#between the train and the platform. you say this to him. he says i minds the gap between you and i. i mind it so much that i need you to

[oatbugs]

oh my god ! haha . anyway a bit buzzed perhaps. anyway here's what happened on the date

[miguel-ohara-eater]

Practice

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(summary: Miguel was helping you practice capturing anomolies, but he was in his rut and could smell that you were ovulating.)

CW: no actual sex this time, dry humping, grinding, biting, play fighting, licking, cumming in clothes, a little bit of public stuff ig, sniffing.

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Miguel swung his fist right in front of your face, his knuckle brushing across your nose as you ducked last second.

you and Miguel were practicing, and he was training you for the anomalies.

"hey! were training not trying to kill eachother!" you say, tackling him and putting him in a headlock.

"you think the anomalies are gonna give you slack??" he asks, throwing you over his shoulder and pinning you down.

you grumbled, lifting up your knee and trying to push him off.

the second you lifted your leg his pupils dilated, the scent of the slick in between your legs hit his nose.

you would be lying if you said him on top of you wasn't hot, but you were ovulating anyways and he was in heat.

his breath got weird, and he immediately got off of you and you sat up.

"Miguel?...you good?" you ask, looking at him and he shakes his head.

"You're ovulating aren't you." he says, staring into your soul.

your eyes widen and you sit on your knees. "I um-... yeah? why does that even matter?"

you were confused, and a little surprised how he'd guessed that.

he looked around at the two other recruits minding their business on the other side of the training room. he leaned over, grabbing your wrist and he stood up.

"let's go." he demanded, and you decided just to follow him.

he led you into Sector 4, down the hall of his lab and he pressed a couple buttons on his watch.

"LYLA! make sure nobody gets in here." he barked into his watch, dragging you onto his platform.

"yes Miguel." Lyla said, blocking the elevators and doors from others access.

he pushed you down onto the floor, getting on top of you in between your legs and he pinned you down

"I could SMELL you." he hissed, his eyes red.

you just looked up at him, more aroused than ever to be completely honest. he leaned his head down, burying his nose into the crook of your neck and he sniffed you.

after a couple seconds he pressed his obvious boner into your clothed pussy, looking at your flushed face.

"you like this don't you?" he teased, and you couldn't lie because you knew he'd be able to smell it on you.

you looked away, opening your mouth to say something but you just nodded.

"fine. maybe I do. but you can't blame me!" you say, side eyeing him.

"can I?" he asked, not really asking to he honest because either way he was going to.

you thought for a second, then nodded. "please?"

he slowly moved his hips, his growing boner underneath his suit rubbing against your pussy underneath yours.

he grunted, biting your neck and his hands grabbed at your breasts, rubbing over the fabric covering your nipples.

you held in your moans, feeling like it'd be pathetic to moan when all he was doing was dry-humping you.

he kept going, his crotch rubbing against yours and his pants and grunts filling your ears.

"k-keep going." you say, trying to keep your voice steady and he starts humping you faster, like a horny dog in heat.

his face was flushed, his cock twitching in his pants and his eyebrows scrunched together.

"is it bad I'm close?" you whimper, leaning your head back and closing your eyes.

he shakes his head, not even saying anything and focusing on your pussy.

your hole was clenching around nothing, desperate for penetration.

you slowly feel the knot build, and before you know it you both are cumming inside your spidersuits.

Miguel whimpers, biting down on your shoulder and your back arches off of the ground.

once the orgasm passes, your suit is drenched and so is his.

you look up at him as he gets one last sniff, before sitting up.

"next time can you just fuck me?" you ask boldly

he raises an eyebrow, thinks for a second, then shrugs.

"sure. tomorrow?"

"tomorrow."

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this one's shorter idk

but idea from @miguel-ohara-lover I think.

I got kinda lazy on this one.

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[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.69)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: The pack meet with moonbyul to discuss terms.

Tags: Violence, Angst with the happy ending on the horizon, fluff if you squint, Yoongi gets really really angry and kinda triggers the m/c, allusions to past abuse, Blood, manipulative behavior, murderous tendencies, trans! tae, Transphobia, Trans! moonbyul,

W/c: 11.5k

A/n: wow something went heavily wrong with the formatting while i was editing this! if you notice any extra lines or weird breaks (especially on mobile) i tried my best! not sure what went wrong but i might just have to physically re-type this chapter again.

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

I’ll let you in on a little secret: 

In every other version of this story, Hobi doesn’t get to the door in time. 

In every other version, the doors would close and Hoseok would hit them with his fists and yell. Screaming himself bloody and hoarse in the futility of it all. Watching as his future with you melts away at his fingertips like ocean foam, slipping away into the sea like a piece of clear sea glass, disappearing into the deep. They’d miss you at the next station and the one after that too. 

In every other version of reality, in every parallel universe, he's too late to save you. 

But in this one, he gets his pinky finger between the doors just before they slam shut.

The safety feature that keeps the train from closing on any late passengers shoots open with a hiss of compressed air. It's only open for a split second but Hoseok shoves himself through the 8-inch gap and into the warm interior of the train. Jungkook is left on the other side, banging on the door, running to keep up with the car as it thuds and lurches and starts to speed up.

"Next station" Jungkook’s mouth forms the words but Hoseok doesn't hear him say it over the roar of the train. There’s only a few seconds of them staring at each other. Jungkook’s messy hair flops as he runs. The wetness on his cheeks from frustrated tears glistening in the yellow sunlight before Jungkook runs out of the platform and is left standing there at the edge. Hoseok hurdles on. 

Hoseok’s blood is roaring in his ears. He puts his hands on his knees and pants. The thudding momentum of the train makes Hoseok fall over, either that or it's from lack of oxygen. One second he's looking at JK and then next he's sprawled on the dirty linoleum floor before he pulls himself upright.

His throat feels like it’s still swelling a little. He puts his hands there, trying to steady himself. Black spots dance in his vision and he catches himself for a second time on the metal rail as the train rolls and jostles.

When he coughs, there’s dark blood in the palm of his hands. Hoseok wipes it on his pajama pants and starts looking. 

He knows he must look like something horrific because an old woman in the first priority row looks at him with a crinkle of concern twisting her face. “Are you alright son?” She asks, voice squeaky.

“Yeah, just a rough morning” he grabs the back of her seat as he sways, steading himself for just a second before he uses the headrest of the seat to pull himself back down the train. 

Hobi combs through the train cars slowly, betting that you'll be close to the end. He takes the longer route first, better to go down to the end and work his way back up in case you're in the first three cars, just in case you decide to get off at the next station.

He searches and searches until the fear starts to take hold in his stomach, nausea or maybe it’s just motion sickness.

He draws a bit of attention as he moves. Mostly from adults, the little unpresented pups that jump back and forth between the seats without a care in the world don’t find the bruises on his neck anything out of the ordinary. But an omega pulls his pups into his lap at Hoseok's approach. Hoseok is too sick with worry to pay them any mind. 

But Hoseok doesn't need to worry, because he finds you on the fifth train car.

The blue sticky vinyl seats are full of all sorts of people; A stuffy alpha in a suit and a pair of bright yellow headphones. A small elderly omega woman with a big bushel of frizzy hair and about 10 tote bags to her name muddles through her morning commute. Two freshly presented teenagers with patched-up jackets, punky and honest in their aesthetic.  

But there- at the end of the car where the booth seats facing each other turn into single rows all facing the same direction. Folded into the window a figure in dark clothes hunched over trying to look as small as possible. Trying to disappear. 

Trying to hide. 

Anyone would be able to scent the clear and clary smell of distress and loneliness on the air. It’s the same scent that soaks Namjoon’s hospital- noxious and pungent. It hits Hoseok with such a visceral wave that he almost falls over again. 

You’re wearing his sweatshirt and Yoongi’s jacket. The hood drawn up over your head to hide your sob blotchy face from the strangers. Sniffling as you look out the window. He sees you wipe your eyes. You don't look up at all. You don't even notice Hobi approaching until he's slipping into the seat next to you and sliding his hand to lace through yours. His knuckle, your knuckle, then his. 

You startle. Predictably- your fear response has always been a little bit over the top. You flinch, whirling, starting when you see it’s him. Jerking your hand out of his on instinct and nearly backing yourself into the window. Getting yourself as far away from him on the narrow seat as possible. 

He wants to yell at you, he wants to shout at how stupid you are for leaving something good. (Don’t you know how rare good is for people like us? Don’t you want to hold onto it?) All of the shit with his ex- with Moonbyul seems impossible- but you sacrificing yourself for others is not hard for Hobi to believe. That part of this is so painfully logical and so painfully you that if Hobi were less scared right now he might start crying.

You've always thought you were less valuable, less necessary, less loved by the pack. The last one in is the first one out. Hoseok knows you think this because he used to think that way too.

He wants to yell at you but instead his voice comes out soft, the way that the others used to talk to you back when you didn’t speak. Like he's comforting a startled animal. You are a startled animal. 

"You used the train ticket" He swallows. It stings. Hurts like a bitch really. Every time he speaks it hurts. "I never thought you'd use it."

Hoseok puts his hand on the seat in front of you blocking you as you try and get up and out of your seat. Moving automatically to get away- to get safe. That might be all that you know how to do- keep yourself safe.

You stand there for a second, in stalemate. Blood drains from your face, and you stare each other down as Hoseok goes from devastated to angry and then sad again. Struggling not to cry. Hoseok doesn’t like to cry- it’s too much like begging. His body asking for what he can’t. 

It’s quiet, you have to be quiet here. There aren’t too many people but a few rows in front of you is a pair of alpha's in suits with briefcases. Unseemly eyes could be hidden everywhere so you need to be quiet. Hoseok's voice is quiet anyway. He still can’t speak much above a whisper. 

No quicker have you startled than you start to push at him, at his shoulders. Literally trying to push him out of the chair. Shaking your head. "You can't be here Hobi you have to go, they'll kill you-" You start to pull him up to his feet but he makes himself a lead weight. 

“No- no I’m not going to let you go.” Hoseok cups your cheek, long fingers rubbing your tears away. The pads of his fingers cradling your cheek. Soft skin, your cheeks have always been so soft. Hobi’s brain gets caught on the sensation. 

"This is how this is going to work; we're going to get off at the train station- and then with any luck- Yoongi and Jimin and Jungkook will already be there and we're going to go home, okay?" He tilts his face, trying to get a better look under your hood, lower lip wobbling, voice breaking, “You have to come home with me, okay?” 

You’re trembling so hard that Hobi can feel it as he holds your face, shaking your head stubbornly. 

"Hobi, if I don't go. Jimin’s going to die, you're going to die, Jin’s going to die. I can't not do something. Don't pretend one life outweighs three." 

"I can't let you go."

You lean into his hand. Has Hoseok ever cupped your cheek before or is the first time he's touched you this way? He can't remember. There are so many firsts that he can't remember. So many firsts that haven't happened yet. Slipping through his fingers like water. 

"And I can't let you die." 

Hoseok holds your cheeks, thumbs skimming up and down your cheekbones, a little more hollow than usual. These last few days have stretched all of you thin and honest. The truth does not feed you, like subsiding off of air. This truth is not one that he wants to share but-

Yoongi had looked a little shocked when he’d told him, that kind of shock that sort of feels vindicating- like you matter. Hoseok doesn't understand why Moonbyul being his ex matters. But Yoongi's reaction makes him think it is. 

The light fills the train car honey golden slipping away to the clean brightness of a winter day. The light flashing through the trees like some sort of strobe light, flickering across both of you here- at the back of the train where there is no one to overhear. 

Hoseok pulls himself closer to you, his lips brushing your ear. "I never told you- the name of my old pack omega but I think you know her.” 

The train hisses and shrieks and your hand settles over Hoseok’s bruised wrist. 

“I think you know her very very well because Yoongi said you do." 

Hoseok pulls you flush against him, across the seat, your foot hitting his ankle, and whispers it into your ear. 

"Her name was Moon Byul-yi." 

You freeze in his hold, trembling, and he pulls away to watch the visceral realization dawn on your face. You're smart. The Moonbyul he knew would have never thought to anticipate that either of you was smart. Haughty and superior to the last inch. She’d have assumed that she had the upper hand like all narcissists do. Why would prey know anything about the hunt?

You panic, your conviction is slipping away, Hoseok can see you’re struggling to hold onto it. “Hoseok- you don’t understand, I have to do this, I need to.”

He takes your hand in his. “Okay- if you want to go then I’m coming with you.”

“Hoseok.”

He shakes his head and brings the back of your hand up to his mouth to run his lips along your knuckles. Gripping it tight. Your bones and his bones all aligned, the sunburn on the back of his hands that’s always sort of there from driving and the faint scars that line your hands from cooking. Both self-inflicted and accidental.

(Love is that way too, either something that you seek out or something that happens to you. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to Hoseok, you could never be the worst).

There is one scar at the bottom of your hand and the bottom of his; a line across his right palm and a line across your left one- both gotten the night that you tried to take the train. You didn’t take the train then but you’ve taken it now.

You’ve made your choice and Hoseok makes his. “Either together or not at all.”

Hoseok rationalizes it by thinking- If you were going back to Geumjae and if he was still alive, you’d never let him walk into his clutches. You would never let Geumjae lay a hand on him, so he won’t let you go to her. Will do everything in his power to get you off of this fucking train.

“I’m sorry, Hobi- I’m-”

He pulls himself closer to you. Lips touching your temple just like the sunlight. Your warm thigh pressed to his warm thigh.

“You have nothing to apologize for. Nothing to make up for. If we want to survive this then we need to do it together.” Hoseok presses a kiss to your hairline and lets it linger there. “I won't haunt you if you won't haunt me."

“You don’t understand-“ 

“Why? Why do you have to be the one? If you can answer me that honestly and in a way that makes sense, then I’ll let you go.” Hoseok says the words as he drags his nose across your hairline in a small scent mark. A growl rolling in his throat. His hand itching towards the back of your neck- if he were able to scruff you- he could drag you off this train with or without your say-so. 

Hoseok won't do that to you unless it's absolutely necessary. He won't scruff you maliciously but honestly, he'd damn the consequences at this point. You know the risks, and yet you let his hand settle on the back of your neck. He doesn't scruff you yet.

You are on the train now, but you could get off of it. Hoseok managed to convince you once he can convince you again. You do not respond to him, but he doesn’t need you to. He continues on word vomiting out his feelings. Drenched half in panic and half in fear that if he stops talking you’ll tell him something heartbreaking. Hoseok can’t handle any more heartbreak today. 

"I know you’ve been in a lot of pain. I’ve known it since the first day I met you. But this self-sabotage- sacrificing yourself because you think your life isn't worth risking the rest of ours- this isn’t the way to do it. This isn’t the way that you get out.” 

This is the question that you’ve been asking the whole time he’s known you. All of this is just trying to get out of the holes that you dig for yourself. The graves that you haunt. Graves of things that might have been and the things that should or shouldn’t have happened to you.

Your voice is so small and quiet, your palm in his tightens just a little bit. “How do I? How do I get out?” 

"You can start by just getting off this fucking train."

You eye him like you think it’s impossible like it can’t possibly be that easy.

The announcer overhead is telling you you’re almost to the next stop. To mind the gap and such. The same way people mind children and precious objects. Mind the gap. Such a strange turn of phrase. How do you treasure the space between one motion ending and the other beginning? The end of one place and time and the beginning of another. 

“How do I do it? How do I-” 

Hoseok laces his hand with yours again and pulls you up onto your feet. The train is slowing. “I’ll show you just- follow me. I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you. 

You do follow Hobi, you follow Hobi off the train as he coxes you softly onto the platform and onto the frosty tracks. It’s mid morning by now and the sun is streaming in that bright yellow way when he tugs you up the stairs slow. Slow because he still has to. His body aches from yesterday. Both of you are bruised and tired but together. Clinging to each other- his hand and your hand and not a breath of space between.  

In the parking lot, there is a red car double parked across the lines closest to the stairs. Jimin and Yoongi and Jungkook are already standing outside, the doors blown open. Jimin falls into a squat the second he sees you. Head in his hands. Running through his hair and tugging. A cigarette discarded on the concrete bouncing before it rolls to a stop and burns.

“Oh thank fucking god, Tae would have fucking killed me-” 

Jungkook groans and rests his head on the hood of the car, hitting it with an open-palmed slap. It echoes in the empty parking lot.

"That sentence is substantially less funny today than it would have been yesterday.” 

Yoongi is just staring at you fists and shoulders tight. You watch him swell the closer that you walk. Every step made in trepidation. He's breathing heavy, eyes wild with panic and anger and his hair stands on end. His eyes are bloodshot and his scent is almost acidly salty. The kind of salt that guides metal to rust and break. The salt that melts cities. That crunches under your feet next to dark puddles from snowmelt. 

When you're 3 paces away he seems to break, stalking up to you and jabbing a finger in your face. “If you ever pull a stunt like that again I swear I’ll-” Yoongi breaks himself off. Shaking so viscerally that it's hard for you to keep your hands by your side. but you stand your ground as Hoseok swats yoongi's jabbed finger away. his other hand tightly laced with yours.

“Yoongi, let’s just get into the car and go home- please. Let's not talk about this here.” The parking lot is mostly empty, but the danger still lingers. There’s too much to talk about. Moonbyul's name rings in Hoseok's ears like the subtle hum of hearing loss, like a high-pitched shriek. There are things more important than Yoongi's anger. 

But Yoongi’s not done with you- oh- he’s boiling with rage. Shaking with it as he opens the door for you, every action, every little moment restrained. His anger is palpable. You get into the back of the Lamborghini and Hobi follows.

You can tell he wants to slam the door but doesn't. He shuts it extra extra soft but you flinch anyway. He gets into the driver's seat every moment controlled but tense, like he'll explode if he moves with any more energy than necessary, a firework with a fuse burned all the way down just begging for heat.

Yoongi waits for everyone to buckle their seat belt but you don’t, frozen watching him in the window and then the rearview mirror when he gets into the front seat. Yoongi doesn’t even get around to starting the car. Sliding the key home but the beep goes once, twice, and then a third time because you don't have your seatbelt buckled. The others wait in silence.

“Yoongi-“

“Fuck!” He kicks open his door again with a stream of spat explicatives. Slamming it shut this time. The others don't say anything, completely silent in the face of his anger.

Yoongi doesn't get angry. You've never seen him like this before. He wrenches your door open and for a horrible moment, you think he's going to yank you out of the car and tell you to get lost.

Yoongi's murmuring things to himself, so low that you almost can't make out what he's saying as he pushes himself into the backseat. The backseat of the Lambo isn’t that large. Hardly big enough to fit two people let alone four.

Jungkook lets out a belated “Hey!” at being squished up against the door but Hoseok just reaches around him and unlocks it for him to get out. Jimin is already out of the passenger seat and heading in the direction of the driver's side as Yoongi scrambles with your seat belt, jerking it over your shoulder and slamming it home.

"-Fucking asshole- of all the stupid omegas in the world I had to be mated to the fucking- dumbest- little- fucking-" The belt digs into your shoulder extra tight and Jimin starts the car wordlessly. 

You're closed in on both sides by him and Hobi on the other. They switch and shuffle. Jimin pulls away from the train station, gentler this time but still faster and with more finesse than you'd do it. Yoongi is still looking at you, glaring, tears in his eyes with wet cheeks, his voice low and uncompromising. 

“Give me your phone.” 

“My what?”

“Your. Phone. You used it to call her didn’t you?” You nod after a second, slowly pulling it from your sweatshirt pocket and handing it over. 

Yoongi takes your phone and breaks it over his thigh.

It’s a bit impressive really- the show of strength. He brings it down once and the screen breaks, winking out like a shooting star. Another and it bends just a little, a third time- and it's practically at a right angle. It breaks so easily in the face of adrenaline and anger and fear. 

You make a small noise, not a whimper but a descending sound. Yoongi raises his eyebrows at you, wild. Like he’ll break even further if you complain. Hoseok’s not sure he’s ever seen Yoongi this broken.

"Just- There were pictures of Noodle and Tae on there.”

Fear and anger are an intoxicating mix to anyone- let alone someone who almost lost their person. He goes at your phone until its jagged edge bites into his hand drawing blood. Then he tosses both pieces of your phone onto the floor of the car like they're paperweights.

One of the pieces hits your shoe with a small metal clink, and even Hobi looks down in surprise at the sound. 

Yoongi laughs and then bends over. Yanking the gun out of your boot. Small, shoved there. Hoseok didn’t notice. He's not sure why it surprises him- that you'd be armed. You're not an idiot, you know the risks, and you were armed the last time that you tried to run away.  

He holds it out to you, long fingers wrapped around the barrel pointed at his chest. The handle facing you, the barrel of the gun level with his heart.

“You want to do the honors sweetheart?"

Jungkook’s worrying away at his lower lip, turning around, nervous. “Yoongi-" but Yoongi just holds a finger out, cutting him off. He's watching you, waiting to see what you'll do.

Jimin very gently reaches back and takes the gun from Yoongi. The beta lets him. Jimin flicks the safety off with a twitch of his thumb. And takes out the magazine one-handed that he hands to Jungkook before he puts the body of the gun barrel down in the cup holder where it rattles freely. 

“Don’t fucking do that. we do not point guns at ourselves or each other in this pack.” 

Yoongi hardly looks mad, he hardly reacts to Jimin at all. Jungkook's eyes flicker nervously from Jimin to Yoongi, then to Jimin's shoulder.

Jimin's flush sits on the top of his cheekbones, "Jin-hyung gets a pass obviously."

You quirk an eyebrow at your mate, not impressed in the slightest, not even intimidated truly. Hoseok doesn’t think you’ve fought since you tried to leave the first time. 

“You didn’t really expect me to go unarmed, did you? Thought I could at least take one of them out- at least Moonbyul before they-” Jimin breathes hard through his teeth and Hoseok actually laughs, although he sounds a little unhinged. Yoongi runs his hands through his hair, pulling a little.

“I didn’t expect you to fucking leave me either but here we fucking are.” Yoongi has never raised his voice with you- he never raises his voice period. But anger and terror have made his words sloppy where usually they strike exact.

In the mirror, you see Jungkook’s jaw clench as Jimin accelerates home a little faster. Yoongi crowds you against Hoseok. Resting his forehead against yours, you can hear the grit in his teeth as he grinds them together nearly spitting, but it’s quiet. 

“If you try something like that again, you will see a side of me that I do not want to show you. Do you understand?” 

That makes you unnerved, and makes your lower lip start to tremble. Your “Yes.” Comes out so quiet that Hoseok is sure Jimin and Jungkook can't hear it in the front seat over the Lambo's purr. 

You’re unable to meet his eyes, Yoongi has never been rough with you, but he’s shaking with the effort to hold himself back from screaming, yelling, crying. There are no words for you, no words that he could ever say that might hold you. He is so angry he can’t even fucking speak. 

For a terrible moment, you think that he's going to hit the seat in front of you. But then he tucks your hair behind your ear out of your face so that he can look at you properly. 

This is Yoongi's karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. He's come to know their pain so keenly, this was only a few hours of what they endured but still- this is exactly like that. 

“You know- I’ve never wondered if you need me, but sometimes I wonder if you love me at all.”

His hand slides down your cheek, gentle in the way that he goes, and it hurts so much more than a slap or punch ever would. It stings. Everywhere Yoongi touches you stings. 

“I know you don’t love me the way that I love you- I’m not that dumb, but-" 

Your face screws into a whimper, and you can't whisper out that you're sorry quick enough. Yoongi guides your forehead back to rest against his. Still angry, still spitting the words like they take something from him. You should deny what he says and you want to, but you’re mute in the face of your mate's anger.    "How many hours do you think will exist between your death and mine?”   You’re silent as Jimin drives, but his eyes meet yours in the rearview mirror. You don’t see any pity in his eyes maybe because Yoongi, like you, had nearly left them broken. Had actually left and stayed gone. Yoongi will never quite deserve pity for words like those. Yoongi directs your face away from Jimin and back to his.

“How many god damn it!” He grips your cheeks, gentle, fingers that touch so softly, that cradle you, shaking all the while. 

“Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last 5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough to apologize and you don't make it easy- I don't-

"Yoongi. That is enough." 

Jimin is steely. Cutting him off before Yoongi can say something that he regrets and that he doesn't mean. But Yoongi won’t continue anyway. He's crying so hard he can’t see your face, can’t even see the way that you crumple.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder for the remainder of the drive. Pushing away your hands every time you try and wrap them around him until you’re crying with how frustrated you are. Keeping that one point of contact only, his crumpled face pressed against your mating mark. 

He doesn’t want your touch- the touch of someone who hurt him. This is the first time that Yoongi has denied you something so simple, something so habitual as your arms around his shoulders. 

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, your words come too late. "I'm sorry, i'm so sorry Yoongi I didn't mean- please believe me- I didn't- Please i'm so sorry-"

It’s a pity isn’t it; someone always has to love the other more. This is the oldest story, and there is no other story. Karma comes just in time or not at all. But right now? Right now it does not feel nice being Yoongi’s karma for leaving the pack all those months ago. 

The car ride is mostly silent for the rest of the drive. The car has barely stopped when Yoongi scrambles to get out. The car door flings open with the momentum of Jimin stopping. The hood is hot when he skims his fingers across it steadying himself to round it and dash inside.

Your hands shake too hard to unbuckle yourself as Yoongi hurries, he almost runs. Hoseok gets out of the car, shouting "Yoongi!" but your mate doesn't turn around, doesn't do anything but barrel past the others. Pushing away their worried questions and hands to get inside the house. 

The bindings on your hands are already bleeding a little bit, your hands chubby and swollen, and unable to see the seat buckle as you claw at it. 

A warm chest hits the side of your face as strong arms reach around you. Jungkook unbuckles you, close and filling the backseat in Yoongi's absence. He holds you for a second, giving you a squeeze and a sideways hug. "Just give him a second it’s gonna be alright." 

You stare at Jungkook for a second. Wiping your tears away with a curled fist. He looks tired. “I mean you’re literally his mate so- it's not like he can really...” Jungkook trails off, and the keys jingle in Jimin's hands as he waits. mute and unreadable, staring at the steps where tae stands with Jin and Namjoon.

"Aren't you guys going to yell at me too?" Jungkook snorts, and when you pull back to look at his face, he doesn't look angry, he doesn't even look tired. 

"That wouldn't solve anything." Your face crumples further, but Jungkook just starts to pull you to the edge of the leather seat to hug you better under the guise of firmly setting you on your feet. 

"What I am gonna do is make you go work out with me. I'm gonna make you do like- so many burpees in punishment for making me run that early in the morning."

You laugh wetly and Jungkook giggles, nuzzling the top of your head. Gripping around your waist to pick you up just a little. 

Jin looks just as puffed up as Yoongi but so much less angry, wrapped in your big blue blanket like a cape, a corner pulled over his head and ears like a hood, his fluffy bunny slippers poking out below.

The wooden planks of the deck have dried in the winter sunlight and Tae is barefoot where she stands, silk robe too thin for the winter chill. looking at you with that same hollow look she’s had for the last day.

Jin doesn’t try to grab Yoongi as he stalks past. Namjoon sends a conflicted glance at him and then at you. His shoulders are pinned up by his ears, the scraggly five o'clock shadow he wears looks tear tacky. He looks at you for a single second but then heads into the house after your mate. You blanch, but you're not surprised that Namjoon needs a second before he talks to you too. 

The pervasive sound of wrenching can be heard echoing out into the porch, and a look inside says that Namjoon’s got a hand on Yoongi's back where he's bent over the sink. Throwing up nothing because your mate had hardly eaten last night- worried about you and Hobi. You've never felt more undeserving of him, the guilt hits you harder than any words ever could.

You swallow at the bottom of the steps. Hoseok and Jungkook and Jimin behind you, hand on the small of your back urging you forward gently. Willing to let you stray more than a few steps away after chasing you down.

Jin is extra tall and on the upper step, looking down at you with an unreadable expression on his face, he places a hand over the back of your neck scruffing you smoothly and evenly until you almost fall, knees already shaky. Jungkook steps up and grabs you before you hit the floor. But Jin just stoops. Lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“When this is over, when everyone is safe, we’re going to have a long long talk about this. About why pups don’t make decisions on their own. Give me your phone.”

You can hear Jimin’s grimace in his voice, “Yoongi already broke it.” 

“Are you angry with me?” You ask lower lip wobbling, tears drifting down your nose, “Please don’t be angry with me- please-” Jin squeezes the nape of your neck again, harder. You see sparkles in your vision- your body compensating for Jin's touch even though you're so tired you feel like you might pass out. You easily submit to the scruff, you'll do anything Jin asks right now just to temper his disappointment.

Hoseok grabs under your elbows to keep you standing. Between him and Jin and Jungkook- you’re a soggy little bundle of omegas. You don’t see it, but from the railing, Tae cups Jimin’s cheek. 

Jin croons. “Hush pup. Come inside where it's warm. We've got a lot to talk about- mostly what we can do besides make rash decisions like that." 

Hoseok's hand is on Jin's wrist before he has a chance to continue. Eyes bright with something that looks an awful lot like hope. 

"About that..." Hoseok gulps, “We think we figured out how to get out of this Jinnie. I have to talk to Yoongi about it again but-” Jin tugs Hoseok onto his other shoulder.

“I think we’ve figured a way out of this.”  

You sniffle where you're tucked against Jin's chest, but you’re right next to his scent gland when it swells with pride, sweet and milky. Jin runs the back of his hand softly over Hoseok's warm cheeks, and croons.

“Good puppy.”

~-~

The next time you call Moonbyul, you’re all sitting around the dining room table. The blinds are drawn and Noodle has been fed. Jimin’s collection of guns lay on the table in several neat little rows, the barrels of them pointed in the same direction like the legs of some long-dead arachnid. 

A list of demands and a dialogue are written out in front of you but they're not for you. Jin and Yoongi will be doing most of the talking. You've done nothing for the last hour it took to hatch the plan other than sit obediently at the reach of your alphas. Willing to trade little 'I'm sorries' and the barest attempt at teasing after you'd gotten up to get a glass of water and they'd all flinched. Jimin had even gotten up and out of his chair before shaking his head and sitting back down. instincts reacting to your movement before his brain caught up.

"Would it make you feel better if you put me in handcuffs?"

"Only if they're the fuzzy ones." 

"Jk- now is not the time.”

All in all, Jungkook and Hobi seem to be the ones who are the least angry at you for trying to pull that stunt. Jimin's just a little more tactile with you than usual pulling you to sit close to him at the table. rubbing over your knee. Fiddling with your hands and gently avoiding the wounds there.

Namjoon still can't look at you, eyes flickering away every time you speak. Not angry- but maybe still upset- still working through his feelings. 

There are more important things to work through; the plan, the facts of what you know, a list with numbers sit next to your dialogue. The facts of everything connected with arrows and different handwriting and a good bit of doodles- courtesy of Jungkook and Tae (and you- when she'd prodded). 

Your list goes like this:

Moonbyul is not an alpha (verified by Hobi) (ew it's so gross to think of you with another omega hyung)

Only an alpha can rule the family. (That's a little sexist) (I didn't write the rules Tae)

LEVERAGE. 

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ (JK- stop doodling on official FBI documents.) 

Yoongi hasn't spoken a word to you since he came inside the house and you don't expect him to right now. That’s hardly the most important matter at hand. Baby steps.

Baby steps. 

You call her with Jimin’s work burner. The one he keeps in his car and uses exclusively for instructions about which murder and which target needs to be taken out. Moonbyul answers on the first ring and guesses it’s you before you even have a chance to speak. The others had unanimously decided that you wouldn't be speaking for this conversation. You don't mind sitting back for this. 

Whatever makes them happy, whatever makes them feel better. 

Her voice strikes a chill down your spine, now that you know that she's the one who hurt Hobi. It's her he sees behind his eyes on his worst days and it's her voice he hears when his internal monologue becomes vicious and self-shaming. You hear it differently than you did before; a cross between a snake's hiss and the purr of some dark-furred jungle cat. 

“Any much longer and you’re going to be late pup, you know how impatient I can be.” 

It's surprisingly difficult to not give her a piece of your mind. Your hands tighten into fists, your bones and skin all tight where you'd hurt your hands. But before your knuckles can even go white a big hand covers yours, prying your fingers apart so that your fingernails don't dig into the gauze, still bloody. You look up at Namjoon. He shakes his head, just a little, and you relax your hands.

Yoongi leans over the table so that his voice comes across clearer over the speakerphone. 

“I think you’ll want to be patient for this alpha- or should I say omega.” 

Hoseok holds the edge of the table hard, leaning in too. He's sure the hitch of his breath must be audible over the phone. But Moonbyul doesn't remark on it. Jin’s hand remains settled on the nape of his neck and you wish you were sitting next to him too.

Yoongi scoots himself closer to the edge of the table. On the side opposite from you. “The claws of an alpha don’t suit you, cousin.”  

Moonbyul laughs and none of you smile. The tone of her voice shifts, a bit more serious. “They fit me better than they'd fit you. Let me see how deep your bite is or should I ask Hoseok? Is that pup there? How about Minnie and mommy?” 

Tae folds her hands over her chest, affronted, but doesn't speak either. Your hand goes hard on Namjoon's wrist and he grips yours back just as hard. Holding out his hand for Hobi's across the table. 

You open your mouth to retaliate- for the comment on Tae alone (you're not sure how Moonbyul found out about your nickname for her) but Jimin mouths across the table, “Don’t” You're all silent, waiting for her next move.

Jin's FBI training kicks in. Negotiation and kidnappings had been a course he'd been required to take during his orientation to the fbi. and his voice is measured and polite.

"I think we're past the point of petty jabs and assassin's, aren't we? Let's talk, pack omega to pack omega."

“You want to parley then? Make a deal?”

Jin drums his hands across the table. Nervous but his voice doesn't shake, not even a little bit.

“This has gone on for long enough. Let’s meet.”

~-~   Moonbyul comes in with the quiet. 

The hours drag on in the space before she arrives at the house. The pack perks up in the direction of every errant sound or neighbor in your cul-de-sac. The sound of the little kids across the street leaving for Saturday morning sports, of the dull scape of someone shoveling out their driveway, the rumbling of distant cars on the highway.

It’s a Sunday, isn’t it? Strange, that this kind of thing should happen on a Sunday. Jimin stares out at the driveway, leaning against the railing, and thinks it must be some sort of punishment both wretched and divine. He smokes his cigarette, spitting the smoke out like he's burning, and shakes off the shivers of a god he doesn't believe in.

He finishes his cigarette, then he and the others and ready the house for Moonbyul’s arrival. 

Hobi feels every tick of the clock like the beat of his heart knowing that she’s on her way. She’d started driving after Jimin had shown her a video of his guns being thrown into the river. A meeting without any weapons will be as safe as anyone can get.

But still- the pack isn't stupid. Hobi watches from the kitchen as Jin tapes the pack’s sharpest and largest kitchen knife under the kitchen table in front of his seat as well as Jimin’s and Yoongi’s just in case. 

Allowing her inside the den goes against every instinct. To have their softest most safe place violated by the presence of someone who has hurt them like this. It's almost too much. But to have the upper hand and have this meeting on their turf is more than they’ve hoped for. So Namjoon restrains his growls, hand still held in yours at the table. After a tangle of so many hours and days of all this violence, the pack takes their chances for a way out. 

You'd discussed the meeting happening at the house before you'd even called and agreed. Talked it out between the eight of you the idea location for any meet up. Only Namjoon was against it- but he's been overruled by Jin and Yoongi.

You’d remained mostly silent and agreed with Yoongi when it came to a vote. Warm big eyes on him, waiting for a hint of approval that never came. Jimin thinks that wound is going to take more than simple obedience to heal. 

Yoongi doesn’t know what to think, or what to do. Jin and Jimin take over most of the planning as far as what’s going to be said and how. Everything needs to be carefully orchestrated for this to not go poorly. Everyone needs to be on their best behavior. 

But there is hope here, on the edge of their scheming is a plan that might work- this might really work. You all might get out of this unscathed. Even Yoongi who’s never taken a simple breath outside of this life of murder and secrets. Who has had this violence built into his blood from the moment he was born. Yoongi was born a liar. Yoongi always thought that he'd live and die belonging to his family- at the will of their beck and call.

Now he's not so sure. 

He feels like he’s hyper-aware of you, in your orbit the way an addict is always aware of how little or lot is left of a drug. Every twitch and movement of your body sets him on edge. But when you’re not watching- Yoongi watches you. Tensing with every step you take in the direction of the door, heaving a thankful sigh whenever you pass by it. 

He tries not to touch you but it’s hard. He’d taken your shoes and locked them in the closet upstairs, it's silly but it's necessary.

His pulse is still beating so fast that it scares him a little. The mating mark at his hip aches with every step, he wonders if yours aches with every word or breath. Pressed there against your throat where he'd kissed countless times, where he'd nuzzled sleeplessly just last night. Breathing in your scent because it soothed him. 

It still soothes him, even if he doesn't want it to. 

Yoongi spends every few minutes bent over the kitchen sink or the toilet, the revulsion curling up in his gut like a snake dragging its teeth down the sides of his heart. You’d left him again, actually left him again. Yoongi wants to scream and cry but- 

But there are moments of you saying you’re sorry- to Tae, to Jimin, and Jungkook- who stubbornly wraps his arms around your back like a living blanket and makes you stoop forward with his weight. Or Jimin who rubs his chin across the top of your head and jostles you with the aggressiveness of his scent mark, catching your wrists in both of his hands roughly in a way that almost- almost has Yoongi intervening. He's just clumsy and tired. 

All of you are. 

There are other moments of Jin lingering close, speaking to you in the soft stern way that has you deflating that makes Yoongi’s body hum in that mate way- that way that lets him know you need him. 

Namjoon hasn't changed the bandages on your hands yet, even though there's a tiny bit of blood on your right one. Yoongi wants to ask him to change it out but can't make his mouth form the words. 

Hobi watches you from wear he rests against the couch, pointedly not sitting on the spot that Jin cleaned of blood. Holding a bit of ice to his throat and sipping on water. Able to talk now- for real. Voice strengthening with every minute. 

Yoongi pauses by his side and asks, loud enough for you to overhear "aren't you angry?" Hoseok doesn't miss the way your shoulders tense. You’re looking over things and talking with Jin and Jimin, clarifying something- some rules about the family that only you and Yoongi know of. There are documents on the table with the title FBI property- do not reproduce or take off premises. 

He tips his head back against the back of the couch, Hoseok’s legs sprawled out, aching from running so hard and so fast and being so out of practice with it. Fuck- Hoseok is so tired. So anxious and so keyed up by the knowledge that Moonbyul will be here within the next hour. He yawns in Yoongi’s face without covering his mouth. His stretched lips full of teeth teeth teeth. 

Yoongi feels his anger quiet even before Hoseok shrugs. "i don't know if my anger would make it better. i care more about making sure we all get to wake up tomorrow without feeling like shit"

Jungkook echoes the same sentiment on his way past. “Same like- I cannot wait to nest” And Jimin nods, blonde hair fluffing. Even namjoon's subtle agreement as he does the dishes makes yoongi feel...Not better...but maybe a little less angry.

Namjoon does the dishes, but you're his close shadow. They could wait- but Namjoon needs something to do with his hands besides holding onto yours. You still haven’t talked at all, and haven't apologized verbally to him for that phone call. He wants a wide birth and you give it to him.

Survival first- and apologies and forgiveness later.  

"I think motive counts for something too," Hoseok says, looking at you across the room helping Namjoon stack dishes without being asked. "You didn't mean to hurt us when you left, but you felt like you had to." Yoongi swallows hard and feels like he's the one who's been choked in the last 48 hours.

If there’s one thing Yoongi hates, it’s how love makes you forgive. (Yoongi wouldn’t be standing in this house right now with the pack if love wasn’t this way). You could hurt me and I’d ask for it, beg for it really, as long as I’m still yours. As long as you stay. 

At the beginning, the fact that Yoongi loved you more always hurt the pack, Jin especially. But watching Yoongi’s eyes follow your movements as you're asked to do some small remedial task to appease the pack, watching you do it with so much sweet eagerness. the pack find that they're thankful for it.

You say you’re sorry to anyone who will listen. And Jungkook's endless replies of "it's okay" make Yoongi's ears itch in the interim.

The moments and minutes stretch out long.

But about an hour before Moonbyul is due to arrive, in the quiet panic of making sure things are ready and just waiting, Jin tries to convince you to go upstairs for the entirety of your meeting. But as much as the pack doesn't want to admit it you might be the best at getting what you want from Moonbyul. They're prepared for you to be a little bratty about it, to push back a little regardless of the circumstances.

What they're not prepared for is Hoseok standing up in the center of the room, setting his icepack on the couch with a small crunch, before he says “I want to see her again.” 

It's met with an immediate rejection, and a barrage of questions from the other alpha's, Jimin and Namjoon especially have their hackles raised. Yoongi actually checks his ears to see if they're bleeding. Jin quite literally grabs Hobi and shakes him a little. But he’s convinced that he needs too. He’s got questions for her that no one else can answer.

You had been the one person who had agreed with him. Some questions can only be answered by the person who hurt you. 

Moonbyul isn’t stupid- she won’t walk into your den without a few face cards in her hands. You won’t let her come here without a card up your sleeve either. But aces are aces- a royal flush will beat 4 aces every time, and it’s up to you who wears the crown. 

You watch the pack put on the air of royalty. Watch Namjoon recline at the head of the table the picture of Pack alpha ease. Scent blockers are applied to all of you liberally out of necessity. You rub it into Hobi’s scent gland yourself (You won’t let Moonbyul get a wif of him).

You watch your mate settle into his shoulders; neck held high. Putting on the same Placid but brutal he'd worn the first time you'd met him. That untouchable coldness that all members of the family wear out of necessity. 

But Yoongi had never been good enough at keeping the warmth out of his eyes. Even back then.

Moonbyul comes in a black car, non-descript. She's driving herself today. No extra ears or extra packmates attached to her hip. Even Hyejin is absent and it’s strange, strange to not see her get out of the car with her.

It sets you off kilter when you peer out the window. Lingering until Yoongi comes close. Your breath hitches as his hands touch your shoulders. Urging you upstairs without a word, an unspoken heaviness in his eyes.

Regardless of what you'd agreed, now that she's here. yoongi doesn't think he can do this if you're not upstairs safe.

“But Yoongi- Hobi-“ Hobi stands by the door. If he's going to talk to her you want to be by his side. But Yoongi's scared, you can see it in his face and feel it in the mating mark.

You think you'll have a few more moments to sort this out, but Moonbyul does not knock on your door, she just lets herself in. 

“Cousin!” she starts, splaying her hands like she’s about to go in for a hug but Yoongi does not smile, Yoongi does nothing but glare at her until her smile and her hands both drop. 

Seeing Moonbyul again after so long does not feel like just seeing her photograph. For a second Hoseok feels cold, so so cold looking at her face. Her fair skin, her silver hair. Tunnel vision and the most dizzying mix of fear and anger and alpha posturing that he’s ever felt. His instincts yell at him, screaming in his ear that he needs to run, needs to get away. 

She smells different, metallic and medicinal, different than her sweet omega peppermint smell that he remembers. It's stronger now- more musky. the scent of an alpha and not an omega. Hoseok wouldn't be able to pinpoint that it was an artificial change if he hadn't smelled the same sort of hormone shift on Tae.

He’s distantly aware that there are people in between him and her, you, Yoongi, Jimin, Namjoon, and even Jungkook who fluffs up, looking determined and like he’s about to unleash all 5 years of experience he has teaching kickboxing on her. (Tae stays at the back of the room- the soft and delicate fairy star child that she is- but even she subtly stands straighter, eyeing Moonbyul’s stiff black coat with the same air that Anna Wintour might wear while viewing a subpar fashion show).

6 feet away and every bit of his instincts is yelling at him to move, to run. His heart thunders in his ears like a battalion of racehorses. How stupid of him to think he was ready- that seeing her face after all these years wouldn’t hurt- that the fear wouldn’t be there- his breath hitches and-

She grins at him and Hoseok flinches. 

In his peripheries, he sees Namjoon and Jimin start to say or do something. Hoseok had put himself- almost perfunctorily in front of you. But after a second with your hand on his wrist tightening, you put yourself between him and her. Stepping around him and Yoongi in one clean movement and blocking his face from view. Moonbyul just raises her eyebrows at you.    Before anything more can happen- before any jabs or warnings can be exchanged, a grey mass skitters across the floor. As quick as a bullet and twice as violent. Out for blood and the bringer of death.

Puffed up and looking large and menacing. Noodle yowls loud, a war cry, before driving his needle-like teeth into Moonbyul's ankle and right through the leather of her Louis Vuitton boots, ripping them with a vicious toss of his neck.

“What the fuck-“ 

Moonbyul startles, knocking into the wall in her surprise at your cat's viciousness. She hardly wastes a breath before she kicks Noodle clear across the floor. 

You gasp and Tae makes a noise. But Noodle is totally fine, He goes hissing and spluttering, and claws his way right back for more not deterred in the slightest. He leaves gash marks on the shiny floor as he aims himself, back to bite her again. 

You have no doubt that he’d be headed for bloodshed and her other ankle if Yoongi didn’t scoop him up from the floor and hold him to his chest. Honestly- Noodle looks more surprised at Yoongi holding him than he does about getting kicked. 

“If you touch my fucking cat again, I’ll fucking kill you." Yoongi's deadly serious. No part of him joking as he says it.

It's barely 60 seconds in and this meeting is already going to shit. 

Namjoon steps up and steps around Yoongi’s shoulder shoving the beta behind him as Noodle starts to squirm in Yoongi's hold.  “Please, lets just get this over with.” He tips his head and gestures to the dining room table for her to sit. 

Tae takes Noodle from Yoongi’s arms. Checking his stomach. Glaring at Moonbyul who does not grin, does not smile, only tucks an errant hair behind her ear.

The sound of chair legs scraping the floor is the only sound as the 9 of you sit in silence. Noodle stays in Tae’s lap, big tail swishing as his beady yellow eyes track Moonbyul across the room. Everyone’s silent, settling. Yoongi and Jimin are the ones seated closest to Moonbyul. You and Hobi are the farthest by Namjoon on the other side. 

“Well- you’re the one who wanted to talk.” But Moonbyul is not looking at Jin and Namjoon and Yoongi- she’s looking at Hoseok- who can do little but look at her through his bangs. Skin burning when she looks at it. A feeling like Hoseok wants to hide and maybe shower until his skin falls off almost overcoming him and making him run. 

“I didn’t want to talk, I wanted to get you fucking flayed out on this kitchen table and-”

“Jimin.” Tae cuts him off with a snap of her teeth around his name. Her hand is on Hobi’s thigh, holding him still keeping his thigh from jumping up and down under the table.

“The time for violence is over,” Jin says sternly. 

Moonbyul grins, “is it?” she drags a sharp nail over a groove in the table. A spot where a bullet or maybe a knife grazed it, probably from the last few days. You wouldn’t know where it came from even if you thought hard about it.

“Some would consider the very act of possessing something that’s mine violence and you have two things that belong to me.” 

Hoseok shivers, and you narrowly avoid snapping a smart retort at her. Jimin’s fingers hover around the knife under the table. Ready to wip it out and drive it clean through her hand splayed on the table. Ready to kill her in the next second if the pack wish it. He’s half convinced he should do it before she opens her mouth because Hoseok looks like he’s going to be sick all over the table and Tae is shaking faintly. 

But then Jimin looks up, meets your eyes, and takes his eyes off of his target for a second. You shake your head a little imperceptibly. 

“Some would also consider lying violence as well- how well do you think that the rest of your family and organization would handle the fact that they’ve been lied too?”

Yoongi settles, tilting his head. Jin and Yoongi are a dangerous pair when they talk through things like this. “We both know that all I’d have to do is pick up a phone and you’d be dead. You and your pack. If you kill me- someone will tell and you'll die. If you touch my pack again- I'll tell and you'll die. And if even think about taking my mate from me again- if i start to sense that you've tried to manipulate her away from me in the slightest- I'll kill you my fucking self."

She turns to you, mirth toying at her lips, "I got away with killing the beta once, what makes you think I can't do it again?" 

Jin smiles at her, it's an honest and genuine smile. "The truth is- you gave us too much time to think. Too much time to figure it out and plan. There's a trigger clause out there. On a computer you couldn't possibly find. If I don't log in every 36 hours, an email will be sent with pictures of her recipe book to the director of the FBI, and you'll go down for it."   Moonbyul turns to you, narrowing her eyes, "You'd risk going to prison or being killed? Rather than be with me?" 

You shrug. "You- prison- tomato tamato. And besides- I know enough- you made sure I knew enough to be useful to them. I'd probably land a sweet gig in witness protection."

Tae pets over noodles head, smiling at you, "We could call Noodle meatball."

Yoongi straightens, getting you back on track. "We'd also send pictures and evidence to the heads of house too; you'd have to take your pick who you'd want to deal with- them or the Feds."    Moonbyul goes quiet and for the first time but you know you have her backed into a corner with this. This secret- this secret is truly her undoing. She fidgets, settling herself firmly into the uncomfortable chair. 

And then it comes, her concession, “What do you want?”

Yoongi nearly lunges forward with how eager he is to outline your terms. “Release Jimin from his contract. Let Y/n go and relinquish the bullshit claim you have on her. Don’t punish Jin for working for the FBI and never contact me again for my responsibilities as a beta. Leave us alone- never touch us again and you can have your empire. We won’t say a word to anyone about your true sub-gender.” He lays his hands flat on the table. "But lay a finger on any one of my packmates and I'll tell everyone what you really are." 

Moonbyul is a manipulator first and foremost, and a good one at that, you don’t know if it’s honesty or a simple tactic when she turns to Tae and appeals to her.

“You’d let them do this for what? One female alpha to the other?” Moonbyul’s eyes are too empty for her to be totally honest. Jungkook can’t stop his flinch. She knows what she’s doing. How to find the weak spots in your conviction and press at them.  

“One trans person to another? You'd let them forcefully out me? don't you know how wrong that is?”

You physically can’t look at her, you have to look away- and Jimin looks like he wants to punch her, jaw rolling- preparing to spit before Tae splays her hands on the table, chipped nail polish catching the light. 

Tae struggles to find the right words. “I don’t know if your reasons are the same as mine.” 

Moonbyul scoffs, crossing her arms. The mask slips at the same second. “Sure they are. You chose to become a woman rather than stay a man because you liked the set of qualities your life could have as a woman better. That's no different from me choosing to be an alpha over an omega because it gave my pack and me the most security.”

You know, you know in your heart that security isn't what Moonbyul's after, it's always been power, but Tae's scent starts to leak around the scent blockers, going sour.

Tae sits back in her chair. “That’s the thing- it wasn’t a choice.”

Moonbyul’s fingernails are digging into her arms in an effort to keep her hands busy. “Was it? You were comfortable being a man once until the risks outweighed the benefits of not being honest with the people you love. That seems like a choice to me- if it wasn’t a choice- you’d never have had to tell anyone- they’d just have known.” 

Moonbyul has always had a terrible knack for finding people's soft spots, Hoseok knows this, and yet he can't say anything. Can't come to Tae's defense. Can't scream at her to shut up- to not touch Tae. To not find the weakest link or perhaps a link she can exploit.

Tae’s hands tighten into a fist and she swallows, before standing up from the table. Noodle falls to the floor with a jingle of his bell collar and an offended meow. Tae leaves the room heading up the stairs and leaves you behind. Done with Moonbyul and the conversation, A choice in itself. You follow her, heading upstairs after Tae with not even a glance in Moonbyul’s direction. 

Moonbyul laughs and laughs and laughs, it’s a little unhinged. The pack stays silent. They just watch her. Yoongi settles into his shoulders and when she leans back in the chair and tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s still smiling.

“Alright cousin, let’s draw up terms.”

The family does things in old ways, a smear of Yoongi’s blood and Moonbyul’s blood on the bottom of a slip of paper and their names ink signed. A red seal printed with both of their initials. Paper that Jin will burn up later because what’s written on it could condemn them all. She also writes up a release of Jimin’s contract too- this one does not get burned. While Jin types up his resignation too.

“I’d still laser off your fingerprints if I were you.” Jimin is already planning on it. He’s not too worried about the loss of income or the family possibly rolling on him and using his long history of murder to put him in jail. He still has his other job after all.

In the end, Moonbyul leaves not with a bang, but with the click of the closing door, soft as all can be. Violent with the gentleness of her actions when she gets up from the table and says goodbye to Yoongi and only Yoongi. But when she makes to leave, she has to pass by the stairs where you wait.

You do not speak from up on top of the stairs, where you’d gone after Tae and left after she told you she was fine, that she wanted to be alone for a moment. Now Moonbyul smiles from the bottom step. Her teeth catch the light like the pearls at the bottom of the ocean.

“I guess it was never going to be us, was it?” Her eyes flick to the mark on your neck and all at once you’re reminded of the feeling of it;

Geumjae’s teeth sink into your throat, the pulse of your veins around his teeth, the feeling of his tongue hitting your skin and the pain and shock of it. Her smiling feels like that. Her smiling up at you makes it feel like she’s taking something from you. 

“There is something in you that’s hungry pup- hungry for more than they can give you. And when they realize that- when they realize that you’re more like me than like Tae- Don’t worry, I’ll be waiting for when you decide that this is not enough.” 

Your finger trails down the railing of the stairs. You don’t meet her eyes. “That’s the thing isn’t it, I do get to decide, don’t I? It's my choice.”

But Hoseok is there, between you and her, and there’s no one between the two of them. Not Noodle or the others although Yoongi gets up quick and comes over to his side. Both of you hem Hobi in. 

“Wait- I just have one question for you- before you go.”

Moonbyul hovers, hand on the door. Almost out of your lives for good. You keep a hand on Hobi’s back, holding him, letting him know you’re there. You can feel the tremble in his shoulders. 

“Why did you do it, why did you hurt me like that when you could have just left? I’ve thought through it for years but I’ve never been able to figure it out. Did you know that you were hurting me when you did it?”

“Yes,” there isn’t a bit of remorse in her face, none at all. 

Maybe Hoseok is expecting something like this- something like this: “I thought if we broke you down, we might be able to remake you into something great”

“I didn’t need to be changed I just needed you to love me.”

 But there is none of that. It’s infuriating and it will bother him for years later but what Hoseok gets is this: 

“There wasn’t a reason, we were just bored and waiting for my father to give me the chance to transition.” transition into power or transition into an alpha? She doesn't clarify. She’s remorseless, nothing in her inflection indicates that she regrets what she did. 

“You weren’t the first.” 

Hoseok feels nauseous like he's going to be sick on the entryway floor. Hobi doesn’t respond and she leaves without a second glance behind her. Out of your lives for good. Leaving Hoseok standing there in the precipice of the door, watching her pull away from the house and staring at the empty driveway after she’s gone. He'll never see her again after today.

Namjoon gets up and opens up a window, clearing the house of her smell of peppermint.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until you dab your sleeve at his cheek. Yoongi at his front and you holding him from behind, keeping him together as he cries and cries and cries. Jimin puts himself between you two and the door, a knife that he'd tapped under the table in his hands.

Jungkook huffs. "Should have stabbed her when you had the chance Minnie."

Closure escapes him, just out of his fingers. Hoseok wants to run after her and demand an apology. But he doesn’t know what’s better, an apology that’s hollow or none at all. No one talks for a moment while they watch her car pull out of the driveway and leave. No one says a word. 

And then Jin gets up from the table and walks over to the kitchen. Namjoon follows him. Tae’s at the top of the steps, she’s changed her clothes from her PJs and washed off the scent blockers. Her hair hangs shaggy and messy over her glossy face, her bangs in a curly pink roller, and her skin pearly from her skincare.

She doesn’t smell distressed or upset. She doesn’t smell like anything at all but she’s wearing her favorite pink sweater. She comes close, runs her hands through Hobi's hair.

"I'll be fine, just give me a second I just need-"

"You cry for as long as you need to ho-baby."

"Yeah- cry as much as you want, use me as a napkin for all I care." your shirt is wet at the collar where Hobi burrows in.

Jin opens up the pack's liquor cabinet. Small and just to the side of the fridge. None of them really drink- but occasionally patients give Namjoon expensive bottles of whiskey for saving their lives. Jin pours himself a full glass of the most expensive bottle of it. No ice. He pours a second glass for Yoongi without asking.    It’s barely noon, but when he asks “who wants a drink?” Seven hands shoot up.

~-~

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Notes:

the very fist part of this chapter where hoseok and her are on the train was a part that i liked until final edits and then it felt??? idk??? clunky??? maybe a bit repetitive???? idk what it is and it's way too late to fix it T-T

this chapter is really an ode to what i originally thought of for bily, in the og version of this story yoongi was supposed to hate the m/c at the beginning for taking him away from the pack. i think his anger at the end is entirely justified- it's also like- his karma for leaving at the beginning you know? he might take it a bit too far in his reaction but tbh- i think we can cut him some slack for everything he's ever given to the m/c- all of the unconditional love.

i think that the train is like- a metaphor for getting better, or not getting better and keeping going on the reductive patterns that make you sick, because the things that make you feel better- like picking at a sticky scab- will only make you scar deeper. this is the last moment for the m/c, the moment she starts to heal for good.

the moment where hobi and the m/c are walking up to the car and yoongi is there i litterally see him puffing up like a studio ghibli charecter you know? or maybe like noodle whenever yoongi comes close.

honestly- the line where yoongi says that she doesn't love him like he loves her made me fucking sick when i wrote it like???? not me lowkey not giving them a happy ending. but i think that the part of bily thats always been fun to experiment with is how people sometimes people hurting you doesn't change how you feel about them.

did you catch the reasons wreched and divine refrence????

the line that yoongi says “Five? Ten? Sweetheart- I'd last ////5 minutes without you and you won't even look at me long enough too apologize and-" is very much a refrence to what hoseok says to yoongi at the begining of the series "You won’t even tell me now when I'm fucking dying over you, suffocating under the weight of things you just won’t say- and you don’t even care!” and i think thats pretty.

i think the yoongi parts will either make you guys feel vindicated or upset. i think it's up to you if he goes too far when he's angry- but i do think it's very human of him to get so angry like...the m/c is his whole fucking world...he will get over it! don't worry! he's just momentarily angry!

the part between when the pack call her and she arrifes felt really clunky while i was editing it, i decided not to take it down too much because i wanted you guys to feel some of their anticipation- but maybe it's too much. it's this kind of part that might get seriously paired down once i go back through bily and clean it up

"fuck this bitch"- noodle probably

noodle is like my favorite charecter i swear to god i love him so so much. i had the idea that he would be the only one to get some bloodletting in since the very begining of the series before he was ever written into the story. this is also the begining of them sorta being friends like- after this noodle is alot more tolerant of yoongi.

Moonbyul discloses that she has some pretty uncomfy views of being trans in this! i think it's pretty obvious that it's not meant to be like 'this is how all trans people are' and more of an effort to contrast tae- we are also talking like fake secondary genders here as well so- do with that what you will!

i also wanted to make the point with hobi and moonbyul's part at the end that sometimes the people who hurt you have no remorse, you don't get clousrure from them because they'll never admit that they shouldn't have done something. and the biggest closure that you can get is from giving yourself the strenght to let go. in a way- this directly contrasts the parts on the train in the begining. in order to heal a wound you have to stop touching it.

this chapter may feel like an ending in a sense because it is an end of all the mafia parts. truly- after this chapter we won't see any more violence or blood or anything close to the last 6. it's all happy endings from here <3 Thank you for sticking with it!

<3

[shadowtriovibes]

the train ain't even left the station

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Rating: G

Word Count: 2K

Summary: request: "If you're up for it I'd love to see a small lil fic of Sebastian sending his child off to Hogwarts for the very first time! Like maybe Sebastian is telling them about his adventures with Ominis and MC to make the child less nervous or just letting them know how exciting things will be for them :)"

in the same 'verse as "it's a sign of the times" [AO3]

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.” “Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly. A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’” “No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

September 1, 1910

Suspended overhead in the bustling terminal of King’s Cross Station is a massive clock. Every morning, hundreds of thousands of Londoners – both Muggles and wizards alike, though more often the former – pass underneath the clock as they hurry to catch their trains. Many will casually glance up to ensure they’re still on time as they make their way to work, school, or even the lucky few off on holiday.

As it happens, the first day of September brings countless students to the station on their way to boarding schools all over the U.K., meaning the station stays especially crowded well into the late morning. Worried mums and impatient dads all turn their eyes toward that clock, hoping their sprogs won’t be left on the platform on their very first day of school.

Just as the minute hand slides into place at the very bottom of the clock, a handsome young family emerges from a tiny waiting room positioned at the far end of the terminal.

Hundreds of Muggle men in their funny, black suits and odd little bowler hats have already walked right past the waiting room without sparing it a second glance. In fact, had any of them paused to do so, they would have read a small sign affixed to the door that simply read, “Out of Order.”

But inside that waiting room is a grand fireplace. Not just any fireplace, mind you – one that roared brilliantly twenty-four hours a day, never needs stoking, and, perhaps most importantly, spews out bright green flames.

Sebastian Sallow first exits the waiting room with a precarious cart loaded up with trunks, birdcages, and even some broomsticks of all things. If the Muggles passing by thought anything of the man’s rather odd collection of travel items, no one said a word.

He glances up at the clock and grins.

“Ten thirty,” he says confidently over his shoulder. “See? I told you we wouldn’t be late.”

Beside him is his young wife. Their smallest child, a boy just a few months shy of his fifth birthday, is dozing in her arms. Behind them are their oldest children, a pair of twins, chatting excitedly as they follow their parents toward the barricade between platforms nine and ten.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit redundant to Floo all the way down to London just to put the children on a train back to Scotland?” Sebastian mumbles as your family weaves its way through the flowing crowds.

“Perhaps, but all the children love riding the train,” you remind him fondly. “It’s a Hogwarts tradition, especially for the little ones.”

Having never had the chance to take the Hogwarts Express yourself, you find yourself mildly envious of your eldest children, both of whom will soon be taking their very first journey on the school’s scarlet red steamer train.

“Besides,” you add teasingly. “If I recall, you and Anne met Ominis on your first train ride to Hogwarts, correct?”

“Fine, I suppose you’ve got me there,” Sebastian relents with a soft smile. “I rather think this whole journey will have been worth it if the twins happen to make lifelong friends who save their lives several times over.”

“Do we have to?” your son Simon pipes up, sounding wary. “Because I packed a book I wanted to read.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow at you and gives you a look that reads, He is your son through and through.

“Trying to prove you’re a Ravenclaw already, are you?” Sebastian teases him. “Just like your mum, you are.”

“I’m going to be a Slytherin like you, Daddy!” your daughter Anne-Marie chimes in proudly. “Even Auntie Anne said so!”

You and Sebastian exchange a fond, albeit exasperated look. Ever since Anne (and eventually Sebastian) had accepted the life-limiting curse placed upon her by Rookwood, she’d instead focused on honing types of magic that don’t drain her of her energy or cause her any more pain. She’d found comfort in Divination and has grown into a very powerful Seer, though she often uses her gift to rile up your children with premonitions of being spoiled rotten on their birthday or soundly beating the other village children in their broomstick races.

However, predicting that your mischievous little girl will end up in Slytherin is a fairly safe bet, you imagine.

“I won’t be the least bit surprised if that’s true,” Sebastian says warmly. “But just know your mother and I will love you all the same no matter which house you end up in.”

“Even Hufflepuff?” Simon asks nervously. “Ernest from the village says Hufflepuffs are boring.”

“Don’t forget your Auntie Poppy is a Hufflepuff,” you tease him. “She’s anything but boring!”

That seems to cheer Simon up a bit, but your sweet, slightly shy boy falls back beside you as you get closer to the platform barricade.

“Alright, my love?” you ask him softly.

He reaches for your free hand and squirms up tightly against your side. “It’s really big…”

You size up the high brick archway before you. To the naked eye, it appears as solid as rock, and despite Sebastian’s reassurances that it’s perfectly safe to run straight at it, you imagine you’d be intimidated as well if you were only eleven years old.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you reassure him. “Your father and I will come with you to the platform, you won’t have to go through alone.”

He nods wordlessly and you squeeze his hand. Ever her father’s girl, Anne-Marie takes Sebastian’s arm and the two of them push the wobbly luggage cart straight at the archway, and in the blink of an eye, they’ve vanished.

“See?” you murmur to Simon. “Not so scary, is it?”

With your youngest still propped against your hip, you and Simon walk toward the barricade at a slower pace. You glance around to make sure no Muggles are watching as you slip through the magical brick facade, and then in the blink of an eye you’re on a pack platform surrounded by wizarding families and children in bright, colorful robes.

“Over here!” Sebastian calls out, and you see that he’s pulled the cart right up to the train.

“Help each other with your trunks, just like that,” Sebastian says as Simon and Anne-Marie first carry the trunk marked with an “S.S.” aboard the carriage and then return for the other marked with an “A.M.S.”

Then they carry in their owls – both young tawny birds raised from hatchlings, a gift from their Aunt Poppy. Finally, they return for their brooms, which Sebastian knows for a fact they ought not to have as first years, but he hopes he can talk Headmaster Weasley into looking the other way once they arrive with the intent of trying out for their house Quidditch teams.

(Raising your children in a wizarding village had been quite an eye-opening experience for you. Your twins have been on broomsticks since they could walk, and over the years their godfather Ominis has insisted on making sure they always have the latest model – one for each, so they won’t squabble over sharing.)

You pull Anne-Marie in for a tight hug once the children finish unloading their cart.

“You’ve got everything you need?” you ask her, pretending your voice hasn’t gone thick with tears. “I’ve packed you both some sweets for the ride, remember to share with your new friends, and write to us as soon as you get back to your dormitories please–”

“Yes, Mum,” she says, somewhat impatiently. “We promise we will.”

Anne-Marie kisses her littlest brother goodbye on his chubby cheek, fondly brushing back some of those messy brown curls your husband had given him.

“Why don’t you let your father give you a hug goodbye, sweetheart?” you gently prompt her.

You expect you’re the only one who’s noticed that Sebastian’s eyes have gotten a bit wet as he’d watched his children load up their belongings on the train. Even though he’d likely try to deny it if you prodded him, he sincerely looks like he could use a hug.

As soon as Anne-Marie approaches him with her arms out, Sebastian scoops her up against his chest like he’d often done when she was much smaller – only now her legs nearly touch the floor, and soon he’ll only be able to sway her like this with her feet firmly planted on the ground.

“Have a great term, sweetheart,” he tells her softly. “I can’t wait to hear all about it – even the parts that’ll exasperate your mother.”

“I promise I’ll be good,” she says ruefully.

Sebastian sets her down and rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Not too good, alright? It’s worth breaking a few rules every now and then to make a friend, or do what’s right.”

“Like how you met Uncle Ominis and he showed you the Undercroft?” she says eagerly.

A few feet away, you look up sharply from where you’re hugging Simon goodbye. “Did she just say ‘Undercroft?’”

“No,” Sebastian and Anne-Marie say in unison.

You narrow your eyes suspiciously and decide to leave it be for now, but as soon as you turn away, Sebastian leans down and whispers, “Write to Uncle Ominis and ask him where to find it. It’s a Sallow’s rite of passage.”

“I will,” she says excitedly. “And I’ll bring Simon.”

“Good girl,” he says proudly.

Anne-Marie manages to free Simon from your weepy grasp so that Sebastian can also pull him in for one last hug, reassuring his son he’ll be proud of him no matter which house he eventually calls home. Then the two link arms as they make their way toward the train, climbing up the stairs behind a gaggle of redheaded children (whose surname you could likely guess on the first try).

They settle into a compartment halfway down the carriage. Anne-Marie eagerly presses her face against the glass and makes a silly face at Sebastian, which he delightedly returns. Simon waves goodbye as well and holds up the book he’d packed, showing it off as if to say, “See Mum? We’ll be just fine.”

With your groggy son in your arms and Sebastian’s arm around your shoulders, you watch as the train slowly starts to rumble down the tracks and into the brilliant September sunshine. It’s carrying your children ever closer to your home, and yet further away from you than they’ve ever been.

You hide a few tears against the lapel of Sebastian’s robes; he kindly wipes away the rest with a handkerchief and kisses the redness on your cheeks and nose until you’re smiling once more.

“They’re going to have an incredible year,” he whispers to you. “It’s Hogwarts.”

You simply nod, not trusting yourself to answer without a stray sob slipping out.

Dozens of parents begin to Apparate away from the tracks as soon as the train rounds the corner, but with your youngest, you’ll need to make your way back to the station’s Floo flames to get home safely. This time pushing an empty cart, the three of you slip back through the brick barricade.

“It sure will feel quiet when we get home,” Sebastian says a little sadly.

“We’ve still got the littlest one,” you say softly, cradling your sleeping boy’s cheek as he clings to you through his nap. “He’ll keep us on our toes enough as he gets older.”

“I suppose,” Sebastian sighs, still sounding morose even as he reaches over and gently strokes the back of his fingers down your singleton’s back.

Then he perks up and raises an eyebrow at you. “Or perhaps we could try for a fourth?”

You shoot him a withering glare. “Not on your life, Sebastian Sallow. We’ve just sent the twins off to school, I think that means we should actually get to enjoy some peace and quiet for once.”

(Though when your twins come home for the winter holidays with countless tales of their adventures with new friends and their pockets stuffed full of Zonko’s products, Sebastian gets to be the one to tell them they’ll have a new baby sister the following summer.)

[1-49]

hotter than your instincts

pairing: f!reader × chanyoung ⁝ tags: nighttime. trains. angst. lack of confidence. pining. jealous/obsessive tendencies. 1.3k

No matter how much you come to his mind, you aren’t his. Train in, train out... Night in, night out. The girl who rides the 10 p.m. train every day.

Concrete platforms, tiled walls, and lights that look like they could go out at any time add to the ominous atmosphere. Pretty much just lone winds blowing between entrances at these hours; hardly any trains. It is hard not to notice you in such brutality.

There is nothing more to explain his gradual transition from morning to evening swimming lessons than his intense desire to keep running into you. That he is taking such a big risk with his serious forte is absurd.

Tonight of all nights, he’s sitting the closest he has ever sat to you, so it seems as though he is most vulnerable to the ‘here we go agains’ and the ‘I won’t give into my own dreams & wishes,’ but he is unable to avoid them. From the other side of the bench, he can sense your breath and imagine your lips meeting his for that fleeting moment before ur head turns to divert attention to the train approaching from the far & opposite platform.

Save for a few shy smiles & acknowledgements of his presence, you never say anything to him. Your eyes never remain locked for longer than necessary, & ur hands never come into contact.

In actuality, though, Chanyoung doesn’t require much since he loves your silence. Seemingly mysterious & cool, but mostly, he loves the way your quietness sounds, just like his.

But then the ‘how could he ever possibly get to yous’ start to creep in, knowing full well that there’s always ‘that’ other guy on the other end of the line. The guy who’s waiting for you and to whom you belong. The guy who stays in your heart forever and always calls to check on you while you’re returning home. The guy who stays on the phone every night to hear about your joys and your sorrows equally.  Anton knows he can’t compete with that.

Watching the last trains of the day pass by while you two sit in silence is strangely soothing—that is, until you get that phone call.

Night in, night out. In those moments, all the subterranean beauty blurs, and his chest gets bruised. His most beautiful smile fades away, and he’s only left to wonder what it would have been like if you were his girlfriend.

Everything feels so empty and miserable when you’re on that nightly-clockwork call with him at 10:10 p.m. and Chanyoung is there, supposed to hold it through.

You’re the reason why he’s clenching his fist so hard inside his hoodie and his nails are digging into his flesh.

Given his adorable and compassionate nature, it’s difficult to envision him harboring negative thoughts. But there it is again, another glimpse of him beating his fist against a concrete wall, because how many phone calls from ‘him’ does Chanyoung really need to count to be certain he will never have a chance with you? 

That you cause his heart to race like a train, and his hands to shake, you will never know. And as he listens to your talk, it is as though he’s running off the tracks.

“Sorry, babe, think my phone’s dying.”

???? He finds it difficult to believe what you are saying, and it almost sounds like something out of his fantasies. A fantasy in which he’s strong enough to control the things that hurt his heart, but in actuality, he isn’t. 

However, you sigh visibly & end the call, looking at your phone’s screen and probably checking the battery... What if tonight is finally the night the universe is on his side?

Your eyes move from your phone to your feet, then to the empty train tunnel, and then to him. It’s unimaginable that you’re now considering him worthy of a cursory glance.

He looks down at his feet shyly, and his bangs start to slide more into his eyes as he fixes his gaze on the floor. If only he had more courage.

But as soon as you announce, “We’ve been taking the same train every day,” out of nowhere, his gaze lifts to meet you right away, and even if he’s surprised, his empathetic eyes stay glazed with hope.

With a smile on his face, he murmurs, “Yes,” the purest, softest ‘yes’ to ever be spoken.

That he likes to think you can love him all raw and exposed is foremost a dream. But a dream that becomes real as it’s written all over his face, and one that, had you not been so blindly in love, would have been so evident.

As he ponders whether to say anything at all or to stay silent, you smile at him.

And because of you, every butterfly he owns is now trying to pull away from his core. He finds himself wishing he had a plan on how to make his dream of you come true, but he is caught unprepared.

You randomly comment, “I like your shirt,” while pointing teasingly at the undershirt he is wearing. But seriously, who puts themselves on their shirt? 

From the tone in your voice, he believes if there had been another choice, you’d prefer his shirt off, not on. Still, it’s a moron nightmare!

“Oh, that...” Chanyoung remarks, along with a little, warm laugh that escapes his fragile, flustered lips as he zips up his hoodie, completely forgetting what his friends at the pool made him wear today after he lost a bet. At least he has your attention, even though the whole thing makes him look like a total fool.

“Cute,” you say as your thumbs poke through the holes in your knit sweater’s sleeve. “Not everyone has a high fashion sense,” you add in response, making another cuteful compliment.

Again, perhaps he’d have known how to react to that if he hadn’t been so bashful and innocent. Therefore, all he responds with is a smile.

The small talk quickly dies down as a result. A new silence descends.

The kind of quiet where your faint smile and your silence hang over him like an anchor, but instead of letting him drown, you ground him.

What if he is only good for this? Sitting on the other end of the bench and yearning for you silently? If he had no competition, though the situation would be ideal.

But this is beyond his control, isn’t it?

Your gaze darts to the departure board as you sort through your forgotten thoughts that never meet the tip of your tongue. The train seems to be running a little over two minutes late. Chanyoung gives you another shy glance through his bangs. And when you pull the raw skin off your lips, continuing the seconds and sucking nervous umm’s between your teeth, you cause his heart to twist between his ribs. You have no mercy!

The train you’re both riding on speeds through the tunnel at this same instant, making matters worse before he has a chance to say anything more—not that he believes he’d have anyway. The sound of thunder rumbles across the tracks, and he opens his mouth to scream, but nothing comes out...

Once more, the train entirely crashes into his dream... Blurry fragments scatter all around.

The train’s engine is huffing and the wheels are churning out a steady rhythm of his ‘please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me,’ as you say an unfazed, “Here he is,” as the train pulls into the platform. To believe you are selfish would be to underestimate his love & kindness for you.

It’s absolutely bizarre—the way, for yet another night in a row, he’s blaming the guy in your phone for everything and the fact that you two aren’t together. You have ruined him in every rational way. His sound ideas and beliefs have long been tainted. Between tenderness & love, the lust of all blurs the boundaries...

As you rise from the bench, the feeling of muscle memory coats him in your toxins—your sweet toxins—an odour he’s so fond of, so impossible to resist.

He is coaxed by you, for you—and despite his intense desire to be close to you, to be in your presence, to laugh and run through these platforms & eerie train halls holding your hand inside his, reality appears to be telling him something quite different. Something he is unwilling to hear, even though he knows it.

© 𝟭-𝟰𝟵. do not copy, translate, repost, and modify my works.

[starrylothcat]

My queen! May I humbly request to you a dialog burned into my skull for hunter ? I know you have a promt list but I have thought of hunter saying these lines ever since they came to me (I hope u don't mind a suggestion that's not on a list🖤🖤🖤)

"Do you have any idea how intoxicating you are to me? Do you even know what you Do me? How much you drive me wild?"

"Oh I think you do. Oh mesh'la, If I didnt know any better I'd think you like driving me crazy"

-I've had no thoughts other than hunter and his God damn inhanced senses and that scent kink 🙈 Nonthing but sinful smutty thoughts

Ofc my queen, you can go for whatever context you think fits. ☺️🖤🖤🖤

Essence

Summary: Your scent drives Hunter wild and his desire for you has been building. He’s been able to hold it together until a new scent from you pushes him to the brink.

Pairing: Hunter x Jedi Fem!Reader

WC: 4700 whoops

Warnings: NSFW, 18+. Scent kink, unprotected PiV sex (wrap it yo), cunnilingus, cum eating, praise, Hunter being a horny beast. Takes place during TCW. Reader is a Jedi for fun, not really described.

A/N: Let me tell you, I have no THOTS other than Hunter and his senses either! Thank you so much for this request…this dialogue is DELICIOUS and you sent me down a rabbit hole. I do not mind at all! I got a bit carried away, but I hope this is what you envisioned! This is what I humbly offer in return! Enjoy~

Ever since you introduced yourself to him all those weeks ago, Hunter has been captivated. 

Whenever his mind was idle his thoughts drifted to you, the ghost of your scent always teasing his senses. He both wished he could be near and as far away as possible from you, your entire being taunting him whether you knew it or not.  

It wasn’t just your beauty that beguiled him or your skill on the battlefield, it was your alluring and downright intoxicating fragrance that overtook his senses any time you were near. 

Hunter was used to people’s smells, it was the downside of being genetically enhanced to notice such things. He often found other’s natural scents overpowering, learning to ignore them quickly.

But you, you were something else. 

Per the Jedi Council’s request, you were assigned to Clone Force 99 to assist with a  few delicate retrieval missions and had been given orders to train with them in the weeks leading up to the assignments.

His brothers grumbled, not liking having a Jedi on the team, even temporarily, thinking it was some sort of insult and insinuating they couldn’t handle themselves.

Hunter was skeptical too, but ever since first meeting you on a landing platform on Coruscant, your natural perfume ignited his senses like a newly formed star.

During missions, he could ignore it long enough to be successful and keep his mind clear. 

But when you were training, or on The Marauder, or just catching him in the halls of Kamino to say hi, he was tormented, and ached in silence.

You had just returned to Coruscant, having completed a mission successfully. You were back at the main GAR Headquarters and Master Kenobi wanted a debrief from you and Hunter. The war was picking up, and more and more Jedi and clones were needed in the coming battles.

Hunter was trying to clear his head before the meeting. He was stuck on The Marauder with you for a few rotations and his body was buzzing with need, his mind cloudy and spinning. He wanted so desperately to explore your body inch by inch, peel back your Jedi robes and become completely lost in you. 

It was all he could think about.

Every night, even when you weren’t near, he dreamt of the sounds you’d make as he took you apart and pieced you back together, how your curves would feel under his palms, desperate to be between your legs and drink at your source. Every morning he’d wake uncomfortably hard, hoping his hand would help him forget, but it only provided temporary relief.

Hunter was almost glad your time with them was nearing an end, not knowing how long he could suffer like this. 

Hunter had another problem, and it also had to do with you. He had been avoiding you the entire trip back to Coruscant and practically ran off The Marauder when you landed.

He knew you noticed, and figured you assumed he was angry at you. He watched as your face fell when you asked if he wanted to join you after the mission debrief for a drink, to celebrate the mission success. 

Hunter mumbled he was busy, not even looking you in the eye. 

How could he when he was seconds from wanting to taste your lips and fuck you senseless?

Hunter stood outside the door to the debriefing room, knowing you’d be in there. It was probably for the best if you thought he hated you. 

It wasn’t like you’d be able to be with him, anyway. 

You were standing in the conference room, knowing Hunter was going to walk in any minute.

You were trying to figure out Hunter’s increasingly strange behavior toward you, not knowing if you did something to upset him, or if something else was bothering him.

The mission was a success, no losses were sustained, and you and Clone Force 99 worked well with one another, so that couldn’t be it.

Your heart sank a little, thinking maybe he figured out your feelings toward him. He did have heightened senses, maybe he noticed something, and you weren’t as subtle as you hoped? You were trying your best to keep everything strictly professional, the mission always coming first.

You couldn’t deny your growing feelings toward the broody Sargeant though, his smokey voice, curly locks, broad shoulders, and thin waist just begging for you to grab on to. Those exact fantasies were going through your head just a few moments ago when you were in your quarters. 

You meant to take a nap and rest, but your mind wandered along with your hand under your panties. You didn’t mean to think about Hunter, but it was his face that was between your thighs in the dream, his deep voice whispering praises as he entangled his body with yours. 

The chirp of your commlink interrupted your “nap,” alerting you that the debrief was starting earlier than expected. Begrudgingly, you dressed and headed to the meeting, not satisfied and a little more frustrated than before.

Hunter entered the room, and his nerves were immediately on fire. You were chatting with another clone, a Commander from another unit. 

You glanced at him, nodded, and went back to speaking with him.

A new odor from you was assaulting his senses that wasn’t your usual exilarating aroma, this was different.

Very different.

It was arousal. 

Hunter bristled, fighting the sudden and intense urge to rip his clothes off and yours, taking you right then and there in front of everybody.

It was hard enough to ignore your usual natural perfume, but this was almost cataclysmic.

Obi-Wan’s hologram popped up, exchanging short courtesies with everyone, before diving into the topic at hand.

Hunter was barely paying attention, voices fading as he tried to hold himself together.

Why would you smell like sex? 

Hunter scanned the room, looking at the troopers and other Jedi that were listening to the debrief from Obi-Wan. 

Was it one of them? 

Jealousy stabbed his chest like a blade, imagining you in the throes of pleasure with a reg between your legs. You can do better than that. He thought bitterly. It could be me if you wanted.

Your demeanor was calm, listening intently to General Kenobi’s report, which was the opposite of what your pheromones were telling him. 

The other clones seemed at ease too, and Hunter couldn’t pick up the hint of your arousal on anyone else in the room.

Does that mean…?

If Hunter wasn’t sweating before, he was now. 

The image of you laying on your bunk in your quarters, touching your own body, and pleasing yourself was almost too much to handle in this public space. 

Jedi were people too, people with needs. And you were taking care of that need right before this meeting. 

Hunter glanced in your direction, your body radiating arousal, burning him from the inside out. 

You were horny, there was no denying it. Still horny, it seemed, as if your private time before this meeting wasn’t quite enough.  

Hunter’s body went into overdrive, picking up your needy pheromones as they wafted to his nose. 

Was this purposeful? Did you know what you did to him and were testing him? Some sort of kriffed-up Jedi trial of will?

Hunter clenched and unclenched his fist, praying for this debrief to be over soon, or else he might implode, a beast clawing its way out that he wasn’t sure he could contain for much longer.

Who were you thinking of while you writhed under your hand?

The image of some shiny reg popped into his head again, or that Commander you were just speaking to, the sharp blade of jealousy threatening to split him open.

He wanted you, all of you. The thought of anyone else made his blood boil, though he knew he had no stake in you. No one did. You were a Jedi. 

After what seemed like hours, the meeting ended, and General Kenobi signed off.

Hunter had to get out of here, get away from you before he did something he regretted.

He wanted to pull you into the nearest supply closet and give you what your body needed. But did you even want him? Could you feel the same way, if things were different?

Hunter knew the Jedi had their codes, their honor. He didn’t want to put you in a position of temptation or disgrace.

Hunter barely heard you call his name, trying to get his attention as he quickly strode out of the mission room, needing to be alone, needing to get away from you. Once again, he was running away from you.

You were aware of Hunter’s strange behavior throughout the meeting. He almost looked ill, sweating and fidgeting, the muscles in his neck tense and his jaw set tight.

There was definitely something wrong with him. He raced off The Marauder, and now he’s avoiding you again like you were made of bantha dung.

You frowned, your patience thin.

You had to know what was going on. 

You left the room, scanning the hallway to see which way he went. You caught a glimpse of his armor and red bandana turning a corner some ways down the hall, and you jogged trying to catch up with him, calling his name. 

“Hunter! Wait!

Hunter didn’t look back, increasing his pace. His head was throbbing, his codpiece uncomfortably tight,  trying to get you out of his head. It didn’t help that you were chasing him down the hall. 

Hunter took a quick turn down another hallway, opening the first door that he saw. It was an empty training room, with floor mats and other exercise equipment scattered about the room. The door hissed closed behind him, hoping he had lost you.

He wasn’t fast enough, it seemed, as you slammed the button to open the door, stepping in.

“Hunter, what the kriff  is going on?” He could tell you were mad, your lips pursed tight and a flash in your eyes that told him you were here for answers.

Hunter was balling his fists again, not wanting to put you in a situation that made you uncomfortable, hoping he could come up with something to ease the situation.

“Nothing, I just needed some air.”

You glowered, crossing your arms over your chest. 

“Hunter, you’ve been avoiding me like I have the plague…did I do something to upset you? If so, let me apologize. You’re acting strange!”

“You didn’t upset me.” Hunter’s response was quick. “It’s just…”

 “Just what?” 

Hunter took in a deep breath. He knew you wouldn’t believe any excuse he came up with. You weren’t stupid.

“You.” Hunter grumbled, unable to look you in the eyes.

“Me?” You questioned. “So it does have to do with me? Hunter, I don’t want to play games!”

Hunter could hear the drop in your voice, not wanting you to think he was angry with you.

“No…it’s something else. My senses…” Hunter scrubbed his face with his hands. 

Hunter sighed. “Whatever you were doing before the debrief…..I can still smell it on you.”

“Hunter, what do you-?” You stopped, processing his words.

Hunter stayed silent.

Oh.

Oh.

Heat scorched your face, wanting to become invisible and shrink into nothing. He could smell that?

“Hunter I’m so sorry, I…umm…” You were almost too embarrassed to speak, your anger replaced with mortification, not realizing his senses were that acute.

“Don’t apologize.” Hunter started toward you. “It’s okay, it's just…overwhelming.”

You bit your lip, your face on fire, seeing how disheveled he seemed, but you could tell something was bubbling beneath his surface.

Your Jedi senses were picking up a need, a desire that he was holding back, one that was boiling over, one that has been held down tight for some time that was finally slipping through the cracks.

“I… didn’t have a chance to finish.” You couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of your mouth. “I got a comm for the debrief right as uh…I was almost done.” 

Hunter stared at you, mouth open.

“What are you saying?” His voice was low, his gaze narrowing.

You boldly lifted a hand and traced it down his armored arm. “I’m saying…I’d let you help me finish what I started earlier. If that would fix things, clear your mind.”

Hunter was speechless momentarily, not believing the words coming out of his Jedi’s mouth. 

You were close to him now, closer even than you were in the debriefing room. 

“I…I was thinking about you.” You whispered, your fingers still lightly outlining his armor.

Hunter brought his hand to your neck, tracing his fingers up to cup the side of your face, testing the waters. 

“Has…my scent been making you feel this way the entire time?” You looked up at him through your eyelashes.

Hunter closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing, slowly bringing his forehead to yours. 

“Yes. Every waking moment.” He admitted.

The tension that had been building in Hunter, between the two of you, finally snapped. 

Hunter pressed his entire body into you, walking you back against the wall of the training room, pinning you. Intense heat radiated from him turning your blood into magma, your hands flying to grasp at the back of his head as his armor dug into you.

Hunter leaned down into your neck, inhaling deeply. 

“Do you have any idea how intoxicating you are to me? Do you even know what you do to me?” His tone was a hoarse whisper, like wisps of smoke from a recently doused fire, his hands tracing up your torso over your robes, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

“Do you realize how much you drive me wild? How often have I thought of you like this?”

It was all out in the open now, there was no point in holding back.

His lips hovered above your pulse point, watching it beat and hearing the blood rushing through your veins.

Your body was engulfed with want, your core aching as you felt Hunter’s breath pant against your neck. “Your body…your smell…you tear me apart at the seams, mesh’la.”

“I didn’t realize…I didn’t think you’d notice-“ you gasped as his lips connected with your neck, his tongue tracing a pattern on your skin, his fingers locked on your waist. 

“I think you did. Oh mesh'la, If I didn't know any better I'd think you like driving me crazy.”

Hunter lifted his head from your neck, locking his eyes with yours. His usual honey-brown irises were almost black, pupils blown wide with unbridled lust. 

You didn’t realize he felt this way for you for so long and felt a little guilty for unintentionally driving him mad. 

“Tell me to stop, and I will.” Hunter gasped, his cock aching in his pants, waiting for your answer, your arousal stronger than before, your body begging to be ravaged. 

You swallowed, momentarily wondering if you should stop this before it got too far, but his touch and feral desire for you were too enticing to ignore. 

You closed the distance between you,  crashing your lips against him. You dug your hands into his hair, kissing with uninhibited abandon, giving him your answer. 

He immediately kissed back with equal fervor, loving the sensation of you gently pulling on his hair, causing the burning flame in his chest to ignite hotter and brighter as your mouths greedily danced. 

You boldly nibbled at his bottom lip, earning a groan from Hunter as you slid your tongue against his, intensifying the already feral kiss. 

You knew this was wrong, against everything, but you didn’t care. The worries of being caught were carelessly thrown to the ground with your robes and his armor, quickly stripping one another, not wanting to waste a single second. 

You traced your fingers over his broad, powerful body as he gave you equal attention, running his thumbs over your soft curves, marveling at your figure. “You’re beautiful.” Hunter rasped. “Maker, I’ve wanted you since I first saw you.”

He searched your eyes one more time for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

 “I’m flattered, Sarge.” You teased, tracing your hand down his biceps, touching his sculpted muscle under his tanned skin. 

Hunter sloppily kissed down your neck and took one of your nipples in his mouth, suckling and teasing, gauging your reaction with every flick of his tongue, quickly learning what you liked. 

You gripped his hair again, panting and moaning as he lavished your breast before switching to the other.

“H-Hunter…” you could barely speak, still tugging at his locks which seemed to spur him on further. 

 “I can smell how much you want me.” Hunter rasped as he slid to his knees, hands caressing your thighs, looking up at you.

 “Can I taste you? Give you what your body has been begging for?” You looked down at the man kneeling before you, a dark and hungry look on his face, sweat beading at his brow, his chest heaving. 

“I need to know if you taste as good as you do in my dreams.”

You swallowed thickly, a new rush of desire flooding your senses. He's been dreaming about me, like this?

“You’ll have to let me know how it compares.” Your voice was raspy, trying to steady yourself, leaning back against the training room wall. 

Hunter smirked as he pressed his nose into your mound, inhaling deeply. 

He was finally at the source of what has been eating him alive the last few weeks, and it was intensely satisfying.

 “I can’t wait to see if your sounds are as pretty as this pussy. You’re dripping. All for me, hm?”

He brushed his nose against your clit, a jolt of pleasure electrifying your body as a lewd sound escaped your lips, louder than intended.

 “Did you like that? Do you want to cum on my face?” He mumbled, nuzzling his nose again against the sensitive nerve. 

You whimpered, needing more, so much more. 

“Y-yes…please, Hunter. I want to cum in your mouth.” 

You were begging now, his stubble scratching against your thighs and his lips gently kissing your labia. 

“That’s my girl, I’ll give you what you want for asking so nicely.” He rumbled into your soaking cunt, his cock weeping at the sight and the scent of you. 

Hunter wasted no time starting his feast on your pussy, probing his tongue and hungrily lapping at your folds.

He truly was eating you like a man depraved, your nails digging into his scalp. It was intense, better than you could have imagined, better than your hand under your blanket, wishing it was Hunter between your thighs. 

Your body shook and you couldn’t hold back the blissed sobs as Hunter gorged himself, his groans increasing in volume as he felt you get closer and closer to your peak, his jaw soaking with your fluid. 

Once again, Hunter quickly recognized your subtle reactions and knew exactly where to lick and suck.

His hooked nose pressed and ground against your clit, bliss building quickly, your legs threatening to give out at the sheer intensity of it all. 

You were a blubbering mess, words not coherent as Hunter moved his focus solely to your clit, needing you to cum. He flattened his tongue and pressed against your bud, grinding his mouth into you as you reached your peak. 

Hunter was barely holding himself together, his hands tightly squeezing your thighs to keep you upright, holding you as you came apart above him. 

Hunter let out a feral growl as you came, catching your release on his tongue, loving how your pussy clenched and legs quivered as your orgasm hit you like a ship going into hyperspace. 

Your vision went white and anything tangible vacated your mind, letting the ecstasy course through your body.

“Kriff, you’re so beautiful when you cum.” Hunter mumbled into your pussy, still licking and kissing between your folds.

 “So much better than my dreams.” You were breathless, coming down from your high, sliding down the wall. Hunter realized your legs were about to give out, wrapped his arms around you, and held you against him. 

Your heart was pounding, trying to piece together what just happened, Hunter’s cock rubbing up against your stomach as he kissed you again, as ravenous and desperate as before, his face dripping with your release. It wasn’t enough, though, for either of you. 

“Hands and knees.” He demanded between your lips furiously molding together. “Now.”

You immediately complied, any shred of your dignity completely gone. You shakily knelt on the ground on a floor training mat, resting your weight on your elbows, your ass sticking in the air.

You looked back at him over your shoulder, and the look on his face was predatory, dangerous even, his eyes completely black with craving.

Hunter knelt behind you, his chest heaving, rubbing his red cock head through your slick folds. You quivered, your cunt still sensitive from your orgasm. 

Hunter slowly nudged against your entrance. “That’s right, relax, mesh’la.” 

His breath was ragged, holding back wanting to slam straight into you and fuck you into oblivion.

 “There you go, just like that…Kriff you’re so warm.” Hunter’s voice was gravelly, letting out a low hiss as he bottomed out. The stretch was wonderful, being stuffed full of him, his hips meeting your ass. 

Seeing you like this, on all fours willing and taking him so effortlessly was almost overloading his system. 

He squeezed your waist, giving a few shallow thrusts that practically made his mind melt, feeling your walls clench and take him perfectly. 

 “Hunter…” You dug your fingernails into the mat, not caring about how desperate you sounded, or how you were exposing your ass to him like an animal in heat. 

“Fuck me, please.” You gasped, pushing back against him. 

“So needy…” Hunter squeezed your ass, slowly pulling out almost all the way. “You’ll get what you’ve been wanting, mesh’la. Don’t worry.”

Hunter quickly pushed back in, earning a pleasured whine from you. He was deliciously thick, and you could feel his cock head and veins glide against your walls as he picked up his pace, fucking you exactly how you wanted for who knows how long. 

“Is this what you wanted?” He grunted, breathless, his broody Sargeant composure crumbling with every thrust deeper inside you, his pace increasing. 

“Did you want to be fucked by me? Did you dream about me, too? Did you touch your perfect pussy and think of me?” 

You nodded, your eyes half-lidded and your mouth hanging open as he fucked you senseless, your cheek now pressed against the mat.

You knew you would probably have a red mark across your face but you didn’t care, just like you didn’t care how his hands would be leaving bruises on your hips as he pounded into you. 

You were thankful these training rooms were soundproof, the obscene slapping of sweaty skin and excessively loud moans hopefully muffled to any passerby.

Hunter groaned at your admission, his calloused hands leaving a trail of fire as they roamed your backside, one hand reaching under you and his finger finding your clit. 

“Did you touch yourself just like this right before the meeting? Wishing it was your Sergeant’s cock?” 

You nodded into the mat again, tears forming at the sides of your eyes, drool pooling under where your face was pressed into the firm fabric, the sheer intensity of him pulling you apart with every frantic thrust.

“Y-yes Hunter, I wished it was you, I wished it was your cock filling me up…” 

Hunter growled, pleased at your answer. 

He applied more pressure to your clit, causing you to convulse and shake against him, crying out his name, his cock pounding into you without pause. 

 “You’re so close, mesh’la, I can feel it. Be a good girl and cum for your Sergeant.”

Hunter leaned down, pressing his abdomen to your back, truly mounting you like an animal, his hips pistoning into you, growling in your ear. 

His control was gone. He needed one thing and one thing only, his mind now focused on a singular task, to feel you come apart on his cock, inhale your release, hear your voice shake as you cry out his name and his name only. 

Hunter’s hand was rubbing perfect, quick circles on your engorged clit, tears falling down the sides of your cheeks as the coil in your belly was wound tighter and tighter with every movement of his finger. 

“H-Hunter I’m so -“ You sobbed, so close to crashing over the edge, his finger relentless against your practically overstimulated bud.

 “Cum for me, now.”

 Hunter snarled in your ear, needing your orgasm more than you. 

“That’s it…let me hear you…” His voice was strained through his clenched jaw, inhaling deeply in the crook of your neck as your walls clenched and trembled around his cock, soaking him as your release rocked your body, every one of his nerves in charged with electricity at the sound and fragrance of your second orgasm.

“So perfect…just like that…” 

Hitched sobs of his name were more than enough to bring him excruciatingly close to his own explosive orgasm that was building quickly. “Where?” His hand was still working your clit, shocks of pleasure jolting your body, his hand soaked with your cum. 

“Inside…implant.” you gasped, and that was more than enough to unload inside you. Hunter bit into your neck, letting out a final low, guttural moan as his cock swelled and twitched, pulsating his release into your cunt. 

Your body was completely wrecked and overstimulated, clenching around his softening cock, feeling his spend leak out of you and onto the mat below. 

Hunter’s thrusts slowed, mumbling incoherent words in your ear, your head ringing and blood pounding in your ears.

Hunter slowly pulled out of you, watching as his cum dripped from your swollen pussy.

“Gorgeous.” He murmured, not being able to help himself as he grabbed your hips, earning a surprised yelp as he flipped you on your back, yanking your pelvis up. 

You were completely blissed, mind hazy, eyelids fluttering, trying to come down from your high. 

Hunter couldn’t help but smirk at the sight of you. He wasn’t done yet.

You gasped as Hunter lapped at your folds once more, gently this time, tasting himself mixed with your juices. You let out a choked groan as he softly teased your clit, cleaning you up with his mouth.

“Too much…Hunter…” You could barely speak, watching as he slowly ate you out. Hunter locked his eyes on you, continuing his languid pace, putting your boneless legs over his broad shoulders for better access. 

Hunter knew he could get one more out of you. “One more, pretty thing, for me.” He mumbled into your folds, swirling his tongue carefully around your aching clit.

You were grasping at nothing, digging your nails into the mat, your gasping mewls music to Hunter’s ears. His hands carefully caressed where he bruised you, gently suckling on your overworked clit, careful and precise. 

Your legs shook as a slow, rolling orgasm washed over your body, sounds unable to leave your mouth, Hunter’s sudden gentleness surprising but welcome.

Your body was covered in sweat, your hair sticking to your forehead and back stuck to the mat, trying to piece yourself together as Hunter removed himself from between your legs, barely registering him kissing you softly, stroking the side of your face, kissing the bite mark on your neck.

You wanted to say something, but the moment was interrupted by Hunter’s commlink chirping in his pile of armor. He cursed, standing up and rifling through his pockets, still buck naked. You sat up on your forearms, trying to figure out how you’d both get out of this room unseen, and what came after.

Hunter grabbed his device, speaking quickly to Tech who was on the receiving end. You didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying, trying to dress yourself and look presentable.

“Tech wants us to run through a simulation of our next assignment.” Hunter handed you your belt as he fixed his blacks, snapping his armor back into place. “But I told him it could wait until tomorrow.” 

You raised your eyebrow, trying to fix your hair. “I’m surprised you’re not running away from me again, Sarg.” You teased lightly, not quite sure what to say after your intense coupling.

Hunter chuckled. “I figured we could get that drink.” 

You looked at him, a blush forming at your cheeks. “To celebrate a successful mission.” He smirked as he adjusted his viroblade on his arm. 

“Agreed.” You answered, touching his arm like you did before, a mischievous flash in your eye.

“Since we are ditching training tonight for a drink, “ You continued, “perhaps we could discuss future strategies in my personal quarters afterwards?”

Hunter’s eyes met yours, the hungry look from before returning.

“Sir yes sir.”

Taglist: @maybethatfanfictionwriter @littlemissmanga @secretthegriffin @secondaryrealm @sinfulsalutations @anxiouspineapple99 @idontgetanysleep @starqueensthings @dystopicjumpsuit @wings-and-beskar @aconstructofamind @wanderer-six @blueink-bluesoul @the-cantina @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @523rdrebel @dukeoftheblackstar @pb-jellybeans @sleepingsun501 @coraex

[inevesgf]

PERFECT PAIR ⠀,⠀ arthurtv.

synopsis ✩ what it’s like dating arthurtv!

warnings: mentions of sex, gender neutral!reader.

authors note: went on a little roadtrip this weekend so i spent my time writing some highly requested headcanons for arthur! i have a lot of inspiration to write so hopefully this week i can push out two posts instead of the usual one. xx

• clingy boyfriend energy, but at its finest. just loves to be around you — especially in your arms. hence this, his love language is physical touch with quality time sprinkled in there.

• he loves to watch movies with you. will show you his favorite movies and make you pay attention to every little detail and explain when you miss important things, but you love it anyways.

• loves to take you out on date nights! arthur is one for little adventures so he prefers to do an escape room, go on a hike, etc than stay in or have a fancy dinner.

• is actually the type of person to message you “are you busy this weekend?” and when you say no, he sends you screenshots of plane or train tickets to a weekend getaway as a surprise.

• all about living in the moment — i feel like arthur definitely would take candid photos of you which his camera roll is FULL of. he cherishes these memories more than anything.

• and of course, in return, you also take plenty of a photos of him. i’m sure both of you have folders in your camera roll only dedicated to photos of each other.

• shared playlist that you both cherish soo dearly. definitely filled with songs by the 1975, hozier and lorde — he probably stole most of your music taste from this playlist.

• because of your similar music taste, he also likes to book spontaneous concert tickets once an artist you like is performing near you. he will dance and sing with you in the crowd like you two are the only people on earth.

• he’ll play the playlist loudly in the car with you and you both will sing aloud to every song at the top of your lungs.

• will definitely drive to the beach or stop driving when it’s raining just to crank up the radio and dance in the sand or in the rain with you.

• loves to be near you in anyway. is addicted to you sitting on his lap, minding your own business, while he edits or works on things he needs to.

• big spoon though he doesn’t mind being the little spoon when he hasn’t had the best day. but prefers you to lay your head on his chest and play with your hair.

• loves to hug your from behind while you’re preparing food, etc. he shoves his head into the crook of your neck and sways back and forth as he leaves little kisses on the back of your neck.

• pda does happen between you two, but it’s never anything excessive. arthur will hold your hand while you two are walking and snake his arm around your shoulder or waist when you two are standing around.

• pda does increase when he is drunk though. i imagine you having to pick him up after doing platform roulette with arthur and george — he’s just so exhausted that all he wants to do is lay on you and sleep and pepper your face in hundreds of kisses.

• i have a feeling arthur definitely caught feelings first. maybe you two had mutual friends and you’d see each other at get togethers and parties — everyone would try and convince him to say something but all he could do was look at you in awe because he was so nervous.

• big friends to lovers vibes where he becomes less shy overtime and finally starts to flirt with you — to the best of his ability that is.

• “you’re cute.” “what?” “i said you uhhh look like a fruit.” “that doesn’t make any sense…?”

• eventually, with the help of some liquid courage, he’d confess to you without directly saying that he fancies you.

• “that sounds like you’re flirting with me, mr tv.” “i have been for MONTHS now.” “well you’re not that good at it — but it worked.”

• your first kiss was definitely you trying to make him shut up by interrupting him with one. he would be absolutely shocked, but kisses back because it’s something he’s been wanting for awhile.

• all your friends joke that you wear the pants in the relationship even though you feel like it is mutually shared.

• in the bedroom though, that is, arthur usually likes you to be the more dominant one which you happily oblige too.

• he likes you on top of him, letting your fingers tangle in the back of his hair and pulling on it slightly.

• he allows you to leave hickeys on his neck and collarbones of which he doesn’t cover up. he doesn’t show them off, but likes having them on him as a token of your love.

• talks to his friends about you, especially when he’s drunk and extra in awe of you. he talks about how happy you make him and your little adventures that you go on — it’s sure to make george and chris a little jealous that he is so lucky to have someone like you.

• black cat boyfriend all the way. introverted and intuitive, but lets loose around you and his close friends.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Little Bit More

25/12: Promise & Phone Sex - Billy Washington Word Count: 1.6k~ | Warnings: phone sex, dirty talk, masturbation (f and m) A/N: this exists in the Every Little Bit universe!

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

He always knew it was coming around, and yet he always hated it.

Her dad’s birthday was in between Christmas and New Year, that weird time where you don’t know what day it is, never seem to have enough food in and where you’re so disorientated in the post-Christmas haze that it’s like coming down from a sugar high.

It was the few times of year where she went away by herself, wanting to spare Billy from the absolute torture of being around her parents for a few days as she made excuse after excuse as to why they weren’t married yet.

Not that he minded, there was only so much of her mum Billy could take.

He’d seen her off at the train station, her duffel bag looking very much as big as her in the cutest way possible as she skipped off to the platform in her winter overcoat and scarf, the chill nipping at her cheeks.

It was only a few days. It was only a few days. He had to keep reminding himself. 

Billy sighed, tapping the remote control against his knee, only half-watching whatever terrible Friday night tele graced his flat. The pizza box was closed shut on the coffee table, having tried to cheer himself up with a takeaway.

His phone buzzed, and he couldn't help the smile that rose to his face, seeing her name in bright white letters on the face of it.

She'd promised to ring 9 o’clock on the dot, after all.

“Hiya, ya alright?” he answered, his voice sounding perkier already, his muscles relaxing once he heard her voice.

“Hey, you sound happy”, she replied low down the phone, and he could tell she was smiling by the way she said it.

“I am now,” he grinned, “just finished a 12 inch on my own.”

She groaned over the line, “Billy.”

“I'm joking, it's because I've heard your voice again.”

“Better,” she laughed breathily, “what you up to? Other than missing me, of course.”

He sighs, “Being a sad cunt, staying in with a beer watching whatever shite is on Channel 4.”

“Ooh dear,” she says unenthusiastically, “sounds dull, babe.”

Billy hummed in agreement, “What about you? What you up to?”

It was her turn to sigh, “fuck all, really. Mum and Dad went to go and see Mum's mate Jill, you know Jill don't you?”

“Yes, babe.”

“Yeah, well they left at five and are yet to be back. Convinced she's got them tied up in the basement.”

Billy laughed through his nose, “That actually sounds better than what she might actually be doing, chatting their bloody ears off.”

“Poor buggers, eh,” she laughed, “so I'm sat here on my tod.”

“What a shame you've got me to talk to then.”

He could hear her smile, “could be worse. You missing me?”

The alcohol had offered him a kind of confidence, and he sucked his teeth, holding back a grin, “You could say that. Missing something anyway.”

He heard her mischievous tone even over the crackle of the phone.

“Are you now?”

The line went quiet for a while, before a notification buzzed and Billy turned her on loudspeaker for a moment as he pulled his phone from his ear to check.

…has sent an image.

With one flick of his thumb, his jaw dropped, the depths of his gut becoming tight and hot by the picture she'd sent him. It was her figure reflected in a mirror, wearing clearly nothing but a large t-shirt (his, he noted) and pulling the spare fabric to one side to show her curves as well as her pebbled nipples beneath it.

“Jesus..”

She giggled over the phone, “is that a good ‘jesus’?”

“I-fuck, yes…”

Another one arrived, with her pulling up the hem of her shirt over her hips and expanse of her stomach, just beneath the shadow of her breasts.

“Christ, babe, what are you doing to me?”

She hummed, “sorry, you said you were missing me.”

Billy sighed looking at the photos, every now and then closing his eyes to will the feeling of her skin onto his fingertips, the warmth of her, the sounds she'd make for him. 

His breathing grew shallow as he reached into his jeans, wrapping one hand around his length, to softly pump himself, already half-hard since the moment the first picture arrived.

“Are you enjoying them?” she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

“Mmhm..” he murmured.

Another few arrived, in various stages. One where the shirt was fully over her breasts, one where she was wearing nothing at all leaning back to show her full naked torso, and one sat on the bed, the lines appearing where her hips met her thighs.

“Oh fuck…”

Over the phone, she could hear the clinking of his belt as he pleasured himself, “are you touching yourself, baby?”

He could only make a sound in confirmation, his throat closing as he fisted himself to the photos of her.

She sighed, as if her touching herself was expelling a deeply rooted desire, her hands sliding between her legs, the other holding the phone to her ear, “Mm…wish you were here…”

“-ffuck-me too, baby-”

His strained voice was enough to coax some slick between her fingers, using it to pleasure herself, laid back on the bed.

“are you on the sofa?...”

He swallowed, breathlessly replying, “yeah..”

“Do you remember before I left…” she started, and the memory nearly made Billy dizzy.

He was sat right where he is right now, legs apart to accommodate her kneeling there. She'd been annoyed that he was playing Xbox, and so, in an effort to make him lose his game, had knelt in front of him, pulled his sweatpants over his hips and eagerly took his length between her lips.

She'd gotten what she wanted. Before long, his controller was long forgotten and instead, his fingers were threaded through her hair, guiding her pace on him.

He can feel his stomach tightening at the memory of the sensation.

“Do you remember, baby?”

“Yes…”

“Hm..” she hummed, over the phone, while in her own bed began to hasten the pace of her self-pleasure.

"If I were there...do you know what I'd do?"

"What..." he breathed, his hold on his phone so tight without realising.

"I'd get up...off my knees...on top of you..." she muses, sighing at the feeling herself beginning to crest, "...maybe tease you a bit..."

"Fuck-no, baby, don't tease me-"

She let out a breathy laugh, "but why not? It's so much fun."

Her hips canted towards her own touch, her eyes fluttering shut as she held the phone loosely as the pressure tightened in her gut.

"What would you do, baby? If I was right there on top of you..."

His voice came strained, every stroke of his length in his fist drawing him close to fulfilment.

"I would - I'd fuckin' pull you down..."

She could tell he was close by the tone of his voice, and she bit back a smile, knowing he was much too far gone to even form a coherent thought.

"I'd let you fuck me...right there...be your little fuck toy..." She mused in a sort of whisper, "...you could cum inside me...as many times as you want, baby..."

Billy's lips parted, not even realising how his movements had become rapid, needy and quick.

"Oh fuck-"

On the other side she was close herself, and then she heard the prompt and pulled the phone away from her ear to see a request to switch to video call. She accepted without thinking and felt her gut twist at what she saw.

His jeans were pushed around his zipper barely, only enough to free his cock as he pumped it quickly. She was entranced as Billy pleasured himself in real time, her face growing warm at the effect she'd clearly had on him.

And then she heard it, a long shuddered whimper of her name, followed by, "Oh baby-"

She felt her thighs tremble as she came, warmth rushing beneath her hips and a tingling sensation rushing from her toes all the way up her spine, as Billy groaned deeply and spilled all over his fingers for her to see.

Her hand has slowed, overstimulation gnawing as she touched herself with Billy's languid thrusts into his hand continuing to pull a deep arousal from her.

Over the video she heard his laboured breaths, gulping for air.

When the video turned off she smiled tiredly and pulled her phone back to her ear, hearing his tired, exhausted voice.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he breathed. She could imagine him, all spent and limp on the sofa, and the thought made her smirk and press her thighs together with want.

"Mm, you're telling me. Do you feel better now?" She asked demurely.

"Fuck you," he teased, "fuck, I can't wait for you to get back..."

She gave a short laugh, "Oh yeah? What you gonna do when I am?"

He was quiet for so long she wondered if he'd heard her, her brows furrowed in confusion, lips parted to ask him if he was still there.

But realistically, on the other end, a wide smile graced his face, his blue eyes all aglimmer with mischief.

And what he said had the power to shut her right up. Excitement made her stomach flip, wondering what version of Billy she seems to have unleashed. Gone was the shy, unconfident Billy she'd found. Her efforts in getting him to...unwind somewhat shocking even her.

"How did you put it, hm?" he laughed, with a smile so bright like he'd just opened a present, "My little fuck toy?"

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @virtualsweetsqueen @watercolorskyy @fan-goddess

[cafedanslanuit]

i think i got an ex but i forgot him + isagi, bachira, chigiri, kunigami, sae, rin, reo & nagi

♡   —   tags/warnings: gn reader + no pronouns, a bit of drama because the topic is exes after all but it's not angst, pettiness, jealousy, slightly unhealthy coping mechanisms but nothing too tw

♡   —   a/n: aaaaa this is my first blue lock hcs, i think! i was going to post another one first but this came to me suddenly so here you go <3 hope u enjoy it!

♡   —  masterlist

ISAGI   ―   i... im sorry but he’s the type to ask you to reconsider the break up,  whether it ended badly or not, no matter who was in the wrong. you see, he has a plan on how you can really make it work this time around! it only works if you carefully follow these steps and new guidelines, of course. worse part is it actually makes sense, and you could foresee a better relationship you got along with his plan. he's pretty convincing so you might take him up on that idea. however, if you don’t, he will accept it and try his best to move on, which is focusing intensely on his training to try to keep his mind away from you.

BACHIRA   ―   tries to be friends. just because the relationship didn't work out, it doesn't mean you can't still spend time together as friends, right? friends go on dates sometimes, all friendly, of course! nothing wrong with a couple of friends staying in for a movie night, cuddling, or sharing dessert in a nice little cafe. if he takes your hand, it’s only out of security, so please don’t think he has any ulterior motives! …anyway, it takes him some time to adjust to the new reality of your relationship but still, he will try his best to support you as much as he did when he was your boyfriend. if it ended badly, he'll still try to be as friendly as possible, but a couple of snarky remarks may fall from his lips without him being able to do anything about it.

KUNIGAMI   ―   he’s very respectful about the whole ordeal. after everything is said and done, he texts you a couple of times days later, genuinely asking how you're doing and it’s very clear he cares about your answer. if you need anything from him, he will offer his help, no questions asked and no retribution needed. after all, he still cares about you, even if it didn’t work out between you too. if the relationship ended badly, he will still be very respectful towards you but try his best to avoid you. a nod and a greeting is all you will get because, soon enough, he will pretend someone is calling him and he’ll go his own way.

CHIGIRI   ―   for a good couple of months, he’s going to be very uncomfortable around you. what haunts him the most is how difficult it is to get used to the change of dynamics between the two of you; now he’s not sure on how to act or what he’s allowed or not allowed to say anymore. if it ended badly, it's very likely you'll be on the receiving end of some ill quips and snarky comments about you, hitting you just where it hurts. he'll deliver them with the most unamused face, his eyebrow slightly raising as he waits-- no, as he almost invites you to take him on the fight. and if you do, be ready to lose.

SAE   ―   the moment you decide to call it quits, he completely walks out of your life. from that moment on, you won't hear from him ever again. doesn't matter how fast you check your phone after you've said your goodbyes, you're blocked on all social media platforms, both public and private. to make things worse, your shared google photos album is gone and you're even banned on the official *team* account. hell, he’ll even report the photos of the two of you together so they’re taken down from your account too. doesn't matter if it ended on good and bad terms, only time you'll ever see him again is on a promotional ad for his soccer team on the street or something alike. if he’s asked about you on interviews, he’ll only say it’s not “relevant” and ask for the next question.

RIN   ―   like his brother, he doesn't take it well either. he's the type to go through your social media at least once a day to see if you posted anything new, and if there's any nrw information he can get from it. so far, he's learnt you've been going out clubbing more often and that you've had a pizza date with one of your friends. he recognized them because on the photo, he could see they were wearing a ring, same ring that shows up on a photo of you too circa 2015. if you have an anonymous questions social media, he miiiight ask you on anon why did you break up with him. only for fun, it's not like he truly cares about your life, evidently. all of this happens while he ignores your greetings in person, feigning he doesn't hear you. you'd never catch him yearning to have you back, and he's gonna make sure of that.

REO   ―   new year, new model, baby. the best way to get over someone is to get someone else-- at least for him. he might’ve begged you for another chance at first, but once you make him understand you’re truly done, he lets his petty side come out. a couple of days after your final talk, you will have a front-row seat to mysterious instagram stories featuring two drinks, another one with two movie tickets and, of course, a photo taken from the passenger seat of himself driving one of his fancier cars. the way his forearms flex underneath his expensive shirt really gives the photo the edge it needed. but, is he truly dating someone else? probably not. but he’s going to spend every resource he had to make you think he’s replaced you. even if this may all seem unnecesarily mean, he's also the quickest to agree if you ever want to try again. whisper sweet words close to his ear and he's back to his righteous place by your side in no time.

NAGI   ―   it’s heartbreaking how he acts like he couldn’t care less about your breakup. it seems like the heart-to-heart conversation that ended in you sobbing against his chest while he stroke your back in silence never happened, because when you see him a couple of days later, he raises a hand and greets you, just like he would any other day. to nagi, he’s taken the best decision and is acting the best in an already shitty situation, whether the breakup was amicable or not. he really doesn't want to waste his time in pettiness and resentment, especially after getting to love you for as long as he did. however, his actions may unadventerly hurt you and give you a false image on what’s going on in his heart.

[htchnr]

01 ★ diamond eyed girl ❥ A. HOTCHNER.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

AUTHORS NOTE ➥ KINKTOBER IS CURRENTLY PAUSED! i'm sick at home so i don't have all the usual energy to 100% stick into the fics that are left over, but don't worry! i will finish them! it just might take a little longer than the planned every other day 😅🥲

CW ➥ mention of heavy cases ⋆ mention of a lot of victims ⋆ mention of digging up remains ⋆ comfort ⋆ angst + fluff ⋆ fluff ⋆ sooooo much fluff it's almost gross ⋆ autistic!reader (not explicitly mentioned, but that's what i had in mind while writing this) ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 1,4K. SONG ➥ gotham , taffeta darling.

SUMMARY ➥ he doesn't even know where you get the little things from, small rocks, sea glass, acorns or other small trinkets finding their way to you — to give to him.

aka, three times Aaron receives something small from you, one time where he surprised you and in an upcoming second part, a few times where he gives you little things. ➥ PART TWO.

★ - © 2023 HTCHNR. do not copy, share or translate my work to this platform, or any other! - ★

Aaron being confused the first time.

he isn't necessarily paying attention to you — his eyes are trained on the gruesome crime scene in front of him and and his focus is on the officer to his right explaining everything they found. so he doesn't fully notice you, on his left, briefly slipping your fingers into his closed hand. he doesn't even notice you pressing something small into his hand.

he doesn't seem to notice until a solid fifteen minutes later when he goes to stretch his hand, noticing something drop from it. he frowns, bending down to pick up a small rock that had fallen out of his hand. did he pick it up? he doesn't remember doing so though. where did it come from?

that's when he remembers, your gentle fingers slipping between his for a brief second — and leaving it behind in his hand.

he looks at it, staring intensely at it as if trying to figure out what it means. hell if he knows, but he can't deny the small smile it brings to his otherwise usual sour expression at these types of crime scenes.

he regains his composure, the always present frown returning only slightly as he pockets the small rock and returns to the scene. he can't describe what it is about the object, but the slight weight of it in the pocket of his slacks grounds and comforts him, making this case a little more bearable.

⋆⊹✮⊹⋆

being on a tough case and Aaron telling you this isn't the time or place right now.

it was an awful case again — the amount of victims was ridiculous and they were getting nowhere with the few leads they had. the scorching sun was beating down on you all and the sand was in everyone's shoes. more and more remains were being discovered — it was weighing heavy on everyone to say the least.

yet you, somehow, had managed to find a small, smooth piece of sea glass — a pretty deep blue that you marvelled at for a little bit. you tightly held onto it while you stood off to the side as you took deep breaths. you honestly didn't know how much longer you could take it all.

Aaron wasn't much different, fists either clenched at his side or running through his hair. the sand in his shoes was starting to piss him off, the sun was causing his head to pound and with every new pile of remains that were dug up he was getting closer and closer to his snapping point.

he stood off to the side as well, though under the other tent away from you. his eyes were clenched shut as one hand massaged his temples, the other clenched at his side. he barely noticed your steps behind him, not until he felt you soft fingers faintly touch the hand at his side. by now, he knew what this meant.

"this is not the time nor the place for this." he sternly said. his fist clenched tighter, there was no way for you to slip something into it.

"Aaron-" your voice was so gentle, he almost felt bad.

"no." he raised his voice.

but you continued, both hands on his clenched fist as you pried open his hand with difficulty, shoving the small piece of sea glass between the thick fingers before closing and shoving his hand against his side. "i'm going to the station, i'm gonna break if this keeps up." your voice wavering both in frustration and in emotion, walking off with a loud frustrated huff and tears starting to prickle at your eyes.

Aaron breathes deeply, fingers still rubbing at his temples, (as if it was going to do anything). he takes a few more deep breaths before opening his eyes, the scorching sun assaulting them immediately. he takes another deep breath, then opens his clenched fist to look at the slightly sharp object that was digging into his skin — a small piece of deep blue sea glass.

instead of a comforting smile, tears start to prickle at his eyes. tears of frustration, tiredness, emotion — hell anything at this point.

he didn't mean to raise his voice at you, he really didn't.

he takes another deep breath, one hand reaching into his slacks for his phone, the other tightly holding onto the sea glass. it was time for everyone to take a break, they all desperately needed it.

and Aaron desperately wanted to say sorry.

⋆⊹✮⊹⋆

Aaron saying thank you and carefully inspecting what you brought him.

it was quiet for the two of you for once — the two of you were merely awaiting answers via a phone call, one that you weren't expecting for another hour at the very least.

so the two of you were sitting inside a café, side by side as you both sipped at your drinks, relishing the warmth spreading through you with each sip. Aaron was observing the place, (as usual), eyes darting around while you sat peacefully beside him flipping something over between your fingers.

"what on earth are you fiddling with?" Aaron mutters, eyes still observing the small yet busy café.

you grin, turning the object around for one last tome before holding it up to him. his eyes stop at a large fern in a pot, before returning to you. his brows are furrowed, until his eyes reach what you're holding between two fingers — a button. a very intricate and pretty button, covered in details and patterns. he can see why you've taken a liking to it.

he takes it from your fingers, laying the button flat in his large palm. he studies it for a few minutes, really studies it — taking in the ridges and dents, the placing of the center holes, how there are three instead of two or four.

you smile, looking out the window and onto the busy street. he smiles as well, slipping the button into his suit jacket, before taking a hold of your hand — his large hand swallowing yours and surrounding it with warmth. "thank you, i like it." his voice is gentle and quiet as his eyes return to observing the room, this time his face is relaxed and a small smile resides on his lips.

⋆⊹✮⊹⋆

needing to grab a file from Aaron's office, and looking through his drawers to stumble across a drawer FILLED with EVERY SINGLE small thing you've given him.

"Aaron!" you call out to him just as he's leaving the round table room. he looks up, his sour expression instantly softening.

"can i do anything for you?" his voice sounds equally as gentle as his eyes look.

you nod, opening up the file that was clasped between your fingers. "i need your file on this case for a few details i think i'm missing for my report, could i borrow it really quick?" you ask him, eyes pleading.

he sighs, he had almost forgotten you had asked to finish up this specific report later — you had shot more than the rest team had and had hit the unsub as well as been hit by the unsub, therefor you had more to fill out.

he reluctantly pulls his keys from his slacks, handing them over. "you know this report was supposed be on my desk yesterday?" he presses, though there's no real force behind his words. "be quick about it, i need to present them to Strauss soon."

you smile as his hand brushes yours as he drops his keys in your hand. "thank you! i swear i'm almost done!" and with that you jog down to his office.

he sighs, watching your form before turning back to head to the coffee machine.

you flick through his keys, finding the one that belongs to his office and stick it in and unlock it before pressing in to search for the file.

you set your file down on his desk before moving to the front of his desk as pull open drawer after drawer. pens, paper and ink — nope. files — but the wrong files. more of the wrong files. you don't pause until you open a drawer that causes a bunch of clanking to fill the room, you physically cringe at the sudden sound. what the?

your eyes widen as you look at the mess in this particular drawer — a shock to you as you know Aaron's a neat freak about his office space. or any space of his really.

you don't realise what you've stumbled upon until you look closer, recognising the button you gave him just a few days ago. and the closer you look you recognise the little egg-shaped pebble you gave him a week ago, along with the piece of deep blue sea glass from a month ago.

"have you found the file yet? it's in the top left drawer." his voice is tired but gentle. he walks into his office with two mugs of coffee.

you look up from where you're kneeled in front of his desk, a look in your eyes that Aaron can't describe. he pauses, "is everything okay?"

you quickly nod, then point to the drawer. "you kept everything i've given you," your voice clearly shows your shock.

Aaron visibly freezes up, only for a mere second before he blinks a few times and walks to where you're kneeled. he sets the mugs down on the desk, crouching beside you. he looks into the drawer that's opened and his expression instantly softens as he looks at all the small trinkets he's been collecting that you've given to him.

he nods, "i didn't know where i could put them at home, so i keep them here," he pauses, reaching into the drawer to pick up the button you had given him a few days ago. "it makes all the paperwork a little easier, more manageable." he finishes, twirling the button fondly between his thick fingers.

you don't know what to say, you don't even know how to react. so you merely kneel there, brows raised and your face showing a strange in between of everything you're feeling. Aaron notices the silence, and looks up from the button. he frowns as he takes in your unreadable expression. "hey, are you alright? do you need anything?" he practically rushes out.

you blink, shaking your head.

now he looks even more confused.

you finally settle on a sudden smile, your face finally cooperating with your emotions as you throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook.

Aaron wobbles a little, setting the button down before wrapping his arms around you and holding you, his heart throbs at the affection. "are you sure you're doing okay?" he asks one more time.

and you nod against him, the smile on your face only growing. "i just really love you." you speak against his skin.

his own smile grows, "i love you to sweetheart."

part two with things Aaron gives you will be out in a few days don't worry! i just desperately wanted to get anything about this fic out now now now else it would sit in my wip section for forever 🥲

[bamnamuu]

airdropped right to my heart ⋆⭒˚｡⋆ c.yj

warnings: cursing, yeonjun is whipped as hell

pairing: choi yeonjun x fem reader

taking the train home was normal for Yeonjun, what wasn't expected was the pretty girl sitting in front of him. he knew he had to do something to get her attention he just didn't know how, until he remembered airdrop.

a/n: Instead of finishing the two Soobin and Gyu fics, i made a whole new Yeonjun one for funz and the lolz :p

[ part two?!!??]

wc: 800

(kinda proofread)

Running to the last train Yeonjun hoped he wouldn't miss it. It wouldn't be the first time he's had to run like his life depended on it, he once missed the last train of the night so he called his friend Taehyun in hopes he would come to pick him up, and oh boy did he regret it, as the younger boy pulled up to the station rolling down his window

‘’Come hop right in!’’ taehyun said with an evil smile, as Yeonjun walked up to the passenger's side taehyun drove up a little, and when jun would catch up he did it again, this scheme went on until Yeonjun was sprinting to the boys' car yelling profanities at his friend, while was taehyun his laughing his ass off.

Yeonjun knew Taehyun had made a list to embarrass him so he vowed to himself that he would never miss the train again, Yeonjun thanked god he had long legs because he made it with little time to spare, he looked around to find an empty seat, and luckily he found one, as he sat down he looked up to find a girl.

Yeonjun has never believed in love at first sight, 'How exactly can you be in love with someone you've never spoken to?' He would say to Soobin, but now he’s thinking the opposite because of her, god he felt stupid but she was, is just so beautiful. the boy couldn't help but stare at her eyes as she looked out the window then at her phone, then toward him They put the stars to shame he thought, if anyone could read his mind they would 100 percent call him a giant loser but he didn't care. He wanted to talk to her, but then again he didn't want to creep her out, so he thought of an idea, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone he went to his photos, finding the newest and best selfie he had, put a little note on it, then opened airdrop and hoped shed would be on there, she was on her phone after all. 

After scrolling through his options he came across one labeled ‘’ y/n’s phone’’, with very little hope it was her he clicked on the icon and waited. 

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

Normally y/n would never stay out this late, but when her boss asked her to stay a couple hours longer to help put away some new shipment she knew she wouldn't say no. To her surprise staying later wasn't actually that bad, she actually had a great time gossiping with some of her coworkers she rarely ever sees, plus the walk to the train with the leaving sun, who was she to complain. Making it to the train platform earlier than she had calculated, y/n put her headphones in and started her music. Her ride to and from work is long and boring so y/n usually brings a book for something to do, but when looking in her bag she comes to find her book nowhere to be seen, groaning trying to remember if she left it at home or at work the train pulls in, getting on finding an empty seat in the back, y/n pulled out her phone and scrolled away. Too much time passed and y/n still hadn't looked up from her phone since she got on until she saw a blur of a man hop on the train right before they departed, She didn't get a good look at him since he was facing away from her, about to look away the boy turned around and sat in the empty seat in front of y/n. 

She knew she looked insane, crazy even, but she couldn’t help herself peeking through her eyelashes at the boy huffing two seats in front of her. between glances out the window and back at the boy y/n felt her phone buzz, mostly expecting it to be from her boss telling her she left some stuff there or whatnot, but it was something she would never have imagined in any lifetime, an airdrop notification from “juniethecutie phone” y/n couldn’t help but let out a giggle seeing the cropped picture of the boy in front of her, y/n knew she had never and will never hit the accept button faster then in that moment. Looking at the new addition to her camera roll, ‘’ You’re cute’’ the picture read. A newfound tint laid upon y/n's cheeks and she looked up at the boy who was waiting for her gaze, If he sent a photo it was only fair if she also gave him something y/n thought. Quickly taking a slightly blurred picture of herself with the simple caption of ‘’ Do you wanna come sit with me?’’, y/n found his airdropped contact and watched as he accepted, looked up to her then nodded his head and got up to sit in her booth.

[sunniskyies]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞? || 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐎𝐝𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You say goodbye at the train station as Finnick leaves for the Quarter Quell 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Finnick Odair x fem!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Maybe a bit sad if you squint? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Quiet AU’d seeing as in the books the Victor-tributes aren’t allowed to say goodbye… 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 650 𝐀/𝐍: So for some reason I was thinking about how wives said goodbye to their husbands when they went off to war? At the train stations? I always make use of my ideas (for practice), so here’s my random-ass blurb about it…!

The train station is surprisingly busy for a District terminal. Wealthy families and Capitol visitors are bustling around saying their ‘goodbyes’ and hastily passing luggage to porters to make it on the monthly Capitol train in time.

"Last call! Final train to the Capitol! All aboard!" A station master's voice cuts through the hum of the crowd. Your stomach knots nervously.

You grip the edges of a paper bag, eyes scanning the sea of faces for the familiar one. Where is he? He just went to get a ticket, You fret. 

Through the forest of heads, your eyes seize hold of a mop of blond curls weaving between people. You clutch onto it desperately, unwilling to lose him in the clamour. Finnick finally reaches you, and you quickly gather his face up in your hands. You press a despairing kiss to his lips, pulling back to examine him.

His hair is styled unnaturally, eyes dull. Your thumbs stroke over his skin, freshly shaven for the Reaping. He wears a cable knit sweater and a necklace you had made for him. His token.

Tears well up in your eyes. "Promise me you'll come back, Finn. Promise me," you whisper hoarsely, your voice barely audible above the sound of the train blowing its whistle.

But Finnick hears you perfectly, taking your hand in his, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. "I promise, pearl, I'll come back to you. Heavensbee's got a plan to get us out of there. With any luck, I'll see you in a couple of weeks."

Another whistle pierces the air, the imminent departure of the train causing sweat to bead on your forehead. You quickly push the brown paper bag into his palms.

"There's bread in there, and cream cheese and salmon. I know they feed you well on that train, but I don't trust them one bit," you rush, the nervous anticipation sizzling in every cell of your body. "In the arena, keep safe. Don't trust no one, kill 'em if you have to, Finn. I won't mind, I promise I won't mind!" You insist fiercely. You're talking so fast now you're tripping over your words. You just want him to stay safe, you don't know what you'd do if he—

You're cut off by Finnick's mouth colliding with yours, hands that are gentle only for you buried tightly in your hair.

You're pried apart by the station master's voice through the tinny speakers. "All aboard, I say! Final call for the Capitol!"

Pulling away, he rests his head against yours briefly, trying to commit every detail of you to memory—the way your e/c eyes glisten with unshed tears, the quiver of your lower lip, the warmth of your hair.

"I love you, pearl. Always," he murmurs, pressing one last kiss to your forehead.

Finnick reluctantly releases, eyes lingering on you as he turns away into the opaque soup of people. He quickly jogs to his carriage through the crowd, and you see him again when he jumps up into the doorway.

Just in the nick of time, too, as the train sings out it's last whistle and begins rolling out of the station.

Finnick's intent, sea-green eyes find yours and don't let go until the train is long gone. Before he disappears, he cups a hand around his lips and mouths three words.

Alone on the platform, your shaking hands knot together as tears slip down kiss-flushed cheeks. Even when the distant sound of the train quietens, you still can't bring yourself to leave.

The bustling crowd continues its ebb and flow, petering out slowly. But you remain there, rooted to the concrete like Finnick Odair is about to walk back out that train-tunnel and scoop you up in his arms.

But he doesn't. The only man who walks towards you is a late-shift conductor asking you to leave.

© sunniskyies 2024, do not repost or translate my work

[grapejuicestyless]

I’ll Love You, Forever.

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Angst

Summery: Conrad wants to become a doctor. Why should you stop that?

The platform near the train was nearly empty. It was so early, not even the early risers were up yet. It was the first train of the day but it was nearly night with how close the clock was to midnight.

My left hand clutches onto my coat, holding the collar between my knuckles tightly. I have too many shirts on. A tank-top, and a sweatshirt thats grey with the the words, Brown University, scribbled across the chest. The bottoms of my jeans are too long, so the dew wets the hems until they are soaked around my ankles.

“I’m proud of you.” I tell him, watching how his face, previously turned towards where the train will inevitably pull up turn to look at my face. He hangs his head, he’s taller and the wetness from his hair leaves tiny droplets on my skin.

I don’t really mind this. Our clothes clinging to our bodies because we ran through the passing rainstorm. How its so cold this winter that our fingers sting and our noses are numb.

“I want to help people.” He says it like he needs a reason. Like he’s thinking of staying. But he won’t, I wasted the last of my gas to get here. My car is stranded in the parking lot.

“I know.” I can feel his heartbeat under his coat when I put my hand over his chest. I can feel the cold nipping at his skin when I place it over his cheek.

When the cry of a horn sounds in the distance, he becomes aware just how limited our remaining time. He doesn’t understand just how little we have left though. I know it, but he never will. That’s how I want it.

He looks away from me, and the sigh that releases from his mouth is shaky.

“Don’t be discouraged. I’m right here. Promise.” When he looks back at me, he’s lowered himself even lower. Partly by himself, and partly at the mercy of my guiding hand that’s slipping from his cheek to the nape of his neck.

While we stand like this, I let my lips place their mark on his forehead. His eyes are fluttering shut, but I can’t find it in me to let the darkness in. I have so much time to wander within in, befriend it. I want to cement this moment in my memory forever.

I won’t be here when he gets back, I know that. I knew it when he first called me in last December talking about transferring to a medical program. I knew it in August when he told me he was going to Stanford. And I know it now that the train is pulling up, ready to take him halfway across the world.

“I’m not angry at you for leaving.” I tell him. I know he doesn’t quite get what I mean. He thinks of it one way, but within the next few months, I hope he’ll understand what my words really meant. I hope my disappearance won’t discourage him from his dreams. I hope he becomes the greatest doctor to ever live. I want that so badly for him, I might fool myself into thinking I want it more.

“Do great things, okay?” When he finally stands straight, the doors have opened. The seats are emptier than the train station.

He waves goodbye and whispers back, “I love you.” And his eyes have never looked so vibrant.

“I’ll love you, forever.” I whisper back, letting the doors consume him. He sits on the empty seat directly across from me. His eyes trace me until I’m gone. I feel them leave, I feel him leave.

I don’t know why I never told him. Maybe it was because if I told him I was dying, I knew he wouldn’t have gone. He wouldn’t have left my side, just like how he never left Susannah. I don’t want him to drive for miles, wondering if I’m still breathing.

He’ll hold it against me forever. How I never let him say goodbye, never let him try. I hope he knows just how happy I am for him. Even if he can’t see it.

I made him promise to do great things, but he already has. He gave me the best life I could’ve asked for. So I feel no regret leaving it like this. I feel no pain when I go.

[doll-for-you-11]

Fantasy I can't stop thinking about:

I slip on a short skirt and crop top. I just got rejected and need to get some validation of men stating at my ass. I walk around and take a few different trains in random directions.

Almost every guy ive passed has either blatantly stared, or catcalled and Im feeling better about myself. Ready to go home, I realize I don't know what train Im on, and Ive never been to the station we're approaching.

The train is basically empty. Theres one guy accross from me, but he's ignored me most of the time so I feel fine. I stand to wait at the doors for when we stop. Feeling him stand and get very close. I try to step forward but theres no space. "Theres no running bitch". I freeze unable to get away. I feel his hand on my hip, rising to my chest, groping me as he grinds against me, pressing me to the door.

As we stop I see other people on the platform and sigh hoping he'll stop when the doors open and I can run. As the doors open I try to take a step but am stopped by a hand grabbing my ponytail. Getting dragged off the subway by my hair. My clothes ripped off as Im being degraded and abused. The man that grabbed me loudly saying disgusting, humiliating things as he drags me along like a ragdoll.

By the time he gets me to the middle of the platform, Im naked and sobbing. A crowd gathering around, all the men who have been "working late" and the creeps stalking the subway for new prey.

He throws me to the ground, laughing as I try to crawl away. Wrenching me back again by my hair, as I scream out in pain. Looking around hoping someone will help, but all I see are buldges and hungry eyes.

He wips me around, slapping me, threatening my life if he feels any teeth as he pulls his cock out, shoving it all the way down my throat as I violently gag around him. "Fucking good little whore, take it".

You moan as you wrap your hand in my hair and begin to face fuck me so harshly my lips and throat are bruised before I even run out of breath. Drool and precum pour down my chin, dripping onto my tits turning them into a shiny, sticky mess. You fuck my throat like you're trying to destroy any brain cells I might have left. I feel your hot cum spew down my throat. You hold your cock balls deep telling me to swallow, but I gag, dripping some onto my already dripping tits. You rip your cock out and slap me accross the face, throwing me to the edge of the crowd.

I look up at the man in front of me and he just laughs, kicking me back towards you and following, pulling his belt off as he goes. I feel your hand come from behind me, gripping my throat and pulling me to my knees as the other man binds my wrists with his belt. My mind is still reeling from your raping of my throat, I dont even fight back and you remove your own belt, pushing my face down into the other mans still clothed crotch.

He humps my face, humiliating me as the crowd laughs. He holds my head down as you begin whipping my ass with your belt. Im trying to get away as I scream in pain, but he's too strong. You ask the crowd for a number, someone yells 50 and you tell me to count. It hurts so bad I lose track and you restart again and again and again until my ass is black and blue and my eyes have clouded over from the pain, my tears soaking the mans pants.

He flips me over onto my back, pulling out his hard cock and straddling my head. He slaps me with his cock, his pre cum joining the streaks of mascara on my cheeks before forcing himself down my throat and pushing down with his full weight sitting on my face, grinding his hips as his cock fills my windpipe.

Struggling to breathe I dont notice your belt trailing up my legs until you whip my cunt with it. I jump, forcing his cock impossibly deeper as I choke and panic. You altrinate between my pussy and tits, whipping harder and harder as I writhe, my hands pinned and bound under me, the other man on my face.

He pinches my nose and laughs as I begin to lose consciousness. Just as I'm about to black out he pulls me upright and savagely fucks my throat, pulling out to coat my face in his hot sticky cum. I cough and sputter but before I'm able to catch my breath you're pushing my face into the ground and ramming balls deep into my cunt. Using my hair as a handle you pull me to my knees.

The other man sucking and biting my nipples. Groping my bruised tits hard enough you can see his finger prints. "Look at you, you disgusting cum dump. Your cunt is dripping, theres a fucking puddle under you and you want to act like you didn't want this? That cunt is an open invitation when it drips like that." He slaps me, rubs my clit, slaps me with his cock and fucks my tits all while youre animalistically fucking my dripping pussy.

You join in growling in my ear. "Little bitch thinks it can get on the fucking train wearing a skirt that barely covers its ass and not get used? You that stupid you little whore? Or did you want this? Huh? Was this what you wanted? Get raped and ruined in front of a crowd ? Put on a little show? Yeah?" You fuck me harder and faster, my eyes rolling back as I cum around you harder than I ever have before.

"Did you just fucking cum?" The man abusing my tits asks. "Did you just cum from getting raped? Are you that much of a dirty rape whore?" You pull out throwing me to the ground as the other man pulls me on top of him pushing me down on his cock and thrusting up using my tits as handles to slam me up and down painfully.

You get behind me pulling my hair and whisper in my ear "we're gonna see just how disgusting of a cunt you really are". You ram your cock into my virgin asshole with no preparation besides the slick from my cunt already on your cock, matching the other man in speed as you thrust in and out, your cocks stretching me out like a used fleshlight.

The pain shocks me enough that my jaw drops in a silent scream, my eyes rolling back as my body goes limp. My mind shutting off as I become a living sex doll. You reach around harshly rubbing my clit. I scream as I arch against you cumming, but you keep rubbing my sore oversensitive clit. Making cum non stop over and over. My whole body shaking uncontrollably.

I hear laughter and see other people recording and jacking off. It feels like forever before you both cum and you stop rubbing my clit. Your seed flooding inside of me as you both groan in satisfaction. You pull out and I whine at the feeling before you pull me off of the other man and toss me to the ground.

I can barely open my eyes but I begin to feel something falling on me and look up to see the crowd gathering closer, coating me in cum and piss as I lay broken on the platform.

I feel disgusted with myself, how could I have cum from that? But I can't help but moan as I feel the cum dripping from both holes and the showers of it coating my body. Soon enough I feel more hands on me, I hear men saying what I know are disgusting perverted things but I can't make it out.

The sun is starting to come up by the time they all finish with me. Im too broken to move, but some part of me is okay with it. After all, If I stay here, they'll know where to find me when they want to use me again.

[celestial-specter]

I haven’t seen it as much online these days, but when season one was still airing, I often saw criticism that the batch, other than perhaps Hunter and Omega, ‘lacked character depth.’

It was something I didn’t think too much about at the time, but now, on my final re-watch of the whole show before the final season begins (😭) I couldn’t disagree more.

Sure, as there is so much action and plot occurring during the series premiere Aftermath, there is not much screen-time remaining to dedicate towards the emotional depth of the characters.

However, I’m a huge fan of the ways writers can use unconventional methods to show audiences the traits and roles of characters; As the bad batch are soldiers in every sense of the word, I believe there is no better way to highlight their individual personalities and talents than to show it through their battle strategy.

So, if you’re like me and love both star wars and unnecessarily in-depth analysis, I present…

Aftermath’s battle simulation: How one scene reintroduces us to Clone Force 99, and possibly foreshadows later events in the series.

(Part 1)

Across all star wars projects, the empire is always presented from above (in the context of The Bad Batch, think of the broadcast of Palpatine shown to the clones earlier during Aftermath, Raven’s Peak towering over the cloud cover on Eriadu, and Mount Tantiss surging over the natural jungle on Weyland). During the battle simulation, Tarkin watches from the viewing platform above the training ground, suggesting this scene will illustrate how the batch will respond to the new power of the empire.

When the team first enter the training ground, Hunter is the only one without his helmet on - he is already more humanized than the rest of his brothers. Of all the team, Hunter is the one who looks most like a ‘regular’ clone, despite his obvious attempts otherwise. He understands the importance of humanizing himself and his brothers - when he tries to save Caleb on Kaller, he removes his helmet in an attempt to get through to him. In this scene, Hunter only puts on his helmet and regains his status as a soldier when it is clear that a battle is about to begin. Even this small action could be interpreted as showing that being a soldier is not what Hunter truly wants, whereas the rest of his brothers are satisfied to continue in the way of life they have always known.

Once the battle begins, Hunter gives his brothers no instructions besides ‘You know what to do.’ Even as their leader, he trusts his team enough to know that they will succeed without his direct intervention. Even without a clear approach in mind, they all fall into places without any preamble - showing that Hunter is correct in his assessment of the situation, and that his brothers know each other well enough to do so without guidance.

The positioning of each member at the beginning of the battle is also important- as they move to the barrier, Echo, Crosshair and Hunter go left, while Wrecker and Tech go right, as seen below.

These positions could be indicative of their current roles within the squad at its peak. For example, the split between the right and left side could represent their difference standards of morals. Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair have, at this point in the series, been shown to be the most complex and strong willed members of the team - it is clear what each one of them believes in, and each one of them is unafraid to speak up when something goes against their personal moral code. This this shown prior to this point during Aftermath, as most of the discussion over Order 66 is between this trio, while Wrecker and Tech seem to be simply going through the motions rather than challenging them.

This is not to say that Tech and Wrecker do not also each have strong personalities, but so far they are much more focused on their individual interests than the morality of their lives as soldiers and their prospective roles in the formation of the new empire.

In this formation, Hunter is caught in the middle of all of his brothers, a position he is often placed in during group shots throughout the series. In this scene however, he is closely drawn to Crosshair’s side. Hunter’s reaction to Omega has shown that he has complex feelings about children being on Kamino, likely an attitude he has formed due to his own upbringing on the planet. It can be assumed by CT numbers that Crosshair (CT-9904) is the youngest of the batch, explaining the close yet intense relationship shared between him and Hunter.

Echo is also on the left side, but remains on the outside of the group. This could be interpreted as Echo simply arriving late to the batch and their having to reform this battle strategy to include him, but I prefer to think of it as a way to highlight Echo’s continued isolation, even amongst his brothers.

The placement of Crosshair between Echo and Hunter is also interesting. Echo, who has always been very focused on rules and regulations, and Hunter, the leader of a squad who openly flaunt their ability to break them. This positioning could be indicative of Crosshair feeling torn between two places, and his emotional conflict due to the effects of the inhibitor chip.

Located on the right side, Wrecker and Tech are both much more placid and easygoing. They are both often involved in childish bickering (as is Crosshair), but these two are never typically involved in intense conflict as the others are. As shown by the batch’s first appearance in The Clone Wars, Wrecker can be quick to anger when his brothers are threatened, but is easily dissuaded from violence by Hunter. Meanwhile, Tech is attempting to stop the fight from occurring in the first place, and is seemingly averse to conflict unless he deems the situation to be inescapable without it (e.g. the cafeteria fight).

Wrecker and Hunter are technically next to one another, but there is a huge space between them. To me, this gap represents the difference in their personalities as a result of their upbringing. Wrecker truly symbolizes the more easygoing, often-childlike comedic character, while Hunter is burdened by his concerns and responsibilities for his family. The pair were shown to have a closer relationship during their arc in The Clone Wars, with Hunter joining in with the jokes and antics of his younger brothers, and assuring Wrecker that he will beat Crosshair’s kill count during their next mission. In this scene, the space between them could foreshadow the upcoming degradation of their relationship due to the rise of the empire.

Tech is also on the outside of the group, but on the complete opposite side to Echo. Interestingly, since their very first meeting, Tech and Echo have been shown to have quickly developed a close relationship, with Tech being the main clone (other than Rex) to liberate Echo from captivity. The pair being on opposite sides likely is due to their similar technical skillsets but opposing ways off approaching situations- Echo is shown to possess a great deal of tact and patience when it comes to other characters such as Omega, whereas Tech can come across as nonchalant and uncaring at times. These positions also highlight how these two are the most independent of the group, both of them having no issues in leaving to compete missions alone.

[delimeful]

give me mercy no more (2)

warnings: self sacrifice, mentions of hypothetical gore, fear/panic, misunderstandings, abduction, logan getting too excited about science and explaining Nothing 

-

Standing alone on the center of the barren sacrificial altar, Virgil felt as though he’d been wrung out like an old dishcloth.

The stress was still there, along with the terror and the dread and the misery, but after a while they’d faded into simple background noise. A low, ever-present hum, constantly reminding him he was going to die soon.

As though he could forget something like that.

Still. Better him than Janus, or, gods forbid, Thomas. It was the mantra that had carried him this far. He’d say it all the way to his grave.

Assuming he actually got one, that was. There probably wouldn’t be much left to bury.

The sound of distant wingbeats pulled his attention back to the world outside, the chorus of terror growing the slightest bit louder in the back of his mind. He could see the silhouette, growing larger as the dragon got closer, and twisted one of the decorative ceremonial cuffs he’d donned around his wrist nervously.

He glanced at where two of his knights waited at the entrance to the open-air cliff platform.

“You don’t have to be here,” he tried, glancing between them. “It’s dangerous, and you probably won’t want to see…,”

He trailed off, gesturing idly with a cuffed hand, because there was really no delicate way to say ‘I’m most likely about to get torn to bloody shreds.’

The two of them exchanged looks. “We’re staying, sir. The least we can do for you is see this through.”

“I trained you guys too well,” he snorted, but when he turned back to face the open sky, he felt a little less alone.

He hadn’t needed to explain much, not after he’d told them that he would be taking Janus’s place. It had earned him looks, ranging from solemn to pitying, but none dared to argue when Janus himself appeared to have conceded.

(The spell would unravel by nightfall. By then, he’d be long gone, one way or another.)

He might not be an advisor, but when he’d stepped into the role of bodyguard, he’d applied every bit of dedication in his body to the job. He knew more about the kingdom and how it worked than almost anyone else.

And if that didn’t end up being enough? He was fairly sure that being a mage would tip the scales in their favor.

Revealing that little tidbit was a last resort, since rumor had it that most dragons were attracted to magical power in any form, and in order to obtain it, the more ruthless of them would often hunt down and consume human mages.

The thought didn’t manage to perturb Virgil much. He’d felt pretty sure he was going to get bitten in half well before uncovering the truth about that particular rumor, possibly even before he got through the first sentence of his explanation, and he’d committed to the decision anyhow.

Overhead, the dragon began their descent.

An enormous winged shadow fell over him, and for a moment, the instinctual clamor in his head became deafening— YOU’LL DIE YOU’LL DIE YOU’LL DIE— but he forced the automatic tension from his legs.

He couldn’t run. Not from this.

A heavy thump, and Virgil lifted his head to see that the dragon had shifted into a massive humanoid form. Far less aerodynamic, but it was the most common form used whenever a dragon deigned to actually speak with a human. Draconic snouts weren’t ideal for speaking human tongues, after all.

The beast was hardly less intimidating this way. They had settled so they were standing on the ground far beneath the cliffside, but they were large enough that they could easily rest their arms on either side of the wide altar Virgil stood on as simply as Virgil himself would lean against a counter.

Virgil glanced up for as long as he dared, and then resisted the urge to do a double take. Was that… was that their dragon?

He hadn’t been present for the last tribute offering before the assassinations– mostly due to aforementioned identity as a mage– but the being before him didn’t look anything like the descriptions of the ancient, silver-scaled dragon that had Thomas’s ancestors had made a covenant with, back when the kingdom was little more than a well-defended duchy.

For one, their human form was relatively young-looking. For another, the scales and horns that decorated their hairline were a deep indigo.

… Well, Virgil was already on thin ice. He resolutely decided he wasn’t going to be the one to ask. They were waiting on a dragon, and there was one here, so he might as well proceed with the ceremony.

Large, slit-pupil eyes flickered over the scene set before them, a pair of thin, translucent eyelids sweeping over them in what almost looked like a bewildered blink. “This is… unusual.”

It wasn’t the enraged demand for an explanation that he’d been expecting, and Virgil struggled to remember exactly how Janus had phrased his argument, thrown off-balance. “Uh, with the damages–,” no, shit, wait–, “I mean, honorable greetings to the lord of this land,” he hurriedly corrected, bowing his head in deference. “We humbly welcome you.”

There was a pause, and Virgil bit his lip hard enough that he tasted blood. He’d never been the best at the whole social etiquette bit, and somehow the way he’d almost botched the entire thing in the first ten seconds was making him feel more stressed than the past half-hour of waiting for and vividly imagining his impending demise.

“I accept this welcome,” the dragon finally replied, still sounding more curious than angry. Naturally, they managed to make the greeting sound entirely professional and well-practiced. “I haven’t accepted a tribute from this kingdom yet, but I’m familiar with the general concept, and things seem… different.”

That was a definite yes on the new lord thing, then.

Their statement wasn’t phrased as a question, but Virgil recognised a demand for information when he heard one. He straightened back up, only barely keeping himself from falling into a Knight’s rigid upright posture on automatic. “Yes, my lord. There were significant damages to the kingdom during the invasions, and the– the livestock and harvest that would usually be offered don’t exist now.”

“Invasions?” the dragon asked, which was frankly not the part of that statement Virgil had expected their attention to catch on. “Was your previous lord negligent in her duties?”

“N–No,” Virgil tried tentatively, unsure what the right answer was here. “The matters were between humans, and our… previous lord… wasn’t to be bothered with trifles like that.”

The dragon’s brow furrowed, and when they huffed through their nose, a small puff of smoke escaped along with the sigh. “I see,” was all they said, their deep, rumbling voice sounding almost contemplative.

“Currently, our people only barely have enough to survive,” Virgil continued after a moment, trying to stick to the script he’d tricked out of Janus. “In the hopes of– of keeping the kingdom alive, so that you’ll have many years of tribute in the future, we ask that you show mercy and accept an alternative offering this year.”

The dragon’s ears pricked in interest, head tilting slightly. “An alternative offering?”

Deep breaths, now. “Along with heirloom treasures from the royal bloodline, you are offered the– the life of one of His Highness’s closest advisors, with knowledge of all in the kingdom.”

He lifted his chin and forced himself to step forward, spreading his wrists as far as the ceremonial cuffs would allow to make it clear just who was being offered, here. Janus would have made it look elegant, graceful even. Virgil was pretty sure he was only making it look like what it was: a guy in restraints pretending he was fine with his new status as a sacrifice.

The dragon reared back a little, thankfully looking more surprised than murderous. “Does this kingdom usually offer humans as tribute?” they asked, nose scrunching up in a confounded expression

“No, definitely no,” Virgil hurried to say, already grimacing at the idea of setting a precedent. “It’s only in this specific case. Only me.”

“I understand.” The dragon hummed thoughtfully, idly tapping clawed fingers against the stone. “Are any of these heirlooms magically-charged in any way?”

The sinking feeling in Virgil’s gut abruptly got a lot deeper. “No, my lord.”

They sighed in disappointment, clearly uninterested by the offering, and Virgil’s heart nearly seized in his chest at the idea of failing now, of the dragon claiming the original tribute by force and starving their people, of them demanding to see the king punished for the offense, or any number of other nightmarish outcomes.

He took another halting step forward, the sheen of sweat along his skin leaving him chilled in the face of the afternoon breeze. He was well within reach of those huge hands now. “However,” he managed, “there is still magic available in the tribute.”

Under the dragon’s sharp gaze, he couldn’t force another syllable past his clenched teeth. Instead, he held up a single hand and summoned a small orb of flame, shifting the color of the flames to an intense blue in the hopes of showing that he was a strong mage without needing to destroy anything.

His magic stores were considerable, after years of practice keeping them hidden and in reserve. He’d spelled Janus, but that hadn’t burnt through much. Really, it had only drained him emotionally.

The dragon’s pupils expanded as they leaned in closer, inspecting the display with a much more intense version of that same curious expression that they’d worn all along. Virgil swallowed, all his worries about being bitten in half abruptly surging back to the forefront of his mind.

“Oh, wonderful!” the dragon said, and there was a sudden warm weight curling around his back. Virgil turned his head to the side just slightly, and could see those huge claws curving around his shoulders. “Source magic will work much more efficiently than the remnants I could pull from most ancient artifacts, anyhow.”

Virgil forced himself not to try and wiggle out of the grip around him, even when it began lifting him clear off the ground, the dragon’s hand rotating to create a sort of curved cradle underneath him. He knew this would happen, he reminded himself. He’d wanted this over the alternative, and he only had to hang onto his composure for a little longer. Just until he was out of eyeshot of anyone who could tell Janus or Thomas afterwards.

“I accept the kingdom’s tribute and will act as its lord from now on,” the dragon intoned formally, lifting Virgil up further and further.

His heart dropped in horrible terror for a moment, but then he was lifted even higher, until he was staring down at a pair of curved horns. The hand under him tilted, and Virgil scrambled for a grip as he found himself promptly deposited on top of the dragon’s head.

“Hold on tightly,” the dragon warned, “I’ll catch you if you fall, but from this high up, you might pass out from the sudden change in altitude. Hm, I’m not certain humans know about altitude, actually…”

Virgil suspected he might pass out with or without outside interference, but saying as much wouldn’t help him. His gamble had worked, and now he was a mage in the possession of a dragon, as good as dead. He clung onto the horn next to him as the shape under him shifted to something far more reptilian.

They took to the sky, and despite the terrifying vertigo, Virgil turned and watched the kingdom grow smaller and smaller in the distance for as long as he could.