon, you feel knuckles caress your neck. And Yoongi’s never sounded so calm as he starts, “They’ll come after you.”

You slightly turn.

“You still want to go back?”

A pause. A nod.

His knuckles continue to glide along your neck, slipping down your back before traveling the swoop of your shoulder. Everything in your body thrums, silently quaking because you have no idea where this is coming from and you can’t say you hate it.

Quite the opposite. And that scares you more.

“If you do, you’re dead to me.”

Of course. You’ve seen and know too much. There’s no reason for him to show up to your street now, especially if tangerines are all he’s looking for. He can always find them anywhere else.

But, for some reason, this still stings. In a way that irks even your reasonable side. Is it because of his touch? No. That’s only making you nervous from the fact that you probably aren’t… as experienced as he is. The uneasiness is wholly from your own limitations.

“I’ll survive without you,” you whisper resolute, chest squeezing when he replies,

“I know.”

The same fingers get bolder, tracing down your arm before sliding along the wrap at your hip.

And you freeze.

Because the tension is palpable. The power is intoxicating. It’s a new type of anticipation and you are fighting yourself to not give in. Don’t let everything get to your head. Don’t let anyone in again. Don’t stray onto a path you can’t quite navigate.

But fuck, you kinda want to.

Rocks slide against exposed skin when he decides to speak again. And it makes you wish the two of you were extraordinarily normal. Or that you at least knew what the fuck to do here because the attraction you feel is not as one-sided as you presumed.

“What made you stay.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding huffs out, and you swallow with difficulty. “I just…”

Get it together. Keep up your guard. It’s proving so hard, especially when his touches spark fires along your limbs. But you have to.

And therein comes another lie. “I wanted to know what you stole.” Gulping down the truth, you harden your resolve. “That’s it.”

With more restraint that you want, Yoongi bunches silk at your pelvis, hitching your robe and your breath all at once. When his other hand slowly holds your neck in place, you can’t help but flinch, and his low hum pours lava straight down your chest,

“What a shame.”

Oh. Is this how it ends? Did your gut get it all wrong?

He could end your life with a flick of his wrist. You know far too much. You’re not useful anymore.

“Someone will take you back tomorrow,” Yoongi murmurs, proving every single theory wrong. “After that, you’re on your own.”

And just like that, he releases you to stand alone.

Oh. You’re going home.

Good.

This is good, right?

Your heart beats overtime, almost drowning out your entire thought process. The thumps and pulses seem to cut every string of consciousness short.

What was that? What was any of that?

Never mind. Nothing happened and you can keep it that way, for the better. Yoongi is risk draped in beauty, and once you’re back home you can cut ties with anyone like him for good. You saved him; he spared you. It’s over.

…But do you want it to be?

Yes.

Of course you do.

Clouds let moonlight shine again.

When you arrive at an answer, you turn to find that Yoongi’s already gone, duffle and all shut inside his room with a muted click.

A flip switches as you let exhaustion take over completely, falling onto cushions that still hold his scent. Inhaling, you drift into darkness, wondering how your final decision will affect the rest of your days.

Whether awake or asleep, nightmares are real.

Only this time, you aren’t quite sure if the blood and guts you’re seeing are yours or someone else’s. Can’t discern the limb on the ground from the limb on your torso. Screams echo and ping from all directions, a cacophony of death that has you scratching at mania to stay sane.

Murderer. Murderer. A murderer that regrets who she saved. No, wait, that’s not true. You’d still do it again.

And you watch the same swing over and over. The same arc of finality. Those lifeless eyes. Closer. Closer. Sharper. Judging.

You were wrong. Were you wrong? Running does nothing and doesn’t provide an answer. The ground under your toes gives out.

How far are you straying? How low are you sinking? If you told your neighbors who you killed for, would they be upset or betrayed?

They’d hate you. Their fingers aim straight. Their tongues fire bullets.

They’ll hate you. Hate you. Hate you hate you hate you—

A room bursts into view as you jolt awake. Sounds snap silent, the hum of the air all you can hear as you rub your eyes.

So much for sleeping. There’s no way you’ll be able to now.

Focus on something else. Anything else. The past cannot be undone, so live with the choices you made and deal with the faces that haunt your dreams.

Staring into the dark, shapes and sharp edges slowly form, your vision sharpening with every passing second. Tiny pops and creaks tickle your eardrums, and Yoongi’s scent still lingers with your own.

You don’t want to focus on him, but it’s better than what forced you awake.

A lot happened tonight. But also, nothing at all. Something is keeping you both together, tightening and squeezing the strings in your chest. But you don’t know if that’s from the adrenaline of today’s events, or from the pure shock of your unexpected reunion.

There’s something else you haven’t considered until now. Despite his unorthodox and hellish methods, Yoongi did keep your head on straight. You showered. You ate. You drank. You inhaled fresh air.

Your compass righted itself when you didn’t blow his brains out.

The nothingness was all to your advantage. Was that all calculated, too?

One part of you—the bright side of you—knows that it doesn’t matter. No matter how helpful he was tonight, distance is crucial. Stay away from people like him. They’re all too cunning to be kept close.

But if leaping that crevasse allows you to keep your mind off everything else? If you need to stop the bleeding, why not reach for a cure?

Your exhale shakes as your shoulders fall forward, self-deprecation destroying your brain because what the fuck are you thinking? This is nonsense. Madness.

Maybe you’ve just been insane from the very start.

Your breath quickens at the possibilities. The potential outcomes of what you’re about to do.

This is the most solid decision you’ve made all night.

As your toes travel across plush, trek over marble, and arrive at their destination, the rest of your body quietly, nervously follows.

Raising your hand, you listen for movement. When you find none, you softly knock and wait for what seems like an eternity.

For nothing.

All that worry for naught. Yoongi’s most likely fast asleep and not dreaming at all.

Good. This is your sign to let it go completely. In the morning, you’re going back home. The nightmares will consume you and you’ll wake up everyday to brave the streets. Assassins will be on the hunt for revenge. You won’t be saved by the boy in teal.

What a shame, indeed.

As you step to leave, you hear the door slowly swing.

And Yoongi emerges from behind, minted hair mussed over lowered lids and robe slipping down a tatted shoulder.

Fuck everything.

“I don’t regret what I did and I’d do it all again,” you admit with finality. To him, to yourself, to the ones you’ll disappoint back home. “And I refuse to get used to this feeling because it reminds me I’m still a good person.”

Yoongi’s eyes don’t change as he stares.

“But,” you exhale with a shake. “Just for tonight…”

This is it.

The brink of no return.

Your soul dips into the dark.

“Please make me fucking forget.”

—

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: once again, i cannot thank y'all enough for being patient and understanding as i go through life while working on this and all the other writing projects we have going on! it means the world, and even though there were some not-so-fun asks to get, the supporting and wonderful ones are what i will continue to focus on! so if you've ever left something sweet, thought provoking, encouraging, etc - thank you from the bottom of my heart! you're what keeps this writer going. a/n 2: if there's something you liked about this or a line/scene/whatever thing you enjoyed, feel free to let me know! feedback is never expected, but always appreciated. if the interest level is high, that adds motivation like no other. thank you all for reading! ++ feedback box: ⇥ of course, any reblogs/comments/messages are appreciated! ⇥ for the ones that are too shy to reblog with a review, comment on this, or send a message, i went ahead and made another anonymous form where you can send in what you think! ⇥ no emails collected, no need to put in a username. it’s literally just a comment dropbox :D feedback can be as short/sweet or as long as you’d like! ⇥ here! ++ more links: ⇥ masterlist ⇥ minted masterlist

#PART TWO IS HEREEE #bts fic #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi fic #yoongi x you #yoongi x reader #yoongi angst #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #*latest #ryenwrites #minted #*ryenfictalk #tw: violence #tw: blood #tw: murder

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madamecaos · 3 months ago

Text

Crush (ing)

Summary: Where Ghost goes a little too rough on you in training then makes up for it.

5k+ ish words │ Ghost (Simon Riley) x Y/N

A/N: Angst with a smutty happy ending. Times are weird now, so I'm back to writing again. You know the drill, no proofread found here

-----

Part 1

It was merely a crush, you realized. It must be. Otherwise, you would have to not have sex again with Simon.

Because there was no way in hell a man like that would let himself be roped in into a relationship, and a relationship with you at that. You were sure he hated you, going by his nonchalant treatment when he wasn’t in your bed.

There, another example. You haven’t even been to his room, which going by his arrogant attitude must be annoyingly spotless.

You hated him, or at least you wished that saying it would make it better for your sanity. Because this was Simon.

The first time you slept together happened in France, and it was not gentle. Well, you didn’t really expect any special treatment as a lover, but it wasn’t exactly a tender moment, more of a “blowing some steam” sort of thing. A ‘high-school make out session’ sort of a thing, or so you repeated in your head whenever his name came up in conversation.

It’s not to say that it wasn’t enjoyable, but only a representation of the tone of your weird situationship. And you were fully sure that this was Johnny’s fault somehow.

“But he likes you, lass. That’s why he’s a pain.” He said, as if there was no doubt about it.

You scoffed at that. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Your aching shoulder, after sparring got out hand, made you believe otherwise.

Now, Johnny said something about hanging out for drinks with some locals. The mission in Serbia took a pause on the wait for new intel, so as consequence your unit had a free week out of uniform. This meant more time with your team outside of work, and that meant that you and Ghost were at each other’s throats. Mostly you since his sunken eyes behind the sockets of his skullmask barely moved when you made jabs at him.

Then he stared and stared, a blank look threatening you into a near sycosis. Why couldn’t he just be normal and answer without underestimating you?

And one night there was a local event, promising alcohol and a good time. It was dark already, but the people there were lively, enjoying food and from far away, you could hear music and dancing. You couldn’t wait to try and merge with the crowd, maybe flirt a little with a cute local. And you thought you looked lovely, really good going by the way some of the soldiers ogled you. It must be due to you being one of the only females in the base, but it wasn’t harming your ego.

Johnny whistled when you met at the entrance, drawing attention to you in civilian clothes. You think they hadn’t seen you off your gear yet, and it must be shocking to see you in a normal long maxi skirt mapping the curves of your hips, a dark top and a fashionable coat, just as dark of course. You looked like a killer with your dark makeup and hair down for the first time in a while, sparkling earrings catching in moonlight.

“Little lady, are ya lost?” He whistled again, making you hurry your pace to shut him up. There was a diminutive pause with hesitation at seeing Ghost in the driver seat after Johnny moved away from the window.

He looked at you, eyes trailing leisurely from your toes to your eyes. You wiggled your white-painted toes in your wedges at the pinning stare. It was a pain smuggling nail polish in missions, but his ongoing stare made it worth it. They might not be up to code, but you didn’t really care. He blinked slowly as his fingers lightly rapped against the steering wheel in what you thought to be annoyance.

“Are ya coming?” The brute asked, still bitter by your word ping-pong match in Price’s office. You certainly had won because you believed yourself capable of acting as a secret spy inside a mob dead set on selling plutonium as a business. Yeah, they were a little out of their heads, but really talented at hiding, so here you were, stuck in Serbia. Ghost clearly thought you weren’t good enough of a liar to gather intelligence, or so he implied, but you knew it was because he didn’t believe you weren’t good enough overall.

Your past scuffles where Ghost was the opponent, pinning you down on the mat, were proof enough. This was the military, you weren’t allowed to make it personal, but when he bested you and made sure to show you your faults with overtraining you… His strict treatment with you hadn’t gone unnoticed by others and, well, let’s say that you weren’t feeling rational about it.

To your annoyance he got out of the car, and for a second you expected him to fight you again, maybe prevent you from getting into the backseat with brute force. Would he say that you weren’t allowed to drink or have fun? Would your mistakes make him order you back to the gym instead of a night of fun?

None of the scenarios circulating in your head happened. Instead, he leaned sideways and opened the door. You stood still as he waited at your gaping. Then, obviating your embarrassment, you closed your mouth and got in at the rise of an eyebrow behind his mask. None of you mentioned anything at his action, one that you found odd. Maybe he did it as a power move? Or maybe he did it only for the shock factor to keep you on your toes?

Sitting at the back, immersing yourself in your distrust, you kept making eye contact with Ghost through the rearview mirror. Not on purpose, but he did nothing to turn his eyes away, only to drive, and sometimes you swore he couldn’t keep his eyes off you.

But you kept fighting with facts versus what you wanted. Did you want him to seek you, look at you and only you? Your last argument kept circulating in your thoughts. Whenever he looked at you, pain followed.

So, he steered the rented car in silence, Johnny making conversation with himself. Ghost found parking nearby inside the city, near the pubs, and yet the car was left hidden in another block. Yeah right… it was the car that would draw attention, not the hulk-of-a-man wearing a balaclava in public.

And it was sort of inevitable the way your gaze would keep drawing back to the blonde near-white lashes free of dark paint or the sharpness of his jawline as he rumbled out another one of his jokes to Johnny. The lack of skull mask allowed you to obsess, no, notice the details. Yes, notice.

And he still had a balaclava. You felt like you were going insane in your ruminating and in your shame for sleeping with someone that didn’t find you worthy enough to show their face.

The guys flocked around you as you headed into the first club with music you could understand.

After a while, you realized you shouldn’t have dared to defy a Scotsman in a drinking game. Johnny was fully sober and you were giggly at your third drink. You were drawn to the dance floor and the bar behind it, or at least a moment for yourself. A fourth drink didn’t sound so bad, you mused as you planned how to get out of the booth. You were fidgeting in the middle, Johnny on one side, Ghost on the other. Gaz was supposedly on his way, something about needing more time to get dressed. As if. He probably knew this night would be boring and would never arrive.

“Excuse me, scoot” you said, nodding at Johnny to move so you could get out. He huffed and practically ignored you with a teasing grin as he kept ‘scoping the perimeter’ or whatever that meant. “Johnny, let me out. I have to pee.”

“So? If you leave, who’ll be my wingwoman?”

“Certainly not me. Ghost?”

“Not moving.”

You looked at the two, noticing that Johnny was leaning forward on the table, and Ghost wasn’t. Hoping that the shock factor would stave away the complaints, you swung your leg over Ghost’s hips, landing on your knee at his side. The skirt rode up to your knees as you stared him down, stumbling at your sloshed state. You expected to climb away quickly, but before you could escape into the booming music, solid hands tightened themselves over your hips. You swayed as you lost your momentum, hitting your lower back on the edge of the table, empty glasses clinking.

You hissed at the pain, the bruises on your back tender from yesterday’s training stung as your hands grasped his shoulders for stability. One of his palms quickly spread on your lower back, preventing more accidents. Your lips clamped at the pain. His head was almost at your height, despite you being over him, a few inches up on your knees, spread over his thighs.

Dark eyes stared at you through his mask, but you could clearly make out a risen eyebrow in amusement. That little shit always found a way to get a rise out of you.

“Easy, doll. You should’ve just asked,” he rumbled lowly, barely heard through the music.

“Woah,” Soap added to your embarrassment.

“None of you would move, now let me off,” you didn’t wait for his permission and swung your other leg away, paving your way to freedom away from those steady hands. There was no way you could feel his warmth through all your layers beneath the skirt, but the shape of his fingertips still ghosted over your hips. Fighting the urge to look back, you walked away with flaming cheeks, and hurriedly headed directly to the bar. Well, more like swayed to the bar as embarrassment sunk in slowly in your drunken state.

It was almost as if he was completely unbothered by your presence whilst the mere thought of that skull mask made your logic haywire, aggression being an immediate outlet. You certainly needed that drink, or anything as a distraction, but the bar was unreachable. The hoard of people flaying their limbs to the deep base reverberating through your form didn’t allow you a direct way, so you tried to push yourself through the sides of the crowd. Even being half-way there, you saw that getting that drink would be a pain, the barstools fully occupied, a line of people trying to get the overworked bartender’s attention.

You sighed, knowing that you would have to wait for that reprieve for more than an hour, going by how slow the line was moving. After someone bumped into your sore shoulder, an answer to your question came in the form of the red sign of Exit behind you. Maybe you wouldn’t get a drink, but fresh air might help stave away the recurring memory of the shape of Ghost’s palms on you. The fact that you kept thinking about it made you want to punch something… Fresh air it is. Without looking back, you went outside into a back alley, the cold air helping you sober up enough to not stumble through the horde of smokers blocking the entrance.

What was this bar selling that was so full? You cursed lowly, knowing that your much needed moment of peace would have to wait some more. The thought of calling for a Taxi back to base crossed your mind, your annoyance slowly rising. Unfortunately, you left your purse behind with the other two, your bra carrying the only cash you had in the currency, enough for that one drink you kept dreaming about.

With arms crossed around you, you set your pride aside and found a dark corner to sit in, the lights and the music far away. A little misplaced wooden crate allowed you to take the weight off your feet, far enough to hide you from the locals chatting away over cigarettes. You weren’t as vigilant as your usual self, knowing that with your combat training, you were the most dangerous person amongst them.

With that in mind and at the relief of momentary silence, you closed your eyes, fingertips massaging your temples. Maybe it had been a blessing in disguise that you couldn’t get that drink. You had been bunking with another soldier in the common barracks, the cafeteria was always busy, your itinerary was filled with missions, training, discussing intel, fighting with Ghost and being subjected to horrible jokes and prompts from your peers. This had been the only moment you’ve been alone, you realized.

Peace was broken as you opened your eyes, military boots standing inches away from you. You scolded yourself for recognizing them immediately, not an ounce of you distinguishing him as enemy. Was it normal to even find annoying how silent he was when walking? You should’ve seen him coming.

“Didn’t take you for a smoker,” Ghost said, already knowing that you weren’t. You knew that to your core. He was too observant and too vigilant for his own good, or for your sanity.

“I’m not. Where’s Johnny?” You looked up, craning your neck upwards. The mass of him blended with the darkness of the sky behind him. You could only make out his eyes out of the balaclava.

“Inside,” He looked down on you and you debated if your pride was enough to make you stand up. Even if it was impossible, you wanted to be enough to stand at his height, for him to recognize you at something as your equal. He better walk away before you start spewing truths that would only confess your drunken self.

“And what are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you.”

You held in the scoff, rolling your eyes with closed lids. You waved him away, going back to massaging your temples. “You can tell Johnny I’m fine. Just getting some fresh air.”

He looked sideways momentarily, eyeing the smokers nearby, then returned to pin you down with the heaviness of his gaze.

“You’re hiding,” he said with no question in his statement, head tilting sideways with curiosity.

“No-“

“Away from me,” he rumbled deeply, almost to himself. “It seems we are at an impasse.”

“I’m not doing this right now. Whatever you want to talk about, will be at base with a superior present,” you glared upwards as he eyed the hands now in tight fists on your lap. He knew you were clearly referring to Price, who abided to the bureaucratic process despite his favoritism for his favorite killer. That killer wasn’t you obviously.

You were considered too sentimental, as if that was another flaw.

After a beat, he opened his mouth solely to aggravate you, you were sure. “Said superior suggested we resolve our issues outside of work.”

The comment felt like a mockery. “And this is out of work, right? Get a few drinks in the girl, lower her defenses… and just talk.”

He hummed, a sound you felt in the hollow of your chest. It was almost as if you couldn’t help but react to his every word as an insult. The resentment you held for him always made you wonder that maybe, if you hadn’t felt like proving something to him, you would’ve stayed as a mediocre soldier. That his tough lessons and obvious disdain were meant due to something greater. You wanted to be grateful, to see the good outcome of the estranged liaison you have with one of your superiors, but it was draining enough to know that all effort would go to waste.

“I’ll let them know you were not reciprocating, up to resolve our issues,” he answered with finality, knowing that his flat tone would make you take the bait. He didn’t even blink at your scoff, your eyebrows furrowing at your irritation, him knowing too easily how to get a reaction out of you.

“Issues?” You stood up shakily, leaning your weight on the wall behind you. “Why don’t you tell me what our issues are, Lieutenant?”

In a moment of bravery, you stood on the crate. Even with the added height, the top of your head didn’t even reach his clavicle.

“You’re angry.” He crossed his arms uncharacteristically, biceps bulging at the tension. His eyes roved up and down, as if searching for a clue as to what had you so mad. And in something similar to a question, he added, “At me.”

Furious, but you didn’t correct him. You crossed your arms to imitate his pose, incredulous at the obvious statement. This time you used his tactic and stayed silent as an answer, opting for him to fill in the conversation.

“Tell me why,” he demanded gruffly.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” He couldn’t just interrupt your me-time and start demanding answers out of you, you convinced yourself. You knew you were being difficult, but at this moment, this was merely deflecting. There was no way you would confess your insecurities upon his demands, as if the outcome were to be an improvement.

It was his turn to tilt his eyes up to the sky, seeking answers as he sighed in exasperation. In a second after contemplating, he let his guard down so plainly, you stood shocked and deadly still at his stance. What was this? His shoulders relaxed, arms resting down by his side, eyes beseeching to answer. A clear posture open to you. “I can’t fix something if I don’t know what’s wrong, sweetheart.”

The endearment and the sincerity in his eyes caught you off guard. You blinked, eyes wide open, ignoring the surprise of the coiling heat stirring near your thighs.

Then he went on to call your call sign, spurring you to blurt out the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re mean to me,” You lowered your arms to your sides like him.

You felt like a child, whining, and impossibly allocating a responsibility that didn’t belong to him.

He lowered his chin in disbelief. “You’re… mad at me because I’m mean.”

His complete disregard made you do the exact thing you wanted to avoid. Spill.

“Just mean? No,” Your fury got the best of you, “You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

His eyes widened for the first time, your outburst uncharacteristic, even for your short temper.

“If this is about that night-“

“You don’t treat me like the others. Even before that night.” You interrupted him, emphasizing what he implied, but felt hysterical at his clear misunderstanding. “You punish me for things that are not my fault. After we spar, I hide bruises because my superior can’t get over himself, but because its my job, I have to pretend its normal, like its professional. And then I’m the weak one? When others don’t have to take your beatings because…because… I don’t know why!”

“Sparring can be violent,” he justified, but to you, he didn’t sound so sure of himself.

“Violent?” You said, nearly shouting. “Violent?!” Ignoring the stiffness of your shoulders and the cold of the Serbian night, you shook of your coat. It was the first time he’d seen more of your skin, your uniform tended to provide full coverage. Even that night was fast and rough, but not unclothed.

He said nothing, his eyes wide at the purple imprints of his fists beneath the thin straps. You knew he could see, even in the dimmed light, how the bruises trailed down your shoulders. He must’ve known they would paint your arms as well, but you hadn’t shed your coat completely. You dared to believe he looked at you in horror, but your feelings bled over the dark alleyway against your better judgment.

“You set impossible expectations in our missions, in drills, and then you act like I’m some sort of failure when I can’t… I’m good at what I do. I do what I’m supposed to do, which is follow orders, swallow my pride, be a good soldier. And then you looked for me to get in my bed, and then nothing from you. So, I did what was expected, I stayed quiet. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

He stared and stared, reclamations going over his head as his eyes trailed the rest of your body with furrowed eyebrows. Alarmed. It was the most expressive you’ve seen him. No balaclava could hide the tension that held him upright.

“And then you ask Price to keep me off the next mission, after I keep proving that I’m capable. What else do you want from me?”

For the first time in a long time, he had no sass, no jokes, no answer for what he’d done.

“Y/N… I-“ He choked.

“I’m asking Price to change units. This will be my las mission with 141,” This time, he looked like he wanted to say something, but you were done with his excuses. “I’m done with your disrespect and your justified violence.”

You threw the word back at his face, Ghost tense and quiet.

“Y/N?” Someone asked from the exit. As your head snapped towards the voice, you hastily put your coat on, covering your shoulders immediately.

Johnny clutched your purse, eyes roving over your face and red rimmed eyes. The hesitance to look at your body let you know he had seen enough. Blue eyes kept jumping from Ghost to you, back and forth connecting the dots. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just tired. Heading back to base,” You stepped down the crate, Ghost taking a sudden step back, as if you’d burned him. He officially wanted nothing to do with you.

“I will take you,” Johnny offered, gently and uncharacteristic, raising an arm to put over your shoulders in comfort, but let it fall as if he thought it over. In a second, he turned with an expectant palm towards Ghost. “Keys.”

He didn’t ask, he demanded. And Ghost, the good soldier he was, followed orders.

“The Lieutenant will take a cab.”

The Lieutenant didn’t argue.

The ride was tense, Johnny flickering glances at your silent state. As you stared blankly at the windshield, he hid his anger under his worry.

“Do you… should you talk to someone?” Johnny asked tentatively, indicating that maybe someone of a higher ranking should get involved.

“No,” you answered, finality in your tone.

You opened the door hastily when you arrived, avoiding any opportunity for him to ask more questions.

You had done enough talking for the night.

Thankfully, the common barracks were empty. But as you sat on the lower bunk bed, you felt a note crumble beneath your weight.

You stared at nothing in the dark, exhausted, taking deep breaths for a few minutes before you had to read, dreading another mission or another memo at your impertinence.

After gaining courage, the light post by the window allowed you to read that the note was a relocation to another bed.

The private room was yours, just like the private bathroom and the queen-sized bed. It was a slight gratification after everything that transpired a few hours ago.

And it was in another hall from your unit, further away from Ghost��s own private bedroom.

You didn’t want to think about him anymore this night, you thought as the nearly boiling water cascaded down your back.

As you scrubbed yourself clean, you reminded yourself that you needed to thank Johnny, he must’ve had to pull some impossible strings to find you a private bedroom amongst the fully occupied base.

In secret, inside of your new bedroom, you finally allowed yourself to cry.

Part 2

#cod x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #cod fanfic

752 notes · View notes

lovepotionsz · 15 days ago

Text

Mark & Mark Variants x Viltrumite GN!Reader (Mohawk-No Goggles) (Suggestive)

CW: Minor pet death (not caused by you, mark or variants) , dubious consent from reader on the variant parts.

WC: 2.9k

You were sent to earth by the Empire as a child, to gather intel and return to Viltrum when you hit 25 in human years. You did as you were told, you did your best to be this cold-hearted, brutal strong viltrumite, but you couldn’t be what they wanted in the end. Your family was so loving, your friends were too precious, you got to learn what compassion and empathy felt like. You cried, you smiled, you felt your heart drop to your stomach, you laughed with your friends drunk out of your minds near a 7/11 at 3 am, and laughed so hard you threw up. You felt your heart get torn to pieces when you saw your first crush kiss another person, you grieved when your family cat passed away, and you felt anger at the drunk driver that took your precious cat — no, friend.

You felt more alive than you ever could back in the Empire. You didn’t care about that selfish mission anymore, couldn’t give two shits about conquering and ruling, earth was amazing as is. Yes, it was full of corruption and suffering, but it also harbored love so undoing you never even thought to fight back. That’s why, when you were offered to protect the beauty of this world, you agreed instantly. Your parents were apprehensive, worried about you, but you convinced them after a heartful crying session on the family couch– the same couch that your parent had wrapped a bandage around your ankle so worriedly, not knowing your twisted ankle had already healed. You didn’t tell them that it did. Your canvas of this world was already full of colors of all the emotions you have lived through.

Though, somehow, the colors on the canvas shined brighter than any sun the day that you met him.

“Hey, name’s Invincible, let’s do some good together, yeah? God was that– was that too corny?,” he awkwardly rubbed at his neck, you could sense his body temperature rise up without skin contact – viltrumite genes – you had chuckled at his awkwardness, introduced yourself and you two hit it off that day. Your missions together always went well, your quick wit and strategies plus your durability complimented his agility and strength– dancing with you as defense and him as offense, a powerful, impenetrable waltz to any enemy.

You went to shitty fast food places after missions, ate melted ice creams at 3 am close to that same 7/11, he stayed at your place until sun rose up playing video games and reading comics – you learned he was a huge seance dog fan as well – you went to huge comic cons, helping each other get into cosplay.

He looked deep into your eyes as you applied a tiny bit of blush on his cheeks, he honestly looked stunning, however the eye contact wasn’t helping your fast beating heart, and you’re pretty sure he can hear it. You don’t know where his powers come from yet, but, you just know he can hear your heart leaping from your ribcage every time your eyes catch his.

“I know I’m gorgeous, but you’re staring, Grayson,” you managed to roll out with a sarcastic tone, you watched as he blinked himself out of a trance– did he even know he was staring that hard?

“I’m so– so sorry, I just- I uh,” his eyes going everywhere but your eyes now, caught and too embarrassed to admit he was staring.

“You can keep going, sorry uh– for the staring,” you chuckled softly at how red the tips of his ears had gotten, feeling a warm sensation envelop your whole being as you add the finishing touches to his makeup, you got your face closer to his so close that you saw how his eyes widened, and his pupils dilated just a bit– that made you smile softly, “you can look as much as you like, pretty boy,” you laughed despite yourself at how red his whole face was now despite the makeup, stopping yourself and apologizing softly as you heard him grumble. You teased him all day about it though, after all, the feelings you’ve harbored for months were not unrequited, for the first time since meeting him, you felt elated once again.

After that, he asked you out after a particular rough mission where your comms were broken, and you couldn’t talk to him for almost the entire mission– he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to a freak accident on the job, and he really couldn’t lose you to his cowardice by not asking you out and watching you slip out of his hands. Your first date went as you’d expect– fighting a titan like being as you flirted with each other and stole a kiss or two in the air.

You both decided that you deserved a cheap, sugary and salty meal and grabbed food from burger mart, eating on the rooftop of a skyscraper, watching the sun set.

You laughed as he tried to stuff the fries into his mouth before they went cold and soggy, you let him have a sip of your soda– he drank from the same straw you used – your hands inching closer with each passing minute before they connected together with your lips, the sun was just setting, his mouth tasted like cheap burger and soggy fries, his lips soft and inviting as he followed your lead. The kiss was clumsy, filled with awkward chuckles and giggles, trying to angle yourselves properly, but it was yours. The moment, the kiss, each other's touch, it was all yours, he was all yours, the man that mad every hour of training and fighting villains worth it was finally yours.

Then he opened that stupid – pretty – mouth,

“I’ve been meaning to ask you this, but– are you a Viltrumite?”

You felt boiling water spill on your head, down to your whole body when your brain registered his words.

He knew! He knew and he–

“How– How do you even know that?”

Without realizing, your entire body went rigid, your eyes wide and your heart was beating so fast it threatened to burst Mark’s eardrums, “I… guessed? Your powers are so similar to mine, the way you use them, the way your body moves in battle– and uh a gut feeling, you could say,” his explanation only made you realize how sloppy you had gotten around him, something a Viltrumite should never be, it’s all your fault, they’re going to find you, you need to get away now.

You hadn’t realized how frantic your breathing had gotten, how much your body was shaking as your brain took a few seconds to realize you were being hugged and Mark was trying to talk to you. You took a breath and pushed him away, watching as his face contorted in worry, his eyes frantic as his mouth opened to say something, but you interrupted him,

“Are you going to take me to them? Why did you even let me kiss you if you knew– why did you let me so close if you knew? Oh god, I need to–”

“I’m a Viltrumite too!”

His voice rang in your ears, his words ricocheting around in your brain as you finally process them, and you look into his eyes, “You… are?” you saw his form relax, and he shifted his body closer to yours, taking your hands in his as gentle as he could– god he’s so warm – “yes, that’s why I wanted to know if you were one as well, I’m not going to tell anyone if you don’t want me to–” he exhaled a shaky breath, “I could never allow anything to hurt you, and if you think this information is dangerous I will take it to my grave,” he pulled your hand up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, “you’re safe with me, baby, always,” you couldn't form words, you could only let him hug you as your body shook with each sob escaping from you, his soft words and gentle touches comforting you as you feel the weight of the world release from your shoulders.

He knew, he didn’t care, he still loved you.

His face held such a gentle expression as he kissed you again, you felt like your body would shatter then and there.

Yet, your newly blossoming relationship wouldn’t have peace for long as they were here, the so-called Variants.

Mark warned you to hide, that surely they would target you. However, you had a family to protect, a lover to defend, you simply couldn’t stand still and do nothing.

You leaped through the air like a bullet, your sight zoning on the variant not far from you as you took a deep breath and leaped down.

Mohawk Mark

His cackle as he was stomping some guys head in got cut short with a pained groan as you your feet landed on his back, the momentum from your leap making the hit more affective.

You squinted as the dust and the debris hit you in the face, along with the variants blood, your face scrunched up in disgust as you leaped back when you felt him move. He grunted as he got up, you turned your eyes to your back for a second to confirm that civilians were being evacuated. Good. You could fight properly, then. Your attention snapped back to him as he exclaimed your name with an astounded shout.

“Holy shit! You’re on Earth!?”

When your expressions turned to a puzzled one, he sighed and put his hand on his hip– like you were the stupid one between the two of you.

“Y’know, you’re from the Empire, you never left, and you were sent to stop me but fell in love with me instead, duh!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, spiky?”

He barked a laugh at the nickname, “as foul-mouthed as always, aren’t you? Fuck, I missed that,”

You rolled your eyes, using the ground to gain momentum, bending your knees, forming an X with your arms in front of your face before leaping at him with full force. You both grunted in effort– well you did, his was from was pleasure unbeknownst to you – as you both went through the prison, concrete, debris, and the glass had you closing Yorubas to avoid damaging said organs, you really need them right now.

You coughed a few times while your eyes adjusted to your surroundings, breath ripping from your throat as you feel him kick you right on the stomach, which sends you violently flying through the building to the outside of it once again. You shake your head as you get up, it didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, this fucker was holding back, he was underestimating you. Your eyes locked on his with as much anger and spite you could muster as he whistled with that damn fucking smirk on his face, taunting you.

“Damn, you look as hot as I remember when you get angry like that,”

You huffed, trying not to let his taunts get to you as he stepped closer, taking one, two as he sped up, and you blocked the incoming kick with your arms, hissing in pain as you got pushed onto your back to the ground, you planted your hands on the ground on the either side of your waist as you willed your body to get up, god your arms were burning– a gasp left you as the variant sat on your pelvis, planting himself there, unmoving even as your legs kicked.

You finally looked up at him, his cheeks were dusted the faintest shade of pink as he looked down at you, his breathing hard as his chest moved up and down, pupils blown as wide as they could while drinking up your expression and how your body was twisting and turning to get away from him– he pinned both of your arms above your head with one hand, making you finally look at him fully instead of around him to look for an escape.

Fuck, “you look so fucking hot like that, I could get off just like this, what do you think hm?”

He cackled when he felt your entire body go rigid, “what, you a virgin?” he joked as his gaze never left your eyes, when your expression turned to one of shock and embarrassment, he felt his cock throb inside the spandex suit, “shit, you are!” he cackled once again when you looked offended but didn’t retort. He was right.

His face got so close to yours, your lips a breath away, “well, that dumbass should’ve been faster, then,” your eyes widened as he closed what was left of the distance between you as his lips latched onto yours. This wasn’t sweet, soft, or gentle like your Mark, it was rough, it hurt, it felt like he was tearing you apart in the best ways when his fang nipped your bottom lip– you groaned in pain as you felt him licking the blood seeping from the injury he made, your lips moving on their own as the smell, presence, and voice of Mark enveloped your brain, put a curtain over your judgment as said brain turned off, and your body took over.

You exhaled a breath when you felt his tongue enter your mouth, your body arching closer to him as you felt his chest rumble with approval. Your teeth and lips crashing into each other as your legs still kick at him as much as they can, he groaned every time you managed to hit him, the fucker likes it.

He chuckled breathlessly at your stupidly cute expression when he broke the kiss, he didn’t need to breathe but feeling your lips on his again felt so cathartic he didn’t give two shits about what Angstorm wanted from him anymore. You were as submissive, pliable and adorable as he remembered, with a lot less rough edges, but he could never complain when it came to you.

He’s taking you home.

No Goggles Mark

He squeaked in surprise as he felt your kick, hissing in pleasure as soon as he smelled you, disappointed when you bounced off from his back and landed in front of him with that expression that looked so sexy on you– he hasn’t blinked yet and that’s freaking you the fuck out.

You watched in absolute confusion as he started giggling, biting down on his bottom lip so hard that it started bleeding, he didn’t seem to care about it though, getting up from the ground as those wild eyes never left yours. Okay, yeah, you were freaked out.

“Why the hell are you looking at me like–”

“How could I not? God, that was so fucking good, c’mon! Again! Again!”

You blinked a few times,

“You’re just gonna let me hit you–”

He groaned with impatience, “yes, yes I am! Fuck, come ooonnnn!”

Well, if that’s what he wants.

You ran up to him and landed a kick right on his chest, he didn’t even blink, just watching you with as much attention a living organism could muster. It went on like this for a good 5 minutes, you hit, he moaned – which, hearing Mark moan that whiny did something to you that you do not want to unpack right now – you punched he begged for more, god you just looked and felt so fucking good. Your hits hurt so much, you actually broke a bone or two and the noise of them made you cringe, but they just made his cock throb and leak even more pre-cum inside the spandex suit.

You finally stopped to catch your breath as your foot planted him to the ground, his chest heaving and his body trembling with pleasure when you press your foot down harder on his chest, arching his body to get closer to yours. He looked down right mad, his face was bloody – his own, per his request – his hands now holding onto your leg, trying to reach your thigh as he slid himself up to get away from your grasp, he wants something more than this, and he wants it now.

He yanks you down by the leg he was holding, – his heart rate spiking as he hears a sharp breath escape from your lungs – then, he does something that has your brain in alarm and your sex interested as he nuzzles your crotch with a groan. You try to push his head off of you, struggling to find words to make a retort or say something, as he pouts while looking up at you.

“Whaaat? Don’t I get a reward for letting you have your fun?”

His fingers went to your waist, his nails digging in as you hiss from the sting and see him smile with those wide eyes looking up at you–

“The you from my world always let me have my fun when they were done with me, so c’mon,”

You swallowed thickly as you bit down on your lip, thinking of anything to say as you heard him huff and bit down a scream of pain when he dug his nails in to your sides and rake them down so he could see you bleed as he went down on you–

“Hmm, your body was always more honest,” he giggled as you hissed in pain when he dug his nails in the freshly made – by him – scratches, as he lapped on the crotch of your spandex suit like a dog. His eyes never leaving yours, just like how you’re never leaving again. Angstorm could go fuck himself, he got what he wanted, he’s taking you back after this.

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