#i barely practiced drawing backgrounds n for some reason was in the mood to draw this

[nyaar0n]

it's been raining lately

[babyybitchhh]

Ogun x Reader 18+

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 8,375

Warnings: established relationship, cunnilingus, brief mention of breeding/pregnancy implication, piv sex, creampie

A/N: I really did not think I'd finish this and yet, months later, here we are. I said I wanted to do Ogun's hair for him so that is exactly what I did. 😤 A LOT of research went into the first half of this fic, I can't even tell you how many braiding videos I watched or how many haircare blurbs I read through, so if my ignorance shows I really do apologize. I can barely do my own hair let alone someone else's and I put in a lot leg work for about 5 paragraphs of relevant information. lol Best boy deserves it though, so please enjoy!

♥♥♥♥

The quiet drone of the TV against the far wall was the only source of noise in the small apartment and neither of you were paying any attention to it. Hadn’t been for the last few hours, but that was how most wash days went. The background chatter was superfluous at best when you had all of your attention zeroed in on your boyfriend's hair and Ogun was pleasantly dozing at your feet, lost in his own little world of pampered bliss.

It did, however, serve its purpose in helping you better keep track of the time. If left to your own thoughts, you would have all too easily slipped into the same comfortable lull as him and forgotten about everything else you had to do. Like think about food, for example.

Briefly glancing up at the sound of cheesy sitcom music, you mentally check off another half hour. It was starting to get late which meant he’d probably be starving by the time you were done and that wouldn’t exactly come as a surprise given you’d been at this for the better part of the day. All that hard earned muscle mass of his certainly wasn’t going to maintain itself.

And, now that you were thinking about it, you were starting to notice the creeping pang of hunger in the back of your mind, buzzing faintly like an incessant afterthought.

Drawing a breath, you start to ask if he’s in the mood for anything in particular but Ogun manages to beat you to it.

“What should we do for dinner?”

You smile to yourself, fingers deftly moving through his hair with practiced ease -- under, scoop, under, repeat -- while you give that question some thought. Surely there was something you could whip up with what you had on hand in the kitchen. The real question, however, was what.

Doing a quick mental checklist of your cupboards, you rapidly narrow down your options. A fast and easy pasta dish was out of the question without the sauce or any ingredients to make it with. No meat for hamburgers. There was still some salad mix in the fridge but he needed something far more substantial than that. Damn. You should probably go shopping soon.

“Hmm,” Gently tilting Ogun’s head forward, you pick back up on the half finished braid you were working on. He was almost done, with only two rows left to go. The argan oil and shea products you’d put in his hair left your fingertips feeling buttery smooth and soft, their lingering smell as warm as it was soothing. It permeated the air in the living room, enclosing you both in your own little bubble for two and making for an altogether pleasantly relaxing Sunday afternoon.

“Let’s see …” You murmur at length. “I could probably make a stir fry with some vegetables and shrimp. How’s that sound?”

“As much as I love your cooking,” He shifts on the floor and glances over his shoulder, forcing you to pause what your fingers are doing. “I was thinking we could order in tonight. My treat.”

Your smile grows even when you try to ignore the unmistakable flutter in your chest. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

“There isn’t one.” His mouth curls up, mirroring yours. “But if you need an excuse, consider it thanks for doing my hair.”

“That’s sweet of you, but I’m not finished yet.” Placing a hand atop his head, you pointedly turn him around straight again and Ogun laughs, very softly, when you release him so you can get back to work.

You enjoyed getting to do this for him and the fact you liked playing with his hair was no secret either. It was wild and thick, very close to being untamable, but it was also incredibly healthy -- something you would have all too happily taken credit for if it hadn’t been in the same enviable condition as when you’d first met him. That he trusted you enough to let you do this was, perhaps, more intimate than anything else you’d ever done together, and with a few more twists you put the finishing touches on the braid.

Letting it hang next to the others, you direct him to lean back so that you can easily reach the front of his hairline again. He acquiesces without a fuss and sinks into the couch, letting the back of his head settle comfortably in your lap. Ogun’s shoulders brush your knees when you hunch closer with a pink rat tail comb in hand and you’re acutely aware of him watching you as you begin sectioning out the next row. You start to smile again, even though you try not to.

“What?”

“I’m still waiting on an answer.”

You shoot him a quick look.

Golden eyes gleam back at you, reflecting endearment and humor alike, and you quickly focus in on his blown out, fluffy hair again before he can successfully distract you. “I don’t know. You pick.”

“Nope.” He hums goodnaturedly. “That’s not how this works. You can’t just push it back on me when I asked you for a reason. Tell me what you want.”

“I really don’t know - hey!” You squawk when he gives the back of your calf a sharp pinch in retaliation for being so uncooperative and you squirm, giggling. “Don’t do that! I’m honestly not sure what I’m in the mood for.”

“Then think about it.”

“I am.” You intone, gently pushing Ogun’s head forward just enough to get at the crown of his head. Relative silence claims the room once more while you consider an almost endless list of potential choices and finish up the second to last braid. Thankfully without any more pinching attacks on his end. He was going to look so nice when you were done.

“What about a pizza?” You suggest at last.

“I’m game.” He murmurs, slouching to the side so he can rest his temple against the plush cushion of your leg. It gives you the perfect angle to attack the final strip from and you get to work weaving coarse strands into his preferred fashion, your fingers moving quickly but efficiently. You’d practiced tirelessly just to ensure he wouldn’t have to go to someone else for this without skimping on the finished product's quality and it certainly showed.

A few moments later, the task is complete.

Grabbing an elastic band, you gather Ogun’s styled hair into a neat little ponytail and tie it off at the back of his head. You finish up by running your fingertips across one shaved side of his scalp, affectionately feeling out the new growth before deciding he can go another week or two until you have to bring out the clippers again.

“Alright. You’re all done.”

Lifting a hand to feel over his hair, he twists around and peers up at you with an expectant grin. “How do I look?”

“Like the most handsome man in the world.”

Ogun positively beams. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Leaning close, you press a brief kiss to his smiling mouth. “What sort of pizza do you --”

He cuts you off when he suddenly pushes up on his knees and catches your lips again.

Your eyes go big when broad hands find the meat of your thighs and gently squeeze them while he kisses you much more impassionedly than you’d kissed him. A sound of surprise rises in the back of your throat but he quickly swallows it, making your heart race.

Heaving a quiet sigh through your nose, you lean into the gesture and meet him halfway, eagerly kissing him back.

Grinning knowingly, Ogun tilts his head and slots his mouth more securely over yours to deepen the exchange. You find yourself slowly melting against him and you bring your hands up to grab onto his shoulders. God, he was unfairly good at this. Not that you were complaining, but a polite segue from one topic to the next would have been appreciated. You’d been thinking about dinner, what sort of toppings you wanted on your pizza, and now you were thinking about …

You groan, very softly, when his palms drag up along your sides, bunching the cotton of your t-shirt in the process. It allows for the briefest skin on skin contact and an eruption of goosebumps spreads across your body, as anticipatory as they were impatient.

Lips parting, you grant him access and Ogun jumps at the chance, eagerly sweeping his tongue into your mouth to lav yours with warm, wet attention. The smooth, flickering strokes he graces your palette with inspires a flood of molten heat in your gut that leaves you wanting more. Always more. It was never enough where he was concerned - and you slide one of your hands higher still to tenderly cradle the curve of his skull.

Much to your whining disappointment, however, he pulls back a moment later to give you some space and you whimper at the loss.

“Ogun …”

“Shh. I’m right here, baby.” He whispers, leaning back in to press a quick peck to your lips before doing the same to the corner of your mouth.

It’s not enough to pacify you though and you loop both arms around his neck, trying to pull him back in again. He obliges with an affectionate nuzzle, pressing close to settle against your lap and pin you to the back of the couch under his sturdy weight.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?”

You pull your mouth in an imploring pout. “I’d like for you to finish what you started.”

He laughs, sweet and boyish as he pulls back to fix you with a big grin. “Oh? And have I ever left you wanting?”

“No, but I’d hate for you to start now.” You sound a little whiny. Needy.

Another quiet laugh and Ogun comes in to kiss you again, much more sedately this time. His soft lips mold seamlessly to yours, working against your mouth at just the right speed, with the right amount of pressure to steal the air from your lungs.

You let loose a soft moan as you arch underneath him and push your chests together, basking in the fleeting contact despite how unsatisfying it is. What you really want is to have his body working over yours without the impediment of bothersome clothes in the way. To feel the chorded steel muscle he’d worked so hard to build flexing and driving into you.

A shudder ripples through you when the thrumming desire that wells inside slithers out from between your legs to ignite the rest of your body in heated flame. An all powerful compulsion which you wouldn’t have fought even if you could.

His mouth still working in tandem with yours, Ogun gives your waist a possessive squeeze and it sends a fresh wave of sharp arousal racing down your spine. You whimper, pushing up into him a little harder, more fervently, as you clutch at his shoulders. The need to have him laid out on top of you has taken over your higher functioning mind, all thoughts of pizza long gone out the window as the velvety push and pull of his mouth draws you further under his spell.

Willingly, you surrender to the exigent summons and curl your legs up around his narrow hips to tug him even closer, urging him into action.

A hot puff of air fans across your face when he abruptly disengages from the kiss, moving to press his lips against the apple of your cheek, your jaw. There’s a noticeable haste in his actions now and you turn your head to give him better access, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat to his seeking mouth.

Ogun wastes no time and immediately swoops in, pecking his way down the column of your neck with an occasional love bite here or there for good measure. Each one seemed to make your toes curl that much tighter to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore.

“You play dirty …” You mumble, lightly running your nails across his nape.

“Mm, how so?” He sounds distracted and preoccupied, too busy mouthing at your pulse to pay it any mind.

“You told me to decide on dinner …” You trail off when he latches onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder, immediately succumbing to the tantalizing suction Ogun applies with his lips. You let out a soft, faltering groan, brows furrowing in pleasure when it makes the simmering heat in your gut double and then triple as teeth sink into delicate skin.

Shuddering, you deliberately wrack your brain in an attempt to finish your train of thought but that proves much more of a struggle than you’d been prepared for.

“But … nngh, but now all I want is you …”

He comes up at your somewhat dreamy admittance, a mischievous look camping out on his face even as big hands push at the hem of your shirt. “Oh yeah? Anything you want in particular, sweetheart?”

Lifting your gaze, you peer up at Ogun from just a scant few inches away. The shallow rise and fall of your chest has no doubt clued him in that he’s got you all worked up now but you aren’t exactly trying to hide it. He already knew just how weak you were for him, knew precisely how well your body always responded to his advances, so there really wasn’t any point in pretending otherwise.

You were powerless against his undeniable charm and he seemed to get just as much enjoyment out of that as you did. And looking at him now you think, not for the first time, that you just might be the luckiest girl in the world.

“Let’s start with that talented mouth.” You murmur, reaching out to take his smooth jaw in hand and pull him, grinning, into another kiss.

Noising quietly against your mouth, he leans further into you until it feels like you’re being pleasantly crushed under the hard, muscular weight of his frame. It only serves to get you even more riled up, now well and truly desperate to feel his bare skin flush against yours as you roll your hips forward and drag your clenching pussy across the front of his pants.

Lips parting on a heady groan, he returns the favor by slowly thrusting his pelvis forward so you can feel the stiff outline of his cock caressing your clothed slit. You keen at the sensation and cant your hips into the pressure, the two of you gradually picking up a steady, unhurried rhythm together that damn near drives you wild.

Hands staying busy while he sedately humps you, Ogun patiently works your shirt up higher and higher until it’s bunched under your armpits. Reaching around for the clasp of your bra, he gives it one good tug and the satiny soft material loosens around your shoulders with a near silent slither. Bringing his hands to the front again, he shoves the cups up out of the way before letting them descend on soft, pliant breasts that seem to fit just right in the curve of his worn palms. Giving them both a gentle squeeze, he kneads your chest until you groan and tip your head back, breaking apart from the kiss in favor of sighing up at the ceiling.

He takes that opportunity to dip his face close and press an open mouthed kiss to the center of your sternum while he carefully squeezes your tits in a pinching grip. It makes you shudder, wishing you could clench your thighs and ease the growing ache there, but that’s impossible when he’s slotted between them like this. You have no choice but to endure the thrumming tension and you squirm underneath him, needily bucking up to meet the next thrust of his hips with a frustrated little groan.

“Ogun,” You gasp, letting your fingers scrabble to grab hold of his black t-shirt and tug on it. “I need you. Now.”

Bringing his head up, Ogun allows himself a moment to drink in the wanton expression on your face while he cups his hands around your breasts almost reverently. “How do you need me, baby?” He mumbles, letting his thumbs brush over your stiff nipples in a feather light caress. “What do you need?”

“Your mouth …” You whine, practically choking on it.

“Where do you need my mouth, huh? Tell me.”

“On my pussy.” It’s more a plea than a statement and you shake for him even as the words leave your mouth.

Ogun shifts against you and bends down, mouth opening wide over the pebbled peak of your breast. You watch on, mesmerized, when the pink of his tongue darts out to lap at the fleshy bud before sealing his lips around it and suckling. Your eyes slip shut as you arch, pushing your chest up to meet him while your fingers cling to the cotton of his shirt. Ogun doesn’t linger long though and he soon comes up off the first with a dull pop before catching your other nipple between his lips.

Briefly worrying it, he slides his hand forward to tweak the spit lathered bud between thumb and forefinger, making you outright seethe. You give up on getting his top off with an impatient little huff and bring your hands down to grasp at his arms instead. The firm, wiry muscle under his skin offers little give no matter how hard you squeeze or dig your nails in, and he remains ever unperturbed, casually sucking the tip of your breast to stiff, throbbing attention.

“Please, Ogun …”

With a faint hum, he comes up off your chest and presses a quick peck to the puckered nipple. “I know, baby. I know.” Moving back to the first nipple, he kisses that one too. “Just be patient, alright? You know you don’t have to beg me to go down on you …”

You groan at the velvety suggestion and tuck your chin down to pin him with an imploring look. Ogun offers you a lopsided grin in return, pinching both your nipples between his fingers and carefully tweaking the sensitive flesh until you outright gasp. You feel like you’re running on autopilot now as you reach up to sandwich his face between your palms and pull him into yet another kiss, lips crashing together with an intensity that makes your pussy flutter.

His mouth parts against yours, opening wide as if to swallow you whole, and all the while he keeps plucking at your tits until they’re aching almost as much as your neglected cunt. You couldn’t take it anymore ...

Tightening your legs around Ogun’s waist, you dig your heels into the small of his back and draw him right up against you so you can feel the hard weight of his cock digging into the spot where you need him most. A frazzled, high strung wail claws its way up the back of your throat as you jut your pelvis up and rub yourself against that thick, pulsing heat in search of some relief but very little is forthcoming like this.

He pulls back at the sudden friction thoufg and issues a faltering groan that seems to echo off the walls for as quiet as it is. “Shit … you really want it that bad, baby?”

“It’s your fault …”

“I know, I know.” Bending close, Ogun presses a hard peck to the center of your chest. “And I’ll take responsibility for that, don’t you worry.”

Lower he trails, slowly kissing his way down your fluttering stomach as his hands come around to unbutton your shorts. The zipper quickly follows suit and then he’s tugging them down your thighs while you eagerly twist to help get you undressed just that much quicker.

Thoughtlessly tossing them aside, Ogun reaches for your panties next but he’s much more subdued in removing these. One torturous fraction at a time, he carefully pries the thin cotton away until they’re low enough to expose your puffy slit to the air. He lets out an appreciative noise of approval when he sees the sticky mess you’ve made along the seam and your heart pounds in your ears as you draw your legs up so he can slip the dainty cotton the rest of the way off.

He discards them somewhere on the floor, probably right alongside your shorts, before palming your bent knees. Gently, Ogun eases them apart so he can peer down at your sticky cunt with an unconcealed expression of hunger.

“Look at you, baby. Just look at this pretty pussy, already so wet for me.”

Smoothing big hands up along your bare thighs, he bends close and presses his mouth to the apex of your mound in a surprisingly chaste but hungry kiss. Digging your fingers into the couch cushions, you enticingly wiggle your hips at him and gold eyes flash at you from between your legs, amusement and something much more dark shining within them.

You feel his lips eagerly curl against you then, and he shuffles closer to the couch so that he’s hunched directly over your prone body. Hooking long fingers under one of your legs, he hauls it up and over his shoulder before repeating the process on the other side. Grabbing big, grasping handfuls of your hips, he uses his hold on you to drag your lower body just to the edge of the seat, making you squeak at suddenly finding yourself completely vulnerable and laid bare. Your pussy clenches tight in anticipation though and you tremble, drawing a steadying breath when he pecks at the soft swell of your inner thigh, warm breath puffing against your skin.

There was no denying that he had you completely at his mercy like this and you would have been lying through your teeth if you said that didn’t excite you.

“Comfortable?”

At your nod, Ogun leans forward just enough to bend your legs towards your chest and fold you against the top of the couch. He settles on his knees and dips his head down, mouth parting so his tongue can take a quick swipe from the bottom of your gushing cunt up to the top. The sight of it has you groaning for him, your vision swimming as you force yourself to keep watching.

That proves exceedingly difficult when he presses in close, making the meat of your pussy lips squish and mold against his face. Slowly kissing at you to work them open with his mouth, he flicks his attention up to regard your face and you practically vibrate on the cushions. Another swipe of his tongue hits its mark, wetly knocking your clit, and you let loose a seething mewl.

“O - ohh! Yeah …”

Ogun’s fingers dig into your twitching hips to keep them spread while he takes his time slowly swirling around that sensitive pleasure button. He starts at a wide breadth and then gradually works his tongue in tighter and tighter circles until he’s finally grinding it into oblivion. The soft, gooey friction of his mouth is enough to have you wheezing in pleasure as sweat beads, unnoticed, along your lower back and you arch, making your tits jiggle with the motion.

“Right there … don’t stop!”

Issuing a low sound of agreement, Ogun opens his jaw wider and drags his tongue straight up through your slick, juicy folds. You can feel every little thing - every nerve ending and every meaty bit of flesh that tries to cling to the textured muscle and your legs jerk at the sensation.

Tossing your head back against the couch, you blindly reach down to grasp his knuckles in a death grip. “Ah, haah … feels good ...”

In lieu of a proper response, he tilts his head and attacks your thrumming clit from a different angle. He’s relentless, mercilessly battering that delicate little pearl back and forth with such fervor that it leaves you quaking under his attention, struggling just to breathe. You’re not sure how much more of this you can stand, the threat of tipping over the edge before you can even fully enjoy it looking like a very real possibility now, but then Ogun seals his mouth around the fleshy nub and sucks.

Hard.

“Oh!” You choke on a haggard, stuttering gasp of pleasure, lurching underneath him.

Confidently humming, he comes up off you with a dull pop and a sticky breath of air. “Looks like you’re already getting close.” Ogun murmurs, sounding really quite smug about that.

Never one to leave you hanging though, he crowds one of his hands between your legs and presses blunt fingers into your slit. Finding your throbbing clit again, Ogun starts to rub it in fast strokes made smooth by the viscous mix of saliva and arousal that absolutely coats your pussy and this time you practically shriek.

“Yes! Yes, I’m getting close! … nngghh … please, please, pleeease! Ogun, please!”

But he refuses to let up on your poor little cunt just yet. “Please what, baby?”

You twist, thighs flexing and going ramrod stiff around his head. Your vision was starting to blur around the edges, reflexive tears pricking at your eyes. It’s hard just to think straight let alone form a semi coherent sentence when he’s relentlessly rubbing your clit with roughly calloused fingertips like that, the friction almost too much to bear and quickly riding the line of overstimulation. You couldn’t handle much more of it.

“Pl - please put your dick in me! Please! I wanna’ come on your cock, Ogun! I’m buh - aaah - ah! - begging!”

A low, rumbling groan rises up in his chest but, still, he doesn’t stop. “I thought you wanted to come on my mouth?”

“I - I changed my mind!”

He grunts, deep and primal in his acknowledgement, and the sound races straight to your throbbing cunt.

You respond with a broken groan, only to nearly come right up off the couch when he withdraws his fingers and replaces them with his mouth. Supple lips part and work you open again so he can worm his tongue into the crease of your body. He delivers a series of taunting flicks to the straining bud hidden within, making you sensitively twitch, before dragging the flat of his tongue across it in broad, sweeping strokes. You could feel yourself tipping ever closer to the edge and, with a wheezing gasp, you reach down with both hands to cradle either side of his head.

You’re not sure if you want to push him away or draw him closer - as if that were even possible at this point.

“Oh - Ogun, wha - wait! Nngh … if you keep going - -“

Smacking his lips, he comes up just enough for you to hear him say “You’ll cum? Good.” Before diving back in.

The way he immediately opens his mouth wide and plunges his tongue into the satiny soft folds and creases of your cunt, teasing at your entrance, has you jolting as if you’ve been electrocuted. Gritting your teeth, you clutch him all the tighter while the building pressure inside you steadily inches towards blissful discomfort. Your heaving body was truly hanging in the balance now, entirely at his mercy (of which there seemed to be none) and your legs uselessly flex in the air when you squeeze them around his head. You could almost taste it in the back of your throat.

“Fuck! Right there …” you whine as you rock your pelvis against his mouth, the motion stiff and halting. “Right there, baby … I’m s - so - ooooh - close!”

Ogun grunts in approval and drags his tongue up to the top of your slit again, burying his face somehow even deeper into the cushiony give of your pussy. He glances at you, very briefly, from under the fall of dark lashes and the heady, masculine glint in those burnt gold irises sends a powerful shudder rippling down your spine. Your mouth drops open as if to scream but nothing comes out. For a worryingly long moment, it feels like you forgot how to breathe.

All you can do is watch on in thrumming suspense when he drops his gaze and gives his head a shake to jostle all the nerve endings in your cunt. The braids you’d worked on all day give a little bounce in their ponytail before settling again, and your eyes start to roll back when he flattens his tongue to your clit so he can grind down on it again. Static shoots through your system as you arch against him, so fitfully your back starts to ache in protest, but it was much too late. Nothing could stop it now, not even if you wanted to.

You suck in a haggard breath and the coil snaps, just like that. With an almost violent jerk, you devolve into a fit of convulsions that has you wailing up at the ceiling in total disregard for the upstairs neighbors. They probably heard you every time you and your boyfriend had sex but it’s not as if you could very well help it. Ogun was a talented individual by nature and that certainly transferred over into bedroom activities too.

Helpless, all you can do is cling to him through the full bodied tremors that shake you straight down to your core while he leisurely laps at your throbbing clit to ease you through it. He always seemed intent on milking your orgasms for all they were worth, and that certainly didn’t help your case with your neighbors either. It always felt like something of an out of body experience when he was the one going down on you and you couldn’t exactly say you disliked him for that.

The exact opposite, actually.

“Oh, god …”

With a stuttering groan, you slowly go limp as you come down from your high one piece of you at a time. It was hard to tell which jagged edges fit where, but you’re still acutely aware of the mess he’s made of your cunt when Ogun finally straightens and you feel a rush of fresh air hit your drenched slit. You shiver at the sensation and crack your eyes open to peer down at him, whimpering.

“You didn’t listen …”

Snorting a quiet laugh, he shifts against you and brings a hand up to swipe the glistening moisture from his mouth. “I only did what you initially asked for, sweetheart. That doesn’t mean I can’t give you the second request, too.”

Your lips curl in a warbling smile at that, and he grins right back.

Letting your head loll against the couch cushions, you contentedly watch as he brings your legs down off his shoulders so he can move to stand. Leaving you spread out and feeling like silly putty, he yanks his shirt over his head with one quick, fluid motion that makes his abdominals tantalizingly ripple before reaching for his pants next. He makes quick work of the button and then the fly, anticipation evident in his body language when he shoves them along with his underwear down to his feet.

Ogun’s thick cock bounces eagerly when he steps out of his discarded clothes, and the sight alone is enough to make your pussy clench tight. You still felt sensitive and over wrought, so fresh off the tail end of your orgasm, but that doesn’t stop you from moaning faintly at the sight of him.

You’d never known a more attractive man in all your life.

“Ogun …” You murmur, eyes slipping shut when your desire flares back at full force dizzyingly fast.

Your eyes immediately pop back open, however, when he slides his arms under your knees and leans forward to brace against the couch, folding you up like a pretzel. Your toes flex as you squirm underneath him, glancing down at your defenless little cunt with an excited squeak. Puffy lips can’t help but spread in this position and you easily catch sight of your swollen clit straining towards him in obvious need, not yet satisfied.

Hovering just a scant breath away, his straining cock - all silky smooth and heavy - twitches in anticipation, eager to sink into you. It doesn’t look like it's going to fit. It never does but, somehow or another, he always manages to squeeze every girthy inch of himself inside you and the thought alone has you throbbing in sharp, sporadic pulses.

It was almost embarrassing how fast you were bouncing back from the first round, but you can’t quite complain when you watch his hanging ballsack sway with the motion of getting himself situated and your pussy responds in kind with an intense pulse. He had the body of a breeder and you were sure he would’ve already had you heavy and round by now if only you weren’t on birth control. Maybe someday, though …

“Ogun …” You were starting to feel well and truly delirious now, and you reach up to dig your nails into his forearms for leverage to ground yourself with.

He doesn’t seem to mind it though, and he merely issues a soft grunt of acknowledgement as he rocks forward a bit to angle your defenseless pussy up at him more. You can feel yourself squeeze down and you groan, dazedly watching your own thighs flex in their bent up position but there was simply no way out of his hold now. The thought alone is enough to have you breathing out a stuttering puff of air, which you promptly choke on when he starts to lower his pelvis towards yours.

“Yes, yes, yes, please give it to me, I need it, I need it, please --”

You’re whining. You realize that on some level, but you’re much too consumed by this desperate hunger to have him rearranging your guts to care about that right now. It wouldn’t take Ogun long at all to have you creaming around him at this rate.

Unperturbed, he casually adjusts his position over top of you before swooping down to catch your babbling mouth in another heated kiss to silence you. The passionate force behind the gesture pushes your head back against the cushions and you relent, groaning into his lips as your hands fly up to offer his sides an encouraging squeeze.

Luxuriating under the strength of his body, you drag your palms up across his chest and higher still to grasp his shoulders. With a weak, halfhearted jut of your pelvis, you make a sad little attempt at angling your hips up enough to feel his leaking cockhead against your sticky cunt but it’s no use. He has you thoroughly pinned and at his mercy like this. His for the taking whenever he saw fit to skewer you on his sizable length and not a moment sooner.

It was too much.

You suddenly break from the kiss in favor of keening in soft desperation. He pulls back, stopping just long enough to regard you with that infuriatingly attractive, heavy lidded look before pointedly glancing between your bodies.

Slowly, you follow his lead only to swallow hard when his thighs flex forward and the underside of his cock skirts along your parted pussy lips. The crude way it bumps against your clit has you jolting at the sensation and clutching him all the more fervently. Your whole body positively shakes as Ogun shuffles his feet a little further apart and tries again, the bulbous glans slipping and sliding through petal soft folds once, twice - until it abruptly finds its mark on the third stroke.

Catching at your entrance, he pauses for a moment and then slowly starts to sink in. Your breath hitches, mouth opening on a silent scream as you watch the ruddy pink head slowly disappear into your body. The stretch is immediately felt, and it’s more than enough to make your greedy pussy flutter around the intrusion even as it gushes more sticky slick to ease the way.

But the more of him that slides into the gummy sleeve of your insides, the less good it does. He’s just too big - wider than he is long, yet still large enough to push your heaving body right to its limits. You hold your breath, head spinning, when he pushes further in and forces your squeezing passage to make room for him. More and more, until he’s about half of the way inside where he finally pauses to let you adjust.

You twitch, weakly writhing like a small animal caught in the merciless maw a steel trap. You were utterly powerless underneath him.

“Oh - Ogun! Fuck … fuck me - dear Sol, please just fuck me!”

He draws a slow, calming breath. “You’re still so tight, baby … I don’t want to hurt you.”

Whimpering, you reach between your legs and wrap trembling fingers around the base of him. Ogun moans after a few awkward pumps of your hand and tilts his face up at the ceiling, basking in the sensation of you jerking him while he’s half wedged inside your body.

It must feel good because it takes him a prolonged moment to get his bearings again and when he does, he carefully eases himself back just enough to give a tiny thrust forward. You can feel the moment he slips in a little deeper than before and you guide him into it, one sedate thrust at a time. When you stroke up, he pulls back and when you stroke down, he pushes into you. It’s a maddeningly cohesive rhythm that has you panting like a bitch in heat long before he finally slides home and you outright choke when the fronts of his thighs settle against the backs of yours a small eternity later.

“Shit,” He hisses, brows knitting as he peers down to admire the sight of his pelvis flush against yours. “That’s a tight fit … how’re you doing, sweetheart? It’s not too much, is it?”

You give your head a numb shake and roll your eyes up at him, teasing your fingertips through the mess of curls at the base of his groin while you do it. Words couldn’t even come close to describing how stuffed full you felt, but you loved it.

“N - no … it’s perfect … feels - ngh - good …”

Smiling, Ogun dips his face close to press his mouth to your forehead in a chastely sweet kiss. He stays like that as he carefully angles back until just the tip remains and then, so slowly you can feel it in your bones, he pushes back in. The drag is exquisite and it feels like you’re practically suffocating on the intense pleasure of every solid inch, each throbbing vein. You could feel it all.

A wordless cry of pleasure bursts out of you when he slides back out and in again at that same staggered pace. He’s so big you can feel the pressure on your cervix and when he wiggles his hips, grinding into you, oh god, it feels like he’s pushing the glans right on that raised ring of puckered flesh. Your mouth drops open but nothing comes out. It was hard just to keep your eyes focused anymore.

Haltingly, he starts up a gradual but steady pace as your body adjusts around the intrusion and makes room for him, your pulpy walls clinging to the length of him on each drawn out stroke. It comes as a great relief, particularly when the building pressure swells into high strung arousal and replaces the initial discomfort of being stretched right to the breaking point.

In a matter of moments, the sticky wet clicking that noises each time your pussy sucks him in deep on the downward thrust comes to dominate the living room. The sound of it only seems highlighted by your sensitive bleating and the husky groans slipping out of him, the drone of the tv so much an afterthought now that you forgot it was even on. Even when he picks up enough speed to drive the fronts of his thighs against your upturned ass, creating a sharp, fleshy slap, it’s nothing compared to the hungry slurping of your cunt.

You probably would’ve been embarrassed by the whole thing if only it didn’t feel like he was spearing you straight down the middle. It made your eyes cross, mouth hanging open in doped out bliss while you cling and clutch at him for dear life. There wasn’t a single inch of you that he didn’t touch like this and it lit up every nerve ending along the way like a goddamn firework.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was going to break you in half.

“Such a pretty baby. Look how well you’re taking my cock ....”

You gasp. “Hnng, s’so big …!”

“And you’re taking all of it,” he murmurs, just this side of breathless. “Like a champ. Do you have any idea how good you look right now? Huh?”

You warble out an incomprehensible response, far too overwhelmed and riveted by the way Ogun’s cock glistens obscenely every time it makes another appearance between your thighs. Your fingers dig into his forearms, leaving crescent shaped marks in his skin and try not to scream in ecstasy while he carves out a space within you.

You loved watching him fuck you like this for a multitude of reasons, the most pressing at the moment being that it drove you absolutely wild.

“If you keep squeezing me like that … ngh, I won’t last much longer.” He warns, his tone far too strained to hold even a hint of real reprimand.

“I want it,” you blubber wetly. “I want it, Ogun, please …”

“You want me to cum in you?”

A jerky nod accompanied by a mewling whimper.

He lets out a shaky breath as the speed of his thrusts quicken and you jerk underneath him, bleating like something wounded. The muscles in his arms flex and twitch around you when he smoothly adjusts the positioning of his hands, hunching further over you without so much as missing a beat.

“God, you drive me crazy …”

You’d like to tell him the feeling is mutual but you don’t get the chance. A particularly sharp snap of his hips knocks something loose inside you and you uncontrollably shake, legs kicking up uselessly at the air with a wordless noise of soaring pleasure. Cumming again doesn’t seem like such a far off possibility and a frazzled whine claws at the back of your throat when he presses his sweat slick forehead against yours, prompting you to glance up.

Ogun’s eyes were always beautiful to look at but especially so when you were staring into them from just a hair's breadth away and they were clouded dark with primal need as well something much more weighty.

“Tell me you want it, sweetheart. Tell me.”

“I - ngh - aaaahh, I want your cum, Ogun! I need you to fill me uh - up, please, I want it so baaad!”

A shudder races through him and he groans, eyes slipping shut for a brief moment as if to get his bearings before cracking open again. Keeping his forehead against yours, he tilts his head down to look between the two of you and, once again, you follow suit.

The sinfully rich color of his cock, just a shade or two darker than the rest of him, looks all the more tantalizing coated in your slick. You’ve all but drenched him at this point, the tight curls that frame his length visibly damp and matted together now. You suck in a frazzled breath at the sight, your head spinning alarmingly fast when the building pressure in your gut becomes almost too much to withstand. How was it that one single man could make you feel so primal with need but tenderly cared for at the same time?

“I - -“ You all but choke on it, wheezing at the next stroke. “I’m gonna’ - ahh, cum again … don’t stop!”

“I’m about to cum too, sweetheart.” With a soft groan, he lifts his attention to pin you with a heady look of challenge. “Think we can cum together?”

You frantically nod. “Uh huh!”

The corner of Ogun’s mouth twitches at that, settling into a lazy smirk as he shifts back and slows the motion of his hips. You can’t help groaning in disappointment but you realize what he’s doing quickly enough when he lets up his hold on your legs so he can lower himself down to lay out on top of you. Working his arms under your overheated back, he practically crushes you to the front of him and you bring your own up to wrap them around his neck.

This new position increases the pressure in your guts by a noticeable margin and the air rushes out of you with a stuttering sigh when he crawls up onto the edge of the couch to pin your thighs under his weight. Your legs are just as useless as before, twitching impotently in the air when he eases his hips back as far as he can. He doesn’t make it far, just enough to feel the drag and the subsequent plunge, but it makes you cry out all the same.

Face shoved into your hair, Ogun lets loose a series of heavy grunts when he picks up his earlier pace and the same sticky clicking rises in the air again. It’s much less deafening this time, softer by virtue of his shorter strokes, and you gratefully clutch him against you, glad to hold onto him.

“You feel so good …” he groans, making you shudder at the puff of hot air against your neck.

You can’t quite find your voice though, and you respond with a faltering moan that has him twitching inside you. The thick bands of musculature across his shoulders dance under your fingers each time he moves, emphasizing the raw strength in his lithe body. And yet he was still being careful with you, the plunge of his cock as carefully measured as before so as not to slam against your cervix but still tease it.

It wasn’t even that he was unreasonably large but, rather, he just so happened to fit you like a glove and that was perhaps the most arousing part of all.

“Ogun,” you finally manage to whimper. “Mm’ gonna’ cum …”

“Me too …”

The quietly stricken groan that comes out of him next makes your toes curl. You clench around him in a palpitating flutter, so close to the edge it brought the sting of tears to your eyes. His hips stutter at the squeeze and he trembles against you, struggling to keep up the subdued thrusting he’d settled into.

It quickly proves futile when his body tenses up with a low, faltering moan that rattles so deep you feel it in your cunt. The air catches in your throat and you squeeze him with your arms across his back and your legs around his narrow waist, clutching him to you as he lurches. Blunt fingers dig into your skin and he gives a little jerk, issuing a sucker punched wheeze seconds before you feel the rush of hot seed flooding your cunt.

You tremble wildly, nails clawing into his back when the sensation of Ogun shooting thick ropes against your gummy walls makes your muscles clamp around him hard enough to send you over the edge. Writhing in bliss, you stutter out a groan that he matches with one of his own while the two of you quake through your orgasms as one.

It was transcendental in a way you never would have thought possible.

Dropping his face to the couch cushions when you finally start to grow still underneath him some moments later, he issues a rumbling sound of satisfaction. The ragged quality of your panting quickly rushes in to replace the sticky wet squelching of your cunt, and you go boneless while you try to catch your breath. That was a lot easier said than done though and he, predictably, recovers much quicker than you.

“I’m surprised we really managed to pull that off.” He hums in contentment and turns his face to kiss at your ear, teasingly soft. “That’s a first.”

“And hopefully not the last.” You wheeze, making him chuckle.

“You liked it then, I take it?”

Dislodging your cramping fingers from his back with a certain amount of effort, you bring your hand up to push the hair from your face. “It was amazing … intense. I didn’t think we could do it either.”

Ogun lifts his head to press his mouth to your check, your nose, the spot between your eyes, all with a big smile on his face. “I’m glad we did. I promise I’ll try my best to make it happen again but no promises, okay?”

You can’t quite stop from giggling. “Don’t worry. I have faith in you.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Pausing long enough to give your ribs an affectionate pinch, he carefully pushes up from the couch and leans back. His softened cock slips out of you in the process, and you internally wince at the dribble of hot cum that oozes from you without him there to stopper it.

You draw your legs up to keep the mess to a minimum when he stands, gleaming eyes taking in the sight of you curled up on your couch with his semen leaking down the crease of your pussy for a prolonged beat. And then, he grins.

“Wanna’ get cleaned up and I’ll order that pizza?”

“How am I supposed to think about food after all that?” You pout at him.

Sending a sly look down at the spot between your thighs, Ogun starts to turn towards the bathroom. “I’ll get you a rag. I’m sure you’ll realize just how hungry you are once the adrenaline wears off. Besides, you should probably refuel before I try to give you an encore.”

Smiling at that, you appreciatively glance down at his tight ass before he disappears through the doorway. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind he’d be able to pull it off.

[hopeless-ro-simptic]

The Artist and The Dancer -Through Ink and Quill | A Classics Collab

This is my submission for @pleasantanathema ‘s 10k followers collab! Please see the masterlist here and give the rest of the creators some serious love! We’ve all worked hard on this and are so proud of @pleasantanathema for making it to 10k! 

Aged up! Edgar Degas inspired Shinso Hitoshi X Female reader

Word Count: Just under 10k! 

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal fingering, not safe sex, not super historically accurate, they fuck in a bathtub, references to loss of sight and repeated mentioned ankle injuries, angst, fluff, quirk use in a sexual manner, kind of body worshiping, praise. IDK how to tag stuff for warnings. It’s pretty tame. 

Quick background before we start: Degas is a well known impressionist painter from the 1800s, he’s super well known for paintings to do with ballerina’s, women bathing, and horse races. He also has a degenerative eye disease that I referenced as well. In this little...long? fic of mine, quirks are still a thing but heroes not so much. Shinso’s quirk is only mentioned twice, but reader has a quirk that allows her to make music from her body when she dances. This can be read as any body type/description of reader but it is mentioned that she is a ballet dancer, has some sort of hair to grab onto, and someone out there can lift her up. Also I tried to put breaks where sometime has either passed or we’ve gone back in time, and I tried to make it clear but hopefully it makes sense. We’ve got quite the backflash going on.

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Smack. Smack. Smack.

The telltale signs of a new pair of point shoes. No other sounds in the room other than those of ballet flats scuffing the floor, the bending and breaking of their fresh soles, and of tull swishing about with the movements.

Shinso truly loved these sounds, his eyes flickering from the blank canvas he set up in front of him over to the ballerina sitting in the middle of the floor, a frown tugging at your lips as you bend the new shoes in half, flexing them back and forth before smacking them harshly against the floor again.

No words were spoken as the two prepared, Shinso setting up his brushes and paint, getting comfortable on the rickety stool under him, the you finally deciding your shoes were to your satisfaction before you pulled them on, expertly tying the ribbons that you had painstakingly sewed on, before you started in on your stretches.

The light from the large windows that were set into the sloping ceilings of the attic gave the two plenty of natural lighting. Dust particles swirling in the air capturing Shinso’s attention as he shifted his lazy glance away from the stretching ballerina, picking up his paintbrush and getting to work on filling in the background of his canvas. His eyes flicking around the room and back to his canvas taking everything in at once.

There was a soft huff coming from the you that drug Shinso’s eyes over to your form, watching as you pushed yourself off on the floor before you stepped into first position, your eyes staring at the floor before shaking your head and switching to what Shinso had heard you refer to as fourth position, your eyes hovering just above his head for the briefest of moment before you dropped into your dance.

Music flowed through the room as you moved, entrancing the painter for several moments as the music lived and breathed in your movements. Dipping when you dipped, lifting as you jumped, swirling around the space like the perfect partner.  The string instruments that lived just under the your skin, filled the space with melodic tunes sounding like a live symphony was playing in the small attic that just held the two of you.

Shinso watched the dancer with awe for several moments before he forced himself to look away, picking up his paintbrush again, grabbing paint and smearing it across the canvas, letting the music flow in him and dictate his brush strokes as he captured the ballerina in front of him. He worked as you danced, his paint brush dancing along the canvas to your melody, filling in the empty spaces with a thick layer of paint, his eyes barely looking at his work as they trailed your steps across the creaking wooden floor, enchanted with your movements, with the way that your skin shimmered with sweat, how the tutu resembled flower petals reminding him of a fantasy creature that was too beautiful for the real world.

The discordant sounds of strings snapping melted into silence as you thudded to the ground with a curse had Shinso jumping from his chair, knocking his paint over onto the floor in the process. You were bent over yourself in the fetal position, clutching your ankle that was already swelling, the skin bruising as the moments ticked by. Shinso crouched down by you, hands hovering above you before they finally rested on your shaking shoulders, the sight of tears dripping onto the wood underneath you had his stomach clenching.

“Are you okay?” He had barely whispered the words when you snapped your head up, slapping his hand away, anger clear on your face as you glared at him a hiss on your tongue.

“I’m fine, don’t touch me.”

He sat back on his haunches, watching with concern as you struggled to get your breathing under control, sitting up, adjusting the ribbons on your shoes before you forced yourself into a shaking standing position, hesitating to put weight on your foot as you looked down at him.

“Well are you just going to sit there? Go back to painting.” Your eyes were harsh, your words like a whip that stung Shinso’s cheek as he looked up at you from his position, a frown settling on his lips as he pushed himself off of the floor backing away from you, his eyes shifting down to your swelling ankle. Annoyance at you burning on his tongue. Still he understood how important this was to you. How dancing was the reason you breathed, just as his art was his.

He couldn’t ignore the thoughts in his brain though as you stepped back into your dance, music swirling around you for several seconds, the notes sounding shaky and pitched only for you to drop back down to your hands and knees again when your foot couldn’t support your weight, the music ending harshly.

Shinso hesitated by your side, hovering as he watched you slam your fists into the wooded floor below, a scream of frustration echoing through the small attic as you crumpled onto yourself, shaking with the force of the sobs leaving your lips, the movement activating a soft hum from your quirk. It wasn’t until your fists grew bloody and you sat up with fevor, reaching for your ankle and yanking at the laces angrily did he finally step in.

“Stop… stop… Y/n I said stop!” Your eyes glazed over momentarily, your movements halting as the tired artist activated his own quirk, crouching in front of you, his grips on your wrist tight as he regarded you tensely before releasing his quirk, your shoulders slumping slightly.

“Y/n…”

“Leave me alone, please, it’s not worth it.” Tears were streaming down your face as you tried to quiet your sobs but failed, hiding your face into your palms ignoring the sting from where your knuckles were split.

“What are you talking about… y/n –“ His words were cut off as she weakly lashed out at him again with her own, her voice cracking as she cried.

“This is my third repeated injury in a year. I can’t dance anymore Hitoshi, I can’t – They replace dancer’s for less. You should just find a different muse, there are plenty of dancers at the theater, they already replaced my role for-.”

His grip on your wrists grew tighter as he pulled them away from your face, peering into your eyes as he did so, frustration so clear in his eyes as he regarded you.

“My muse, what are you even talking about? I will never replace you. You think I paint you because you are a dancer? I paint dancers because they remind me of you. Just the same as the horse races I paint because you love them so much.”

“But I can’t- my stupid ankle- I’m usele-“

“You are not useless! So what things aren’t turning out exactly how you want it to! You can still do this! You just need to-“

“To what? To what Hitoshi! What am I supposed to do if I can’t dance! What am I supposed to live for!”

“Me! Live for me.”  His own voice cracked in frustration, and you could see his eyes becoming glossy as they shifted around your face.

“Hitoshi… I-“

His lips were on yours before you could finish your statement, a squeak of surprise leaving your lips as you tensed in his grasp, only for him to pull away before you could react. His grip on your wrists loosening until he dropped them altogether, eyes focused on a chip in the wooden floor between the two of you as you gaped at him, your mind screaming at you to say something, to do something, anything to change the look of torture on his tired face.

“I’ll draw you a bath.”

And he was gone. It wasn’t for several seconds that you finally noticed the tape he had placed into your lap for your ankle, but the pain in your ankle had long been forgotten your eyes latched onto the stairs descending into the rest of the artist’s house.

--

Your fingers wandered along the clouds of bubbles, your mind lost in thought as you sunk lower into the warm water, your injured ankle resting gingerly on a towel on the edge of the bath. By the time that you had finished wrapping your ankle and had made your way down the stairs to the bathroom, Hitoshi was already gone, a note hastily scrawled out and left on the chair next to the bath.  

He had gone out.

Short, simple, practically no explanation for his disappearance.

It was his brevity that had you clenching your teeth over and over, your mood shifting from frustration to confusion to something else that you tried to ignore as you thought back to how this all started.

--

You had been working with the artist for almost two and a half years now, after having met him at the theatre. You had been in the corps at the time but was quickly becoming a favorite of the director, Aizawa Shota. To the point that when he had allowed the young artist to watch a rehearsal at his request, to study the movement of the human body as he had explained, he had pulled you aside and introduced you to the purple haired man as one of the options for the Prima for the next show. You had been elated at the time, noting the slight up tweak of the director’s usual frown as you tried to keep your own smile from splitting your cheeks open.

Aizawa had suggested that you work through your practice routine, allowing Shinsou to watch and sketch away on the sidelines, as long as he didn’t distract you. You prided yourself on your ability to focus and block out everything when you worked, but you couldn’t help but notice the way the young artists face shifted into amazement when music started to flow out from your movements, no instrument in sight. The way that he had all but dropped his pencil out of his hand, his eyes glued to your every movement, his previously bored face suddenly filled with complete enchantment.  

At some point in your practice, he had finally picked his pencil up and ended up with over half of his sketchbook filled with renderings of you. You had asked to see his drawings when you had finished, and this time the artist got to see the way your own face lit up at seeing his work, constantly drifting back to one sketch in particular where you had been suspended in mid-jump, the way he had captured you made it truly look like you were flying.

It wasn’t until you had gotten back home late that night and unpacked your bag that you noticed at some point before the artist had left, he had slipped the drawing in your bag with a note attached stating that he would love nothing more than to capture more of his ‘muse’.  

He had visited the theatre almost every day after that, Aizawa allowing the artist to watch from the sidelines, some form of art medium in his hands at all times, as long as he didn’t interrupt.

Several of the other performers at first had flocked to him with high pitched giggling as they asked him to paint them, or offering to preform for him themselves, but the artist practically ignored them all, acting like they weren’t there until Aizawa would step in and the girls would scatter in fear of being reprimanded or worse. At first you had wondered if Aizawa would get annoyed and ask the artist to leave, clearly it was affecting the others, but then you wondered if the dark haired director had a soft spot for the young man, spending a lot of his time around the him, and even cracking a few smiles at things that he had said. You swore that hell had froze over when you had heard the deep chuckle that was Aizawa Shota’s laugh for the first time.

When you had found out that the artist was the director’s nephew, you weren’t at all surprised, the similarities too obvious to not notice.

Days had turned into months, and it was no longer shocking to see dark lavender hair waiting in the wings, the others growing used to him as well and treating him as practically nothing more than a stage prop. The two of you didn’t speak much, if at all some days, conversations for the most part only pertaining to mutual admiration for each other’s work. But somedays the conversations would linger longer, questions of other interests such as food, music, and even sports coming in to play. That was when you had told him of your love of horse racing, how your aunt had owned horses that were famous for their champion bloodlines and how you had always enjoyed dressing up to go to the races, flouncy hat included.

Hitoshi had told you that he had never been to the races, and while you had been fake appalled and teased him mercilessly the rest of the day about it, you had assumed that would have been the end of the conversation, that much like you the artist would completely remove it from his mind and move on with the rest of his life outside of work. It wasn’t until the following Monday when he had waved you over to show you his sketchbook filled with drawings of horses and jockeys that you realized the artist in front of you had actually been interested in what you had been saying. The feelings stirring in your stomach at that realization had been… kind of nice.

Not even a week after that was the first incident. True to his word Aizawa had chosen you and one other girl to work on the Prima roll for the next ballet they would be preforming. You both would be learning the part, and he would decide along the way which one of you he wanted to go with, the other would be placed back into the corps. You had barely been on time that day, skirting into the wings of the stage and dropping down into hasty stretches, Aizawa shooting you an icy glare at interrupting his instructions he had been giving the group, that had melted a little at the end as you shoot him an apologetic one back. You never were late, and he could show mercy… occasionally.

Minutes later you were on the stage, running through the first number, allowing the orchestra to take their time setting up as your quirk worked it’s magic, the music flowing through the air as you ran through the movements with practiced ease. You knew your steps like the back of your hand, knew the timing of the music like it was your own heartbeat.  You knew that the next step, your partner would be stepping up behind you, lifting you up into a jump and gracefully bringing you back to the ground to move into the next series of foot work that ended in a pirouette.

But the pirouette never came, instead the sound of strings snapping, and shrill notes filled the air covering the sound of a body hitting the ground. The series of gasps and whispers sounded quiet in your ear compared to the sound of your own heartbeat, matching the throbbing in your foot. You could feel the tears springing to your eyes, refusing to open them even as shadows fell onto your form. It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand grip your shoulder gently coaxing you over did you finally force yourself to look up into the dark eyes of the director, his brow furrowed as he examined your foot along with one of the trainers that helped take care of the dancers.  You could barely hold back a scream as they guided you to move your foot, your vision blurring as the two shared a look between them that only made your insides churn.

Before they had wheeled you off to the local doctor, you had caught sight of lavender hair, a grim look on his face, his eyes never leaving yours.

You were beside yourself, wallowing really. A sprained ankle. A sprained ankle had you locked up in your small apartment, staring off into space trying to think of anything to distract yourself from what you really wanted. Aizawa refused to let you even step foot inside the theater until you were signed off on by a doctor. Insisting that you stay home and rest. Heal up. Get strong again so that you could come back and work. Because he expected your recovery to be swift. That’s what he told you. That he expected this to just be a minor setback and that you would be back in time to still vie for that Prima position you so badly wanted. That if you really wanted to be Prima, you needed to take care of yourself now so you could work later.

But you had seen the looks, heard the whispers of the others. A sprained ankle… for most would be a temporary setback, but for a ballerina it could be career ending.

Still, you forced yourself to look on the bright side, to focus on Aizawa’s words, to force yourself to remain in bed with the ice pack on your ankle even as you felt so antsy that sitting still one more minute might actually drive you mad. You can’t say you weren’t beyond excited when there was the softest knock at your door that had you immediately perking up.

“Come in, it’s unlocked.” You had had a few friends from the theater and otherwise come to visit, and while it was frustrating to listen over and over about how they wanted you to get better soon, it was still nice to have some sort of company.

But you hadn’t expected that a mop of lavender hair would peak its way through the door, a sheepish look on his face as he took in the room, eyes settling nervously on you.

“Shinsou… I wasn’t expecting you to visit.”

He stepped into the room, leaving the door open behind him slightly probably as to affirm to your oh so nosey roommate that nothing scandalous was happening. He pulled a set of flowers from behind his back, clearing his throat as he looked around the room for a place to set them.

“I uh… brought you these, but I see that I wasn’t very creative with my get well present.” You glanced around the room, taking in the dozens of bouquets that were scattered across every possible surface. He’s not wrong. Flowers weren’t exactly the most unique, but still you felt something stir inside at the thought of the moody artist picking flowers out at a stand. You didn’t fight the smile spilling onto your lips as you regarded him.

“It’s okay, I’ll forgive you for your lack of creativity today.”

He chuckled softly at that, looking at the floor and studying the wood grain, his eyes not meeting yours a smile tugging at his lips.

“Thank goodness for that, I think I’d be beside myself if my muse didn’t forgive me.”

His muse. The thought repeated like a mantra in your head for the next several weeks, somehow giving more reassurance and comfort than anything anyone else had told you over the course of your healing process. The artist had come by a couple more times since then, bringing sketchbooks filled with drawings and paintings of racehorses and a couple of the ballerinas at the theatre, asking questions about different poses that he had captured the ballerina’s in, wanting to know the technical terms and just talking to you about random daily life.

Before you knew it you were getting signed off by the doctor, a smile on their face as they let you know that you healed up wonderfully but still to take it slow and make sure to stretch your ankles properly before and after dancing.

Then everything went back to almost normal. You were back at the theater six days a week, though they had you slowly getting back used to the dance routines, refusing to let you do any jumps for the first several weeks until you were cleared again by the doctor at your follow up. One thing was different though.

Shinso came to the theatre less and less, and when he did he was growing more and more moody and frustrated. More noticeable still was the way that his art started to change, the way that he was less focused on making a clear and crisp rendition, the subjects growing blurrier and with abstract brushstrokes. Colors no longer having defined areas and being used to blend across the entire canvas in ways that you hadn’t seen before.

The young artist was also growing in popularity as well, though that didn’t mean he was any more friendly than before. In fact, you had seen him turn down many a parties and dates with a level of tact that was more than lacking.

At first it was just towards other people, the few straggler dancers that still vied for his attention, people that would get in his way when he was walking, random people that annoyed him at the racetracks when he would join you to watch the horses because they were breathing wrong.

Then he started to grow colder towards you. At first you thought he was just having a bad day, trying not to let it affect your own mood. But one bad day turned into two, then three, and the next thing you knew, you barely could be around the hostile artist without feeling like you were going to blow up yourself.

It was a particularly bad day. You had been avoiding Shinso all day, refusing to talk to him and trying desperately to focus on your role for the upcoming decision date that Aizawa had set. But with how loud the artist was growing with his yelling it was hard for even you to ignore. Even more so when someone brought to your attention that the argument was with none other than director Aizawa himself.

Still, you forced yourself to dance harder, to make your music louder and to block out the artists shouts. You blocked everything out as you dipped down, the music following the flow of movement from your body as you moved into a succession of spins and leaps. You were halfway through your routine, your solo, feeling good about the way your movements flowed across the stage, the music in the air sounding light and airy. Like you were flying.

But with the sudden slam of a door flying open and into the wall, the shouting of the young artist grew significantly louder breaking into your bubble of solitude making you fall out of your third spin, silence growing heavy as your music died down and you turned to watch the angry man storm through the theater space.

“Hitoshi, come back here and let’s talk about this rationally.”

“No, I’m done! I’m done! It’s useless! I’m useless! Everything in this world is fucking useless!”

“Hitoshi-“

“No, fuck you! Fuck you, fuck this place, and fuck -… fuck this.”

You watched in a mixture of shock and dread as Shinsou tore apart his sketch book, flinging pages into the air, yanking his portable paint pallet out of his bag and snapping it in half tossing it across the room and into the wall, paint splattering everywhere as pieces of the pallet shattered off in different directions. Shinsou tore his bag off of his body, the strap snapping as he did so, throwing it to the floor before turning and leaving the theater with a slam of the door.

The silence that followed was uneasy. Only broken by the whispers of the crew members and some of the dancers. You turned to Aizawa who was running his fingers through his hair, a look of distraught on his face as he kneeled down and started to pick up some of the scattered drawings littering the floor, his voice rough as he spoke.

“Rehearsal is over for today. Go home and get rest. I want everyone back here early tomorrow.”

You looked around watching as everyone collected their things, chattering quietly and sending glances back to the director and you as they left the theater. You felt frozen in your spot until you noticed a drawing near your feet, a drawing of you.

Bending down to pick it up you examined it, a frown pulling at your lips as you realized it was a quick sketch of you. Messy, compared to his usual work, but it mostly focused on your face. If you didn’t look for specific details it looked like you were laughing, holding onto what looked like it could have been a hat that you wore to the racetrack weeks ago, the wind blowing your hair in your face. The only thing that was actually clear in the drawing was your smile, the attention to detail in the way your lips quirked up had you pausing. It was different than the rest of the drawing, all focus being pulled to the one point, whereas the rest seemed almost blurry, vague.  

“He drew it from memory.” Aizawa’s voice had you jumping, looking up at the director, a blush creeping onto your face at your reaction. You had completely forgotten he was there, but the director didn’t seem to notice as he lightly tapped the drawing in your hands, his face pulled into a sad frown as he regarded it.

“Is that why it’s so blurry?” You took a deep breath, handing the director the drawing to allow you to start your cool down stretches. He didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to lock the theater up, nor did it seem he minded you staying for company. The last thing you wanted to do was cause another injury because you weren’t taking care of yourself after practicing so hard.

But the director just gave you an odd look, a crease appearing between his brows.

“… would you mind doing me a favor when you leave here? I have some things to take care of here and I’m afraid it will be much too late by the time I’m done.”

“Yea of course,” You tilted your head giving him a look of confusion.

An hour later you were standing here, staring up at the house in front of you, you couldn’t help but feel the anxiety creeping in as looked back down at the note in your hand, shifting the full and heavy bag on your shoulder. While you didn’t mind helping out the director, this wasn’t exactly something you wanted to deal with right now. But you agreed. So with a heavy sigh you rapped your knuckle against the wooden door three times, waiting, silently chewing your lip for a response.

“I told you to fuck off- oh… y/n?” He was squinting at you for a moment his frown turning to look of confusion, peaking his head out of his door and looking around the street for something.

“Aizawa asked me to bring this back to you.” You stood tall, pulling on the inner ballerina and forcing a face of bravery, ignoring the fluttering feeling settling in your stomach. This was the first time at his place, and the sight in front of you had you fighting to keep the blush out of your cheeks, a fight you were sure you were failing.

He looked absolutely wrecked. His coat was long gone. His usually crisp button up was opened, hanging loosely off of his frame, untucked from his pants. His belt already undone, shoes missing. Not to mention his regular ruffled and messed up hair was sticking out at odd angels and looked more bedhead like than normal.

Sure, you had seen the tired artist show up at the theater and even your home when you were out with the injury a few times looking a little sleepy and rumpled, the sight always making it hard to keep your eyes off of him, but this… this was a whole other level. He was gorgeous.

His eyes hovered on your face for a moment, only making your cheeks redder, but if he noticed he didn’t say anything, his usual snarking teasing gone as his eyes shifted down to the large bag on your shoulder his expression turning sour as he reached out and took it from you.

“You really didn’t have to… should have just thrown it all away. Or use it for kindling.”

“Don’t say that.” Your voice came out harsher than you expected, and you immediately caught yourself, biting you lip and hoping you didn’t piss the moody artist off even more. You did not want to argue right now.

“It’s true. It’s all junk-“ He tossed the satchel onto something inside the house, maybe a table or a chair, or probably just the floor given his attitude.

“I think it all looks beautiful.” You stated like it was a matter of fact.

His eyes looked up back towards your own, shifting around your face several times as he spoke his next question, squinting ever so slightly like he was having a hard time deciding what to focus on. You couldn’t help but feel self-conscious.

“Do… do you want to come in? I want to show you something… I know you don’t have a chaperon-“ He brought his hand up to scratch at his neck, looking back into his house as he spoke.

“Yes!” You flinched at how quickly and desperate that sounded, but the words were already out, and it was worth it when the artist in front of you let out a soft chuckle, giving you a slightly bewildered look before stepping back and allowing you in.

If your mother knew what you were doing right now, going into a man’s house, a single man’s house without a chaperone, she’d faint right there from shame. But you choose not to think about that as you stepped in, the door closing softly behind you as Shinso guided you through his home.

His home that was littered with art. Every surface, every wall, everything was covered with canvases and sketch paper. The floor even had some strewn along it, like it fell off the over piled surfaces and he never bothered to pick it up. Some of it you even recognized from seeing it before. Drawings upon drawings of horses and ballerina’s and even several portraits all along the place, some barely started, some halfway done, and so many that looked completed.

You saw oil paintings, gouache, charcoal sketches, even some wax figures. There were pieces of pastel chalks all over the place, paint brushes in water jars and coffee mugs, sketch pads everywhere you looked. What you easily counted as at least four different easels.

You felt like you were in heaven, your eyes skirting all throughout the room, taking in anything and everything. You felt like you were stepping into the mind of the artist in front of you, and you couldn’t help but gape in awe. But the artist didn’t stop, gesturing you to follow him as he walked back through his hallway, skipping straight past a set of stairs that led to what you assumed was the attic with the large windows that you could see from outside. Instead, he walked directly back to the house, opening a door, and letting you step inside. Leaning against the door frame, he nodded to the easel in the center of the room.

You felt giddy, a smile on your face as you skipped over to the easel, beyond excited to see what the artist was working on. You looked back towards him once more, to which he only solemnly nodded in response, making your expression drop slightly.

“Go ahead, I want your opinion on it.”

You just wanted him to smile and were tempted on making a snarky comment that would get at least some sort of response from him, even it didn’t last for more than a second. Instead, you turned back to the easel, gingerly lifting up the sheet that was covering it until it unearthed what was underneath, the sheet slipping to the floor as you stepped back, taking in what was in front of you.

You were silent for a long moment as you took it in. It was clearly a painting of a ballerina, as so much of his work was, but this painting, was by far the most abstract that you had seen. The colors all blended together, none of the shapes having a specific outline, the ballerina not even having a face, just blotches of color where you assumed the shadows somewhat outlined vague features.

But for some reason, it was the most beautiful work that you think you had seen. The way that everything blended seemed to invoke a feeling in your that you just couldn’t pinpoint to one emotion.

The ballerina could have been anyone, and the lack of facial expression and the fact that the only thing that was clear was that she was wearing a tutu reminded you of how it felt to be invisible back in your days in the corps. How you were just another background dancer. Mediocre in the sea of talent. So easy to blend into the background and be forgotten.  

But looking further into it she was gorgeous. Her pose was clearly one of a graceful jump, frozen in time, she looked like she was flying, the tutu making her look like a bird, the way her limbs extended and pointed just perfectly. She looked ethereal, like she wasn’t of this earth. She looked… free.

“Well damn. I didn’t think it was that bad.”

You startled, looking over to the painter who had the weakest of teasing smiles on his lips, like he was trying to make a joke but wasn’t sure if it was actually a joke or not. That’s when you felt the cool air stinging your cheeks where your tears had wet them. Reaching up you brushed your tears away a soft laugh leaving your lips as you looked back to the painting in front of you sniffling softly.

“It’s… I don’t even have a word for it.”

“Ugly, horrific, putrid? Maybe vomit inducing? That’s the same isn’t it?” You shook your head, pushing the artist’s shoulder softly as he came to stand by you, crossing his arms, as he regarded the painting seeming to search for a word to properly describe.

“Magnificent.”

His eyes shifted back to yours, his lifts quirking up into a smile slightly as his eyes shifted around your face again, trying to memorize your features. You smiled back, his eyes focusing on your lips for a moment before his own frowned and he let out a sigh looking back towards the picture and taking a step towards it as if to see it better.

“I’m going blind.”

You froze for a moment, staring at him in utter confusion, your eyebrows pulling together as you listened to him speak.

“That’s why everything is so… blurry, unpronounced. I’ve always painted what I saw, and this... this is what I see.” He gestured to the painting, your eyes flipping back to it and looking at it in a new light. Your brain working a mile a minute as things started to click in your mind.

The clumsiness. The way his art was growing more and more abstract, less defined, turning to simple brushstrokes of color. The way his eyes never seemed to focus very long on any one thing, his squinting.

His hostility.

“I don’t want to give up being an artist… I love it more than anything. It’s my passion, but I don’t see how I can keep going if I can’t even find my paintbrush half of the time.”

“Shinsou…”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not giving it.”

He turned and regarded you, looking hesitant, guarded. All you wanted to do was give him a hug, but from one artist to another… you remembered what you felt like when you hurt your ankle. The fear of not being able to do what you love. He needed someone to push him, to show him he still can. Not someone to coddle him.

“This…” you gestured to the painting, stepping towards it and tilting your head as you looked at it. “This is amazing Shinsou… this isn’t just a picture. It’s not just a rendition of life. This shows emotion. It impacts someone. This …This is art. If someone doesn’t like this, if someone tells you this is trash, or it isn’t art or you can’t be an artist. They are a fool. A complete idiot. And they are just jealous because even with full sight they can’t make something half of amazing.”

Turning back to the purple haired artist, you expected an argument, a protest, some lame excuse as to why he thought it was awful. But instead, he just looked at you for a long moment, before turning back to the picture, hiding a smile as he hummed a soft response, his voice cracking as he did. “Whatever you say my muse.”

From that day on, Shinso was back at the theater, back to painting you, a little less moody than usual. After your second injury, days after Aizawa had given you the role of Prima, which he had to give to the other dancer, Shinso had come to visit you daily, helping you around as you healed. Some days he would paint, sometimes he would bring a hoard of pencils, once he even brought just paper, taking time to fold up so many little figurines for your bedside table. After you had healed enough to start lightly dancing again, the two of you had decided to work out of his home. Allowing you the freedom to dance, without disrupting the theater, and allowing him to create art as he watched.

-Present Day-

The creak of the door had you glancing up from your bath that was starting to run cold, the bubbles still piled high more than covering your body from the artist who hovered at the door, ever the gentlemen and averting his eyes as he leaned against the door frame, staring at the floor with his hands in his pocket. The two of you had grown very comfortable with each other, to the point that outsiders would be appalled, but he was your closest friend. You were his muse.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

You noted the blush that was creeping up on his cheeks as he kept his eyes on the floor, your silence making him uncomfortable as he cleared his throat and started to speak again.

“I can call for a carriage to take you home, but you really need to get that ankle delt with first, at least let me wrap it for you.”

“Hitoshi…”

You watched him tense up, like he was waiting to get slapped even though you were across the room. The sight had your gut clenching, not in a good way.

“Come here.”

His head snapped up, his eyes wavering but focusing on your own in bewilderment as he choked on his own spit, reaching up and straightening his vest. But you just nodded your head, affirming your words, a slight smile on your lips as he hesitantly stepped towards you until he was hovering at the edge of the bathtub, his eyes focusing on your face, his stance relaxing as he recognized you weren’t mad at him.

You lifted up your hand, your smile widening as he took it in his own, rubbing his thumb across your soft skin, seeming mesmerized by the way your fingers curled around his own.

“I wish…” He started, his eye brows pulling together for a moment as he paused in thought, only for him to start up again. “I wish I could see you dance for the rest of my life.”

“Hitoshi…”

“I want to be with you y/n… I want to hear your music, and make you smile, and I want to draw you until I have no more paper, and even then I’d paint you on the walls. I want to be able to hold you and tell you how amazing you are and to get to see you live your dreams and fly like the angel you are. I want to be able to touch your face whenever and to memorize it that way because I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to see your eyes or those lips. God those lips. I want the first thing I do every morning and the last thing I do every night to be kissing those lips.

I want to go to the racetracks with you every weekend and enjoy how relaxed and carefree you are, and to hear your little squeal when the gun goes off for the race to start. I want to be able to go get breakfast with you from that little café three blocks down and sit in the park and listen to the birds. I want to take late night strolls with you and feel the warm summer nights. I want to dance with you under the moonlight while we make our own music.  I want to stay up all night just listening to you talk about literally anything, and I want to see what you look like when you first wake up in the morning when I bring you breakfast in bed.

You’re not just my muse for my art… y/n you are the reason I continue to live and breathe. You are the reason I can still paint. You are the reason I get up in the morning and frankly the only reason I get dressed enough to go out in public, just so I can see you. You are my muse in all senses of the word.

Y/n… I.. I love you.”

You were stunned into silence, eyes wide as you regarded the man in front of you. This moody artist. Who constantly looked tired, and whose sense of humor was dark and sometimes a little rude and self-deprecating. Who you were pretty sure could draw you with his eyes closed because he had already done so thousands of times. Who stood by you even though you weren’t able to do the one thing you were good at anymore.

You barely even registered what you were doing yourself, but one moment you were looking up at the young artist in front of you, your fingers wrapped in his, and the next you were yanking his hand, pulling him into the over-sized bathtub on top of you, wrapping your arms around his neck, fingers threading through his hair as you pressed your lips to his.

The sound of water sloshing about was drowned out by the sound of protest that came from Hitoshi at getting wet, which was quickly replaced with a sigh of satisfaction as he eagerly answered your kiss with his own, his hands resting on either side of the bathtub to help him keep himself up.

You separated your lips from his, a cheeky smile on his face as he moved to pepper kisses across your cheeks as you giggled trying to get a word out.

“I love you too”

“Yea? A grumpy artist? That never sleeps. And half the time doesn’t remember to eat. You sure?” He moved his hand to cup your cheek, which you leaned into rolling your eyes, before he leaned in and kissed your nose, moving back down to your mouth, pressing himself further against you.

You let out a content sigh in response, arching up into him, bring attention to the both of you that you were very much naked. You felt your cheeks heat up as his gaze flickered down towards your chest, leaning back slightly to get a better view as he let out a hum in thought.

“We should get you dried… dressed… should really deal with your ankle.” Even as he spoke the words, his hands slid under the water, hesitating on a little before they softly caressed your sides, one moving to grip onto your hip, the other resting on your rib cage, thumb dangerously close to brushing your breast. You watched as the man above you chewed on his lip, seeming distracted by the sight in front of him. You wondered what it looked like to him. You wished he could see it all clearly.

“Toshi… come here.”

“Hmm? I’m right here.” His focus never wavered from taking in your body, his own eyes seeming to glaze over as he kneaded circles into your flesh with his thumbs, his tongue running across his lips only to be replaced once again by his teeth.

“Toshi..” Your whispered out the nickname, your fingers lacing behind his head tugging him closer to you until he relented, pressing his lips against yours once, then twice, then groaning as he went back again for a third time, his grip tightening on your hip as his other hand reached up and tangled into your hair, water sloshing out onto the ground from his movements.

His lips were soft and plush against your own, moving a little clumsily at first but quickly getting his footing as he pressed further against you, angling his head just right, slipping his tongue against your lips asking sweetly for more.  You momentarily forgot how to breathe as you let him have access, a moan vibrating your throat as he swirled his tongue against your own, coaxing you back into his own mouth before sucking on your tongue lightly groaning in response to you.

You gasped, feeling his hips roll against your own, his wet clothes pressing against you just right, making your skin sensitive to the point that you were arching into him. Feeling your pebbled nipples rub against the scratchy fabric of his vest, the seem in his pants sliding along the space just above your clit, making you wonder what it would feel like if it just moved down slightly.  Separating your lips, he shifted so that his lips were against your ear, softly speaking to you, his voice growing husky as you felt him pressing against you, the bulge in his pants bigger than you expected for the lean artist.

“Y/n.” He pressed a kiss to the shell of your ear, his voice dropping even lower as his fingers at your hip shifted towards your thigh, moving closer and closer to the apex. “Let me take care of you, my muse. Let me make you feel as beautiful as you are to me.”

You nodded, barely containing a whimper as you felt his tongue run along the edge of your ear, his breathe hot against your skin, his fingers delving between your thighs, coaxing them apart so he could shift to be between them. His fingers splayed across you, sliding between, and separating your folds, his middle finger making a languid circle against your already swollen nub. His voice strained like he was trying to hold back groans of satisfaction as he breathed his words into your neck, pressing hot open mouth kisses to your skin.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the day I met you.” He buried his face against your skin, letting out a groan as you whimpered softly in response to his fingers slow and purposeful touches, fingers sliding easily across your bundle of nerves, circling and circling, from the water surrounding the two of you. “I’ve wanted to worship you until you realized just how amazing you were.”

Your own hands drug across his back, coming around to pull the buttons of his vest apart with trembling fingers as you pressed yourself up into his touch, trying to remove all boundaries between the two of you. He slowly sped his ministrations up until he found the perfect speed that had you mewling at his touch, grinding up into his fingers to get more pressure and relief, whispers begging for more leaving your lips like they were your mantras.

He focused all of his attention on your clit, lightly tugging it with the pads of his rough fingers from years of using them to blend out chalk and charcoal. His lips moving from your neck to your ear only to whisper soft encouragements and praises into you.

Finally, after what felt like too long you yanked his vest off of his shoulders, it pooling in the water, trapped on his arm, and quickly made short work of his button up shirt, cursing the fashions of the day and whishing there was an easier and quicker way to undress. As soon as you had access to his chest your lips were on his skin, pressing kisses, your teeth snagging against his neck pulling soft moans from the man on top of you as you sucked on the skin leaving marks.

“Please Toshi more. More.”

“Fuck darling..” his fingers left you for the briefest of moments, making you cry out in frustration only for his to sit up and tear off his shirt and vest, tossing them into a wet heap of fabric on the floor, the sound sounding just as obscene as the noises leaving your lips. His hands shifting to his pants, quickly untying them and pulling them off only for them to follow the rest of his clothes allowing you to see him in his full glory for the first time. He didn’t give you time to appreciate him though, his lips sealing against your own, forcing your eyes closed as his fingers returned to their new home between your legs, his hips rolling down against you making you moan with the heat that was coming from his dick rubbing against your thigh.

You nipped at his tongue, drawing more noises of pleasure from him as he coaxed you up and up, rubbing his length against you sensually as he shifted closer and closer to your cunt. You were both panting at this point, dizzy from the lack of air, but not caring as you pressed closer to each other, long forgotten the water splashing out onto the floor making a mess of his bathroom.

Your fingers dragged down his chest, nails leaving marks that he leaned into as you searched for your own toy to play with, finding it took both hands to hold in your grasp. You didn’t have to do much work, his thrusts doing practically everything as you guided his tip up and down your slit, surprised to feel the distinct difference of your own wetness compared to the water, his own fingers in the way occasionally as he strummed you closer to the finish line.

You couldn’t help the wanton moan that echoed through the house when his tip dipped inside of you and pulled back out, your eyes rolling back as you lifted your hips up to his own, forcing him further inside until he was practically at the hilt, your hands moving to grip his ass and pull him closer to you, legs wrapping around him and trapping him in place, his hips thrusting into you as he cursed against your lips.

“Fuck. So god damned perfect darling.”

He didn’t move for a moment, instead focusing on making sure you were comfortable in your positions, his lips devouring your own, a smile on his face as he whispered soft praises between kisses.  But that moment quickly passed, you being the first to roll up against him, dragging a curse out from his lips, him dipping his face to press it into your cleavage, a groan leaving his lips as you ground up into him with a whine.

Lips attached to your nipple, one hand still swirling your sensitive bundle of nerves causing you to cry out, the other pinching the other nipple between two fingers, rolling it in perfect unison as he suckled on you, tongue laving back and forth, the heat of his mouth making you want to scream.

His thrusts were slow and deliberate, dragging himself almost all of the way out of you, your walls clenching as he did to get him to stay, only for him to press back into you, bottoming out and pressing against your cervix with each thrust.

With one more flick of his finger against your clit you were gone. His name leaving your lips in short breathy cries as you arched up into him the pressure feeling too much as you clenched down around him, your grip tightening and trying to hold him in place. But he didn’t stop there, his fingers continuing to slowly circle your clit, helping you ride out the wave as he pistons in and out of you, your own name being said as a prayer.

He released your nipples as you came down, shifting his lips back up and slowly moving up your neck, sucking and biting on the skin as his voice reverberated around the room.

“You are so fucking gorgeous. So perfect. My beautiful muse.”

You could feel him starting to speed up his thrusts, making more and more cries leave your lips as you tried to keep up with him, already feeling pressure building up again.

“Toshi.. please, please… Toshii… pleaseee.”

“I know darling, I know. Fuck you feel so good. I’m not gon-“

His voice was cut off with a groan as he pressed his forehead to yours, fucking into you relentlessly as your walls fluttered around him. A hot huff, before he groaned out your name again pressing into you, his thrusts growing sloppy.

“Toshi please, I wanna cum again. Please.”

“Fuck- nng… Fuck. C- haa-“ He couldn’t finish his words, plowing into you, feeling the waves of what little remained of the water crashing against him, perfectly level with your clit making you arch back up into him with a whine as you tried to find a second release.

“Fuck. Darling… Kitten… cum for me.”

He buried his face into your chest, a long-drawn-out moan leaving his lips, sounding broken as you felt hot spurts of liquid squirting into you, your mind exploding with pleasure as his quirk snapped on, making you scream out his name, feeling aftershocks hit you wave after wave as you collapsed against the back of the tub, panting harshly, your mind hazy as you came down.

The two of you sat there for several moments, gasping for air, your legs shaking form tensing up for so long. After a moment or two, Shinso glanced up at you, his cheeks red, hair sticking to his face from sweat, an exhausted but content expression on his face.

“Are you okay my muse?”

You let out a snort, and a short nod in response, leaning into his hand as it cupped your cheek, him leaning up and pressing a chaste kiss to your lips a smile on his.

“You’re magnificent.”

“Hmm.. I bet you think so.” You leaned back, looking at the ceiling with a smirk feeling your body relax only for your attention to be brough to your still swollen ankle as you shifted it, pain shooting through your leg.

At seeing your face, Hitoshi sighed softly, shaking his head before pressing another kiss to your lips, pushing himself up and into a standing position, leaning over to grab a towel, his still impressive length swinging practically in your face making you blush.

“We really need to take care of your ankle. I’m serious this tim- Oh fuck kitten..” his fingers gripped your hair, his head dropping back as he closed his eyes, his dick twictching back to life as you ran your tongue along it slowly, a snarky laugh leaving your lips at his reaction.

“Kitten?” You tilted you head back, looking up at him a question in your eyes, his face turning scarlet as he looked away from you biting his lip, hiding a sheepish smile.

“Please let me take care of you… stop distracting me.”

You huffed a pretend sigh of annoyance, crossing your arms and rolling your eyes.

“Fine, if you must. But I’m continuing that later.”

He rolled his own eyes at you, stepping out of the bath and drying off before moving to also grab you a towel, helping you out of the bath as well, taking extra care to dry off every inch of you, making you lean your weight against him and not on your foot before he scooped you up, shuffling off towards his bedroom.

“I don’t want your injury to get worse. You still want to dance don’t you?”

You hummed a soft acknowledgement, wistfulness lacing your tone as he slowly placed you into his bed, helping set up his pillows to accommodate your leg better. He would get the two of you settled then call for the local doctor to come look at you. He just hoped you didn’t want to go home soon.

“As must as you still want to paint.”

His smile was filled with understanding as he brought over one of his shirts to you, helping you into it but leaving your bottom bare, covering it with a blanket before dressing himself only to sit on the edge of the bed, his eyes latched onto yours with a look of adoration you had seen so many times and mistaken for something platonic.

“You know, I’d love to paint you bathing sometime. You truly look like a goddess then.”

You blushed at his words, shaking your head laughing, a fluttering feeling in your stomach as you realized just how much things had changed so quickly.

“The scandal Mr Shinso! What would the papers say about us? My honor was already sullied months ago just by being here, but now you want physical proof that you’ve seen me without my knickers?“ You were joking for the most part. You didn’t care about honor. Scandals. Most girls would be ashamed to be rumored to have even kissed a man that wasn’t their husband in this time, but you loved him, and you knew nothing wrong could come of that.  Who cared what anyone else thought?

“Then marry me.”

You froze, staring at the artist who looked more sure of himself than any other time you had seen him. His face completely serious, shoulders relaxed, as he gazed at you like you were his entire reason for living.

Your lips split into a smile without you even realizing, your cheeks almost hurting from how wide it was as you looked down at your lap for a brief moment before meeting his eyes once again when his hand reached out to take yours, thumb rubbing soft circles.

“Yes. Yes I’ll marry you.”

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[crazygalore]

MICHAEL CORLEONE ( THE GODFATHER TRILOGY ) NSFW ALPHABET

Disclaimer: My portrayal of Michael Corleone is almost exclusively movie-based. I have read the book and respect it for what it represents, but I have a preference for movie Michael, since I first watched the film, and only read the book years later. That being said, I will selectively borrow elements from the novel here and there, if and when I see fit.

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

After having lost all hope of ever finding love again after having suffered through countless tragedies and betrayals, it is safe to assume that Michael treats you right in all aspects of your life together. So, after sex, he will draw you a hot bath and gently help you wash up and dry off afterwards. Then, he will tenderly tuck you into bed, bring you any snacks and beverages you may be craving, and afterwards he will lay down next to you and hold you against him until you fall asleep with your head on his chest.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s survived all of these years by keeping his eyes open and his mind clear, so he is quite fond of his keen and sharp gaze. He’s a bit of a sapiosexual, so while he thinks you are the sexiest and most attractive person in this world, it was your mind and your spirit that made him fall in love with you in the beginning. So, to this very day, having a stimulating conversation with you amps up his libido like nothing else.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He’s a traditionalist at heart, so he prefers finishing deep inside of you, although he will mark you with his seed if that was something you enjoyed. You would have to ask him to do it, though.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He loves seeing you wear his clothes - especially his shirts - because he thinks of it as a reinforcement of his claim on you. Although he is not one of those overly jealous or extremely possessive partners, the sight of you enveloped in his garments always manages to reassure him that you are his and his alone, to love and cherish until the day he dies. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

Surprisingly, Michael has only slept with three women in the past - namely a former girlfriend and his two former wives. But although his experience is relatively limited, he’s been doing it long enough to know exactly how to drive his partner insane with desire and pleasure.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Usually it’s either missionary or doggy style, depending on the mood. On one hand, he likes being able to hold you in his arms and look into your eyes as he pounds into you - but on the other hand, the sight of your pretty ass and his girth disappearing inside of you drives him absolutely bonkers. Once in a while, however, when he is particularly exhausted, Michael will just sit back and relax as you ride him to completion. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Normally, he is very passionate and serious in bed, because making love to you is one of the few times when he can show you his more vulnerable and romantic side. That being said, realistically speaking sex is a very accident-prone activity in general, and some mishaps are funnier than others - and he is comfortable enough around you to crack an apologetic smile when that happens. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

With a military background and his current position as a don, Michael is a very clean and tidy person, and he keeps himself well groomed and trimmed down there. It is not his habit to shave completely, however, unless you expressed your preference for it.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Michael is a man hardened by the lifestyle he had no choice but embrace. He has learned to guard his heart, smother his conscience and use his reason to make educated and oftentimes ruthless decisions for the sake of his family’s safety and prosperity. But you are his sanctuary, and in your arms he feels loved, chrished and nurtured - and he feels the need to reciprocate your gestures of affection and show you his vulnerable and romantic side. So sex with Michael is always an intimate, passionate and intense experience.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t do it that often - if at all. When it happens, it’s always in the shower, and he sees it as nothing more but instant gratification for his body’s biological functions - nothing more. It only ever happens if you two happen to be away from each other, for example during his solo business trips.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

A food kink, because nothing gets him going quite like licking whipped cream and frosting off your gorgeous body. Light bondage and domination - but nothing too extreme, as his intention is simply to bring you pleasure and not to demean you. Edging, orgasm denial and mild spanking, but nothing more hardcore than that. As previously stated, he loves seeing you wearing his shirts, and he has fucked you countless times while you were still garbed in them. Also a mild and barely there breeding kink.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

He’s a very private individual, so only in the comfort and safety of your home, usually in your bedroom or your shared bathroom. If he is 100% sure nobody will accidentally walk in on you too, he will definitely fuck you on the kitchen counter, and put that food kink of his to good use.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

As a sapiosexual ( a person who finds intelligence to be a sexually attractive quality in others ), having a long and stimulating debate with you is an instant turn-on. Other than that, you are gorgeous and you are all his, and your very presence fills him with desire. So, as long as the two of you are alone, without the risk of being interrupted, he’s game. But if you’re ever not feeling like it, he won’t pressure you into having sex with him, nor will he act grumpy because of it. You are his beloved, and he respect and adores you at all times.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He will never harm or demean you in any way. So anything too extreme and damaging is out of the question, no matter how much you might beg him to change his mind.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

The sight of you, kneeling before him, with your pretty lips wrapped around his girth is heaven for Michael. There are things that you can do with your wicked tongue that drive him completely crazy with need, and he oftentimes finds himself thrusting against your talented mouth. That being said, he reciprocates the gesture every single time, and he is very skilled at it. With a flick of his tongue in the right spot, and a well placed suckle, he can bring you to completion in no time - and he usually isn’t satisfied unless he’s given you several earth-shattering orgasms using only his mouth and deft fingers.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Depending on the mood, Michael can be slow and sensual, or fast and rough - but it is always a passionate exchange fuelled by your love and perpetual desire for one another. Sex with Michael is much more than a mere carnal act, but rather a complete fusion of your bodies and souls into one.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s a busy man with a tight schedule, so once in a while you two simply have to make do with a quick hard fuck.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He’s game for experimenting within reason. As long as none of you ends up being hurt or humiliated, he’s willing to give it a try.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Depending on how tired or well-rested he is, it spans from quickies to extended lovemaking sessions that last all night long. He rarely cums before you do, and usually that happens if you teased him too much beforehand. Even then, he will either recover and fuck you until reach orgasm as well, or he will use his mouth and fingers on you until you are satisfied. 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’s not opposed to toys, but he’s an old school kinda guy, so you would pretty much have to talk him into incorporating them into your guys’ sex life. Be warned, though, he will most probably use them to edge you until you are practically crying for release.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It depends on his mood, really. Sometimes he likes to give you exactly what you want, when you want it - and sometimes he can be a complete and utter tease, to the point he drives it drives you completely nuts.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s relatively quiet, with a couple of low grunts and moans sprinkled in-between laboured breaths. However, he usually cums with a long groan he usually muffles against your neck or shoulder.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Well, you know what they say: Tiny man, huge “ego “. And Michael is the perect embodiment of this phrase. The boy is hung and he knows how to it to bring you maximum satisfaction, 100% guaranteed, no returns. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

His sex drive is not actually that high, but he very rarely refuses you if you initiate it. Once you get him going, however, he is relentless.

Z = ZZZ��(… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually he stays up a little longer to admire your slumbering form, as it has a calming effect on him. He will eventually fall asleep with you in his arms, once that brilliant and busy mind of his runs out of fuel.

[imagining-supernatural]

The Backstory

Part 15 of Seventy Percent

Series Summary: When you left on your trip to Vegas, you’d planned on letting loose for one last weekend before heading back to reality and getting your affairs in order so your best friend wouldn’t be left cleaning up your mess when your cancer finally ended your life. What you hadn’t counted on was waking up married to a celebrity who has a knight-in-shining-armor complex, connections with an oncologist, and amazing insurance…

Chapter Summary: You and Sebastian sit down and you finally tell him about your past

Word Count: 1,757

HGTV was playing in the background, but neither you nor Seb were paying attention. You were curled together in the recliner with a heavy blanket over your legs. He still had a few hours before he had to head out to his interview with Jimmy Fallon, so this was the best time to tell him about your past. Enough time that he could process everything and not be too burdened during his interview, but not enough time that the two of you would drag out every damn detail. There were parts that you wouldn’t tell him, but most of it, you wanted him to know.

You just had to figure out how to start.

“You grew up in Wyoming, right?” He prompted, as if sensing that you were stuck before you had even begun.

“Yeah.” You sighed heavily, shoring up your courage. “It was just me, my sister, and my parents. If I have any cousins or aunts, I don’t know about them. My, uh, my dad was… you know what? I’m just gonna say everything really quick to get it all out there. I think that’ll be easier.”

He nodded, rubbing his hand along your spine. You tucked your head into his neck, hoping that the lack of eye contact would make it even easier.

“Alright. Ever since I can remember, my dad has been an alcoholic. Abusive too, but I didn’t realize until later. He took out most of it on my mom and sister, since she was older. But then, uh, my sister, Eliza, moved out when she turned sixteen and it was just me and my mom.”

“How old were you?” he asked in a pained whisper.

“Eight. She’s eight years older than me. He died when our house caught fire when I was sixteen. Cigarette left burning. His fault.” Your voice broke on the last two words, but you powered through. “Luckily mom was in lockup for the night for drunk and disorderly or something and I was staying with Jaz. That was… it’s fucked up to say, but that was the best day of my life.”

His hand moved up your back and settled on the back of your head, holding you closer. That simple action drew a wave of tears to your eyes that had you blinking quickly, trying to hold them back. God, you didn’t deserve him.

Remembering the truth of that day… you really didn’t deserve him.

“Um, so that left me and my mom. She… She was an alcoholic too, but more of a neglectful alcoholic. Thank god for Jasmin and her family. I don’t know what I would have done without them. They kept me alive and sane until I was old enough to get a job and basically support myself a few months after my dad died. I thought it was over, then. Up until then, my family was just that trash family that other people in town gossiped about to feel better about themselves. I got some pitying looks, and that was it.

“Then my sister went and got arrested. Everyone expected me to take in her two sons when she was convicted and sentenced to life in prison.”

“What did she do?”

A bitter laugh escaped your throat. “Fucking murdered her boyfriend. Abused her kids. Assaulted a police officer. She… she didn’t have a friend like Jaz. Or a support system like Jaz’s family. But that’s still no excuse. None at all. They’re her kids. She knew what it was like to grow up being a punching bag. She…” In an effort to control your budding anger, you took a deep breath and turned your face into Seb’s neck for a second, letting his familiar scent calm you.

“So when she was sentenced to twenty-five to life, the entire town assumed I would adopt the kids. I mean, they were my nephews and all, but everyone was acting like it was my responsibility to raise them. But… But I was barely eighteen. I couldn’t even take care of myself and I didn’t want to put them in a position where I—where I might snap like she did. It wasn’t fair to them. And they were young enough that they were adopted fairly quickly and now they’re with some family down in Georgia growing up with cute little Southern accents. Their parents send me letters sometimes. Pictures too. The boys are happy. And I know I made the right decision, but if you listen to what everyone else said, then you’d start thinking I was a selfish bitch who didn’t respect family values as if they’d all forgotten the kind of values my family taught me. I-I-I know I made the right choice. They’re happy. So fuck what everyone else thought.”

“People make far too many judgments based on far too few facts,” Sebastian whispered against your hair.

“And far too many assumptions,” you mumbled.

He held you in silence for a few minutes, just stroking your hair.

“You know what the worst thing someone said to me was?” You asked a bit later, after your heartbeat had calmed down from its angry beating. “When word got out that I had cancer, someone from my hometown told me that God gave me cancer as punishment for not adopting my nephews. For thinking someone else could raise them better than their own blood. Years later and they still couldn’t let it go.”

Not that they were entirely wrong. Your cancer might have been punishment from God, but not because you didn’t adopt your nephews. There were far worse things you’d done.

“That’s—” He couldn’t even find a word to describe how that made him felt. And you completely understood.

“Rude? Horribly offensive? Fucking ignorant? Welcome to small town Wyoming where the bible rules and if you say you’ve never shot a gun you’ll be shunned until you do.”

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetie, that’s… God that’s horrible.”

“People suck,” you said simply. “I just… I wanted you to know. You know, in case this shit hits the news or whatever. And also… Also, I just wanted you to know. I wanted to tell you. Regardless.”

He slid his hand to your chin and tilted your head up until you were falling into his blue eyes. “Thank you, Y/N. Thank for telling me; trusting me.”

“Thank you for being someone who doesn’t suck,” you responded in a weak effort to lighten the mood.

You only had a second to register his soft smile before he leaned forward and brushed his lips against your cheek. “I always knew you were strong. I mean, to go through cancer treatment like this… but now?” His thumb rubbed against your cheek, nearly touching your lips. Your eyes closed at his touch, face leaning into his palm. “Sweetheart, I think you’re the strongest person I think I’ve ever met.”

Just as you were about to argue his statement, he leaned forward again. This time his lips brushed just at the corner of your mouth and lingered, wiping away every single word you’d ever known. He finally pulled away a hairsbreadth and the air between you two was super-charged. All it would take was a tilt of your head and you’d be kissing him properly.

But you couldn’t do it. You just couldn’t.

After a moment more, he drew back, pausing only to press his lips to your forehead briefly. “So, your sister and mom are still alive?”

“No.” Your voice was surprisingly strong. Barely wavering. “My sister’s still in prison, but my mom died a few months after I turned sixteen. Another reason the town seems to hate me. They think if I’d stuck around more, she wouldn’t have killed herself but that wasn’t my job. I was a kid. It wasn’t my job to keep my parent alive.”

“Killed herself?”

“Drunk herself to death, I guess.” It was an explanation you’d said many times before. One that wasn’t entirely accurate, but the closest to the truth you could get. “Suicide wasn’t the official cause of death, but I knew. She drunk too much. I think she was shooting up with something, too. They called it an accidental overdose. Said if I’d been there, I might have been able to call 911 and save her. But they didn’t know us. They didn’t know what happened in that house. I… I don’t blame her. She didn’t want to be saved. She let him break her. My sister became him.”

“And you? What do you think you did?”

“I think… I think… I don’t know. I made a lot of bad decisions in college, but that’s just college. I think I would have turned out differently if I hadn’t spent so much time with Jaz’s family. But even then… I don’t know, Seb. I just know that I never wanted to make anyone feel like I did. It took me my entire college career with campus therapists to work through shit. And there’s some things I haven’t told anyone. And I’m going to be working through everything for the rest of my life. I know that. I think I just became more aware. Aware what kind of affect my words might have on someone else. I’m cautious about everything. Maybe that’s why I went into data security. I didn’t have anyone, really, to protect me.” By this point you’d practically forgotten you weren’t alone. You were just musing aloud. Putting together parts of your therapy sessions with your own emotions.

It was something you’d never done.

Even in therapy, you hadn’t opened up all the way.

But here? With someone you’d met a month ago?

Here, you felt safe. Loved, even.

“What about Jasmin?”

“She tried. But her family was amazing. She just couldn’t understand my family. She was always sympathetic, but never really knew how to help. And, honestly, I wouldn’t ever want her to know how to help. I never want her to be in the position to understand.”

“I guess I get that.”

“’Sides, this way I had her to pull me out. She pushed me to move on. Helped me figure out how to… not become them.”

Silence, once again, fell. Even telling the barest bones of your past had exhausted you and you couldn’t move from Seb’s lap even if you wanted to.

It was nearly a half hour later when he spoke in a soft voice, his words drawing a soft laugh from you. “At least I don’t have to go through the meet the parents shtick.”

Think that’s all of it? The worst of it? 

CHAPTER 16: THE FIRST PAPARAZZI AMBUSH

[fanfic-scribbles]

(Don’t) Play It Again

Fandom: Supernatural

Summary: Everyone has that one song that they just can’t stand for whatever reason, regardless of how good, bad, or innocuous it actually is. For you, hearing that song is like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on your head.

Gabriel, of course, takes this as a challenge.

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Gabriel/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, tildes (~) for scene breaks because Tumblr’s line breaks are nice in theory but that seems to be the only place they truly exist aside from on desktop sometimes

Words: 2512

A/N: WHEW I did not think I’d finish anything this week but I made it under the wire, even after a week from Hell with being really sick and taking someone else to the hospital. And then going to Wondercon today which, not bad, but tiring. Oh well; less whining. Here! Have a Gabriel/Reader fluffy-nonsense fic; I hope you enjoy it.

   You wake to a chill where your skin meets the air and sunlight is just barely grazing the curtains. An arm slips around your stomach and pulls you back into a very warm, very bare chest. You smile as lips move from your shoulder to your earlobe.

“Gabr’l,” you say, mangling the word with a tongue still trying to sleep in the early morning hour. You wish your consciousness could claim the same.

“We have some time,” he says, still kissing with light brushes of his lips over your bare skin. “Before you have to get up and…ugh…be responsible.”

You laugh as the motions begin to tickle and the rest of your body begins to stir. Well, he has a point. Especially the ‘ugh’ part, so you're more than willing to add something nice to the morning…

Until the alarm goes off.

The alarm being the crappy clock radio by the side of the bed that tunes into the most static-riddled radio station you’ve heard playing that fucking song. You slam your hand on the top of the radio once, twice, but it isn’t until the fourth hit that the thing finally turns off and it’s too late– you’re very much awake now and very much not in a good mood. In any form or fashion.

“Uh…everything okay?” Gabriel asks, looking at you warily. If he wasn’t who he was you’d expect a splash of holy water or handful of salt.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just…out of the mood,” you say and sit up.

“What? Why?” Gabriel asks, on the edge of pouting. “Where do you have to go in such a hurry?”

You chuckle and give him a little kiss on the nose. He scrunches it in displeasure. “Sorry Gabriel,” you say and slip out of his hold to get dressed.

“Seriously, what did you set that alarm for?”

“The alarm was set well in advance so timing isn’t a problem. It’s that fucking song.” You stick out your tongue like it can get rid of the bad taste.

“The…song?” Gabriel sounds almost as confused as Castiel at his most angelic.

“I can’t stand that song. It’s just…” You shudder. “If I listen to it too much it puts me in a bad mood. Certainly knocks me right out of that mood, so that’s one more reason to hate it.”

“It’s…” Gabriel appears in front of you. “It’s just a song. It’s dumb, yeah, but you’ve listened to way worse.”

“Maybe.” You lean forward and kiss him again. “But it is what it is. Honestly, I cannot hate that song any more than I already do.”

Gabriel pouts and you laugh, leaving him to sulk quietly. He’ll get over it, you figure, because he always does. And hey– once you’re showered, maybe you’ll be up to making the morning a little better for the both of you.

And you do. However, you really should have chosen your earlier words more carefully.

~

“How’s it hangin’ sweetcheeks?”

You stop before you can take a bite and glance up with wary amusement, half-expecting Gabriel to be dressed in neon, or like a villain from an eighties teen movie. But Gabriel looks as Gabriel always tends to look– blending in. More or less.

“Hey.” Gabriel swipes a fry and waves it at you. “Johnny Lawrence has nothing on me.”

“Of course not,” you say as he starts eating your food. Somehow (“somehow”) the amount of fries remains the same. “Are you riding with me?”

“No.” Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I promised Castiel I’d help him with something.”

“What a nice big brother you are,” you say and laugh when he flicks a fry bit at you. Suddenly he appears next to you and kisses you deeply, salt melding and melting between your tongues.

Gabriel pulls back abruptly and winks. “Thanks for the snack, Sugar,” he says, and vanishes.

Shockingly, his disappearing act draws no notice. Well, Gabriel can be subtle. When he wants. So you just shake your head, pick up your burger, and prepare to take a bite.

That’s when you hear it.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you say and drop your food. But no– it’s that song. And this stupid place has the volume up too loud for you to ignore it. You rifle through your bag but your headphones are nowhere to be found, of course. Thankfully, by the time you’re done searching, the song is at least almost over with.

Then the sound system glitches.

And it starts from the beginning.

“F–” You toss your food back in the bag and take it to go. Apparently it’s just one of those days.

~

A few hours later you’re driving to the next state over when The Song comes on the radio. On two different stations. You punch it off but that’s…weird. Really weird.

The road is straight, flat, and empty. You slip on your Bluetooth and make a call.

“Hey,” Dean answers, not short of breath or otherwise distressed. Good.

“Are you involved in whatever Cas needed Gabe’s help for?”

“Uh, yeah. He’s actually being pretty helpf–” Dean’s voice becomes fainter, like he’s turned away from the phone. Even though it’s a cell phone. You roll your eyes, but smile at Gabriel’s voice in the background. Your smile grows when Dean’s voice becomes clearer with, “–not going to tell them you love them! You got your own damn phone.” Dean huffs. “Anyway, what’d you want?”

“Tell Gabe I love him too.”

“Wh– I’m not going to–” There are kissy noises in the background but still relatively close and Dean swears. “You two are disgusting,” he says and hangs up.

You laugh and toss your earpiece onto the passenger seat. So, it’s not Gabriel then. You’ll have to tell him about all this later– far from being offended, he’ll probably get a kick out of it.

~

You’re speaking with a witness who might have information on whatever the hell you’re hunting, when some sort of instrument starts playing. If it was tuned you might have a shot at figuring out what it is. (A tuba? You think?)

“I’m sorry,” the woman says and winces at a…a very interesting note. “My Oliver has to practice for school.”

“I understand completely,” you say and open your notebook. “Now, you told–” In with discordant notes you can barely hear it, but once you do hear that song, you can’t stop hearing it no matter how badly the kid is trying to mangle it. “Son of a bitch!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, um, just a flash of insight,” you say quickly and scribble some nonsense on the page. You give the woman your kindest smile.

“Oh, well all right then,” she says and sits a little straighter. You carry on with the interview as the kid practices. And practices. And practices.

To his credit, the song does get more recognizable as time goes on.

By the end of the interview, your eye is twitching and Yvonne, the very nice lady who has inadvertently helped you identify someone within the police as the town’s source of problems, looks concerned. “Are you all right?”

“Job hazard,” you say and smile blandly. “Thank you for your time, ma’am.”

The song starts again, and you’re too tired to even grind your teeth. You really need to kill something.

What happens if you tear out a werewolf’s heart with your bare hands before you jam silver in it?

~

At first you assume the song is having a resurgence. Or maybe it never actually went away, you just got lucky. In either case, you’re hearing it a lot again.

Naturally, it is not putting you in the best mood.

“Are you okay?” Sam murmurs as you both sit at the bar, waiting for the monster du jour to take Dean’s bait.

“I’m fine,” you say and watch Dean work. He’s doing good, charming the pants right off the bitch who very obviously wants to drain him dry. But then the chorus starts and you twitch. “God I hope this nest is big. I want piles of heads. Piles.”

“Easy, Venom,” Sam says and you actually stare at him. He frowns. “I’m not completely out of the loop.”

You snort and go back to watching Dean. Though you try to tune out the song, it seeps into your consciousness regardless and Sam jabs you a couple of times to make you lighten up. When Dean and the vamp leave you have to slow up to keep off their heels.

You clear out half the nest on your own. Dean and Sam are impressed and frightened, respectively. Or both, equally.

~

You’re currently at a drive-in with Gabriel and channeling your inner rebellious fifties teenager. You have no idea what the movie’s about. It’s fantastic.

And then.

“What’s wrong?” Gabriel asks, ruffled in a way you wish you could appreciate.

But not right now. Those opening bars… He opens his mouth and you shush him. As the next notes come, you recognize it as a goddamn slow cover version of that fucking song. You let out a heavy sigh and try not to grind your teeth as you sink back into your seat.

“What just happened?” Gabriel asks, looking from you to the screen and back again.

“I, uh…” But irritation is rising and the mood is fading. You are tired. You are just…tired.

“It’s not–” Gabriel guffaws. “You're joking.”

“I. Wish.”

Gabriel makes a ‘tsk’ noise and leans in closer to you. “Come on; I’ll take your mind off of it.”

“No.”

“But–”

“Gabriel.”

Sufficiently convinced that no, you’re not kidding, he sits back in his seat, and glares straight ahead. His hands, once roving over your body, are folded under his crossed arms, and his lips, just moments ago grazing your skin, are furrowed into a pout.

You hate that you can literally say that this song is now ruining your life.

~

However.

Maybe less than a week later you’re in a movie theater, suffering through that same mediocre film and posing as an usher as you scout a potential haunting. But when the scene comes on…the song doesn’t play.

Hm.

~

It’s a nice day in the library. A quiet one. As of late, Dean won’t even play his own music around you, just in case. You figure it’s better that way. And today, working around Dean and Sam and Cas, the silence is nice.

At some point, though, Cas starts humming. That’s…strange. He keeps his face in his book while you, Sam, and Dean all trade confused and bewildered looks. And the way Cas is humming is very mechanical– like he’s trying to remember each note as he gets to it. You and Sam smile, and Dean rolls his eyes but you see a smile start to form before he puts his head back down. You and Sam follow suit, and while you’re cleaning up a clumsy translation, you let the song filter through your brain in the background. It sounds so familiar, you just can’t place–

Wait.

“Son of a bitch!” you hiss and slam your book shut hard enough to make the table rattle and Sam and Dean jump.

“Uh oh,” Dean mutters as Cas slowly lifts his head.

“Are you all right?” Cas asks, somewhat wary.

Not wary enough, but you do your breathing exercises. “I’m fine. Castiel…” You breathe deep. “That’s an…interesting song.”

“It is,” Cas says and looks thoughtful. “Very ‘catchy.’ That’s the word, right?”

“Mm hm. That’s…a word,” you say and steadfastly stare at your project. It goes back to being quiet.

Then Cas starts again, and your pencil snaps in your hand.

“Uh, Cas, let’s–” Sam clears his throat and bumps the table when he scrambles to get up. “Cas, can I talk to you? Somewhere else?”

“I suppose so,” Cas says slowly and stands.

“I’ll help,” Dean says, closing his laptop and backing away from you like you’re a hungry tiger. Sam and Dean then basically run away with Cas caught in between them.

You sigh and let your forehead fall against the table. This has got to end. Soon.

~

You don’t let anything musical come on for a solid week. The alarm buzzes, you drive with only the wind rushing past your ears, and the TV gets muted ASAP. The things you can’t control– stores, homes, cars with a broken volume button– you…handle. So far, you haven’t heard it again, but you stay on edge, just waiting.

“You look like a live wire, Sugarplum.” Gabriel cracks his fingers and wiggles them. “C’mere and let me work out some of those kinks. And then we can work out a different set of kinks.”

Tempting. You’d very much like to work out some tension, but you’re just not up for it. Gabriel is a good time– and a very involved time. “No thanks, Gabe; I’m really tired.”

“I could energize you,” he offers and reaches, but you dodge him quickly, if clumsily.

“Thanks, but all I need is some sleep,” you say and blow him a kiss. “Good night, Gabriel,” you say, shut off the lights, and go to bed.

You hope the message is received.

~

Several days later, after you’ve moved on from the last hunt, you wake up to a song on the radio. Your stomach sinks in dread, but what’s playing is…pleasant. It’s not that song. As far from that song as possible. It’s not your favorite, but the sound of it is benign and the memory of it is…

“May I have this dance?” Gabriel asks, leaning over you and kissing your neck.

You smile as he trails kisses on your skin. “If you had been a real, actual trickster, I probably would have been dead. You were so smooth.”

“Not even a demi-god could have killed you,” he says.

You chuckle and turn over to kiss him. “Still are smooth.”

“I was hoping you’d notice,” he says, eyes glinting in the light. “No hunts lined up today, right?”

“No helping Cas with his mysterious project?”

“Completely done.”

You eye him. “Completely, one-hundred percent, done done?”

“Done forever,” Gabriel says. He affects innocence so well sometimes you can only hope you’re speaking the same language right now, but then his lips cover yours and, well, you’re certainly speaking the same language there.

You break for air and Gabriel looks pretty pleased with himself. You smile and hover just in front of his mouth. “Hey Gabriel?”

“Hmmmmm?”

You trail a finger down his chest. “Every second I hear that song will be a week you feel without me touching you. Comprende?”

“Si, mi amor,” Gabriel says and a painfully fake moustache appears on his face, fresh out of Casa Erotica.

“Ew, I finally found something worse than that song,” you say and start to pull back, but Gabriel drags you back in. You laugh, he gets rid of the moustache, and you both spend the rest of the morning making out to the sounds of the song that played when you first met.

[hyunnielix]

Wrong | 1.

The smell of crime reeked through your city although you were a controlled assassin with limits, you tried your hardest to use your sense of justice to step up and be their vigilante for better or for worse, unfortunately, you have to get involved with the city’s most notorious mobster, Tom Holland.

Pairing: Tom Holland x Y/N | Parts: 1 2 3 4 5

Warnings: mob!AU, violence, gore, teasing, swearing, sexual themes, drug references, alcohol abuse, death, assassin!reader

Word Count: 2k

           clothes off ‘cause she so soft

                 this ain’t a fair fight 

            One; The File, Fire & Flames

Echoes whispered through the paper thin walls, the cold breeze flowing through the open windows causing your skin to react, creating small goosebumps as the stealth catsuit you wore barely covered the exposed skin of your upper body. It wasn’t a logical choice really, but you didn’t have a say.

Your stomach churned with a multitude of emotions, unable to pinpoint just one as the tension in the night air grew thicker almost suffocatingly.

Clenching your jaw to suppress any faltering emotions from showing on your face, you strutted confidently in your stiletto heels down the poorly lit hallway and towards his office.

The only light source guiding your way was the iridescent moonlight that shone onto the marble flooring, reflecting onto many of his prized possessions that were on display in glass cases, not too practical.

You recognized the guard as your close colleague Sebastian, nodding to him dismissively as your hand came in contact with the metallic handle twisting it ever so slightly.

“Be careful, he’s not in a good mood,” His calloused hand clasped around your wrist tightly preventing you from entering, ripping your gaze off the patterned wooden door and to him, you forcibly removed his grip. Your faces merely inches apart as you calculated your next words.

“I think I can handle it.” A growl fell from your lips, surprising yourself in the process at your hostility as his eyebrows furrowed, his usual glimmering blue eyes now dull and bloodshot. 

Your lips parted, struggling to swallow the lump in your throat inaudibly before pushing the door open, entering the ‘famed’ room that your colleagues always praised claiming miracles happened in there, but you refused to believe this as your own experiences proved the opposite, knowing how much of a curse it really was.

The skin coloured case file that sat under the table light on the desk was the first thing to catch your eye. Totally ignoring his lingering presence in the room, you strode towards the table inhaling the wretched scent of smoke whilst picking up on the ashtray that embers were still brightly burning out.

Brushing your fingers nimbly over the folder before picking it up, your stomach dropped as your eyes glazed over the file name.

“James, I can’t do this one,” You stated while flicking through the pages of research pausing at the headshot image of the notorious mobster with brunette curls and chocolate eyes, your spine shivered at the mere thought of him.

Usually, the target's weaknesses were listed underneath their name, however, the list was absent from the file causing you to wonder just how deadly this guy really was. How many people had he murdered in cold blood?

“And why is that?” He inquired, his voice coming out hoarser than you’d imagined obviously from the side effects of smoking as he ominously came forward into the light.

His auburn hair was messier than usual, the wrinkles on his forehead and the corners of his mouth more prominent than ever. His eyes scared you the most holding answers to questions you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.

“I’m not going on a suicide mission,” You retorted, dropping the file onto the desk disinterestedly as possible hoping the slither of mercy he possessed and your ability with words would save you from your inevitable fate if he refused to work with your stubbornness.

“It’s either you or your family,” He shrugged nonchalantly, the words rolling off his tongue too smoothly to be an empty threat. Your throat constricted at the mention of your relatives, chest heaving with what you could now recognize as vexation.

“Y/N, you’re our best operative,” He continued on, attempting to persuade you as he sat comfortably in the chair behind the desk eyeing your every move and reaction to his lethal words. You resented him for turning you into a weapon, once you saw the world that way there was no going back.

“That doesn’t make it right,” You retaliated, slamming your hands onto the desk violently, accidentally denting it with the pressure of your fists. 

“Don’t step out of line now girlie,” He warned, slowly sliding his pistol across the table, the irritating noise of the metal against the wood throwing you off.

Leaning forward, he yanked your forearm down onto the table, bunching his other hand in your hair as he brought your face dangerously close to his

“If you’re not careful, I’ll inject that serum right here,” He hissed, pressing his fingers on your pulse point, your eyes widening as he let out a chuckle at the exact reaction he would hope to coax out of you before throwing your head back.

“You sick bastard, don’t touch me.” You seethed, trying to control your anger by clenching your fists, digging your nails into the palm of your hand and drawing a red substance.

“Sebastian, take her away,” He spat as Sebastian entered the room, pinning your wrists behind your back harshly. You could’ve easily dropped him but you had to earn their trust, no matter how long it took.

“You promised me a call asshole!” You yelled out, striking a nerve in you as you loathed broken promises, you had one too many of them in your life.

“I think it’d be better if they still thought you were dead.” He responded smugly, a smirk creeping onto his face while you struggled against Sebastian's grip restraining you from slapping the smirk off James’s face. He threw you over his shoulder, hauling you out of the room before you did anything else out of recklessness.

“Quite a nice little performance you put in on there doll, I’m impressed,” He commented while locking the door behind him, letting you crawl off him, your heels coming in contact with the ground again.

“Not all of that was a performance,” You mumbled, peering up at him with glazed over eyes unsure of how to handle your bubbling over emotions properly as you were never quite taught how it was one of your weaknesses.

“The only way you’re going to get out of here is to kill him and burn that contract,” He sighed, running his hand over his light stubble as he watched the cogs turn in your very complicated mind.

“What right do you have to tell me how to escape? when I've been here longer than you,” You spat, pointing your finger into his chest with every syllable pronounced out of pure spite.

“Y/N tread carefully, I’m the only person willing to help you here you don’t want to lose that.” He crossed his arms over his chest, glad that the room behind him was soundproof as he stated the facts.

“Do you?” He questioned, but you knew too much was at stake to be retaliating against him just because you were in a bad mood so you swallowed your pride begrudgingly.

Cursing under your breath, you turned away from him pondering your options as you grazed your fingers over the bleeding palm of your hand revelling in the sting it caused. Pain brought out your most undesired emotions.

“I’ll have the file delivered to your room tomorrow morning,” He informed you as to your lack of reply left a lot of questions, for him anyway.

“I want it tonight.” You sharply ordered beginning to strut down the atmospheric corridor again, away from Sebastian and that bastard James.

The multilayered manor you lived in, which some people would call a paradise was more like a jail cell to you. Staring at the many different prototypes of latex catsuits that hung in your closet a sigh left your lips. From what you gathered the city had dubbed you ‘Black Cat’. The number of reports and televised criticism on you was deafening to your ego however you expected this, you knew how the world thought about vigilantes. Especially the corrupted police that pathetically called themselves the justice system, because of them media outlets were desperate to figure out your alter ego, much to your dismay. James kept them off your tail for the pure reason of entertainment.

Propping yourself up on your bed, your sensitive ears picked up the sliding of something under your door. Head snapping towards the direction, you furrowed your brows at the skin coloured file that lay strewn about on the tiles. The silver and reflective name of Tom Holland shining into your eyes irritatingly so.

Picking it up, you opened the file pulling out the paperclipped sheets of paper that had valuable information about his background on it. Your eyes scanned over the first page. After an hour or so of breaking down his profile, you found some crucially important points; He never went anywhere without his right-hand man Harrison Osterfield, His whole familiar were involved in the drug industry which also made them one of his weaknesses or so you assumed yet it was dangerous to do so in situations like this and he had an affinity for strippers that didn’t surprise you.

Dominic and Nikki Holland were out of the picture, none of their limbs or bodies intact enough to be autopsied. They had both left on a train to negotiate their next payload when it exploded, the assassination attempt deemed successful. You recognized the symbol on the detonated bomb realising it was James’s handiwork.

The Holland twins, Harry and Sam were both trained in hand to hand combat obviously it wasn’t military training but the second best thing. Luckily one of them had a girlfriend but you weren’t going to notify James about that since he would go to desperate lengths to torture people for fun and use them as leverage, you had firsthand experience in that. 

Claire Hope, 19 Ridgewood Drive, imprinting the address in your memory you resealed the document. It was the appropriate occasion to utilize the stealth suit for this slight detour.

Zipping up the suit whilst standing on the ledge of the windowsill, you inhaled the stale but refreshing air of the night letting the iridescent moonlight beam onto your face, eyes fluttering shut in a moment of contentedness.

Turning on the balls of your feet, you positioned your arms in a T movement allowing yourself to plummet backward without a single hesitation in your action due to your cat-like reflexes.

The masks built in GPS proved its efficiency in times like this, tracking targets became easier with each new piece of manufactured tech James had stolen.

Scaling the roofs was the effortless section of the mission as you concentrated your focus on following the crimson arrowhead that guided you to the address through the mask, allowing you to do so without any unwanted interruptions.

As you began to accelerate approaching the girl’s house, boisterous ear-piercing sirens could be heard ringing out. A screech ripping through your throat as it threw you off. Dropping down low onto the roof as you accidentally gained the attention of the people swarming around the house. Familiar scarlet and azure-tinted lights flickered around continuously on a loop.

“Fucking cops.” You hissed under your breath, eyes widening interestedly as an ambulance pulled up outside of the house, the shrill and frantic yelling of the paramedics almost deafening. You’d think they’d be trained in situations like this to handle it calmly.

Watching intently as paramedics exited the house, you noticed the young woman you could recognize as Claire having an intense seizure on the stretcher.

“She’s going into cardiac arrest!” The male exclaimed signalling the others to aid him, getting ready to perform CPR as they placed the stretcher onto the gravelly ground of the pavement, their covered hands on her chest putting pressure there every couple of seconds.

Your breath hitched as the sudden realization hit you, you weren’t the only one assigned to this mission.

You ears pricked up as the smallest clinging noise caught your attention, squinting your eyes you saw a shiny gold encrusted ring next to her lifeless hand that must’ve slipped off as they placed her body onto the ground enticing you even more than before. Was she apart of the 7 rings?

[sweetheartjeongguk]

twitchy witchy girl

pairing: jimin x reader

genre: kiki’s delivery service au, fluff, minor angst

rating: pg

warning(s): oc is mean to jimin but makes up for it in the end, slight public humiliation

word count: 3.3k+

summary: maybe human boys aren’t so bad after all. 

a/n: here’s a late birthday gift to the loml park jimin 

masterlist | studio ghibli masterlist

“He’s here to see you again.”

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Honey, stop slamming your head against the counter. You’re going to give yourself a concussion.”

“Sounds like a fun way to go.”

“He’s been waiting outside for quite some time.” The older woman hums, one hand on her pregnant belly and the other resting on top of your shoulder.

When you first arrived in the new beachside town, you had high hopes of being incredibly popular and staying in a fabulous mansion where you practically drown in luxury. Instead, you’re stuck living in a one-room apartment with your cat familiar, Mochi, and working for Lee Eunji and her husband as their very first delivery witch.    

While most of the townspeople saw witches as nothing but troublemakers, Eunji saw a new opportunity.

“Tell him I’m dead.” You rub at your forehead once the throbbing became too much.

“He said he’d buy a Ouija board.”

“Tell him I moved away.”

“He can literally see you.” Eunji scoffs, waving a hand towards the front of the store.

With a disgruntled huff, you lift your head to follow Eunji’s line of sight.

Park Jimin stands with his hands tucked in his front pockets and an exasperated look on his face. He paces in front of the doorway, muttering something to himself while glancing into the store from the corner of his eye. When he notices your staring, he skids to a stop.

To this day, you have no clue why he’s interested in you. Sure, you’re a witch who can do all types of magic and fly on a broomstick which is enough to entertain the grumpiest of fiends. But one thing’s for sure – you and Park Jimin are two different people heading down two different paths. He’s the stereotypical rich boy who’s loved and admired by all simply for breathing air. Meanwhile, you’re the scary girl who can’t hold a decent conversation with another person without them sputtering something about magic and witchcraft.

“See?” Eunji chuckles at your obvious discomfort. “Can’t back out of this one, bud. Just go see what he wants.”

“Do you think you can bail me out of jail after I charm him into a cockroach and squish him with my foot?” You lean your cheek against the crook of your elbow in thought.  

“How about…” Eunji brushes back the strands of hair that fall across your face. “…you not resort to murder and just talk to him like a normal human being?”

“You’re just saying that because you think he’s pretty. He’s cast a spell on you too.” You roll your eyes as Eunji motions for Jimin to come inside.

“You’re the only witch here, sweetheart.” Eunji winks before going to check on the freshly baked loaves of bread resting in the kitchen.  

Jimin glows brighter than usual, his swept-back blond hair hidden underneath a red beret that makes him look like a stereotypical French boy. You snort to yourself when you take in the rest of his outfit – black-and-white striped shirt tucked into slim-fitting slacks with sleek black dress shoes.

Talk about Mr. Goody-Two-Shoes.

“Why, hello there, Mr. Park! What can we do for you today?” Eunji peeps her head through the kitchen doorway.  

“Hi, Mrs. Lee.” Jimin replies smoothly, hands crossed behind his back in an innocent manner. “I was wondering if I could grab Y/N for a second.”

You could barely hold back your disgust when you notice Eunji melting under Jimin’s sweet façade. He has virtually everyone in town wrapped around his stupid chubby pinky finger, and you refuse to let yourself fall for one of his tricks. 

“Y/N’s not here right now.” You grit your teeth. “Please leave a message after the fuc—"

“Y/N! Be nice.”

You push off of the stool you were sitting in behind the counter with a grunt. Your muscles are still sore from your delivery yesterday. Thankfully, there aren’t any major deliveries that afternoon so you’re free to stuff your face with as many as chocolate pastries as your heart desires.

Jimin draws in a small breath as you approach, mentally preparing his little speech he wrote on his way to the bakery that afternoon. He starts to open his mouth but only lets out a pathetic squeak as you roughly brush past him on your way to the pastry tray on the other side of the room.  

“Y/N!” Eunji scolds before turning to Jimin with an apologetic pout. “I’m so sorry about her, she’s still trying to get used to everything.”

“Oh no, I understand!” Jimin chuckles awkwardly, a hand reaching behind to rub the back of his neck. “Anyways…Y/N, there’s s-something I wanted to ask you.”

You hum absentmindedly as you stuff a large creampuff into your mouth. You wonder if you could cast a spell to speed up his spiel so that you’ll still have time to catch the new episode of your favorite television show that’s scheduled to air in a half hour.

“My aviation club at school is hosting a party this Saturday.” Jimin announces, his voice wavering from subtle nerves. “I was wondering if you would like to come.”

You silently scold your heart for thumping a little harder than usual. Attending a party with Jimin as his…date. The word should have sent a disgusted shiver down your spine, but all you get is a flood of butterflies in your stomach.

For some reason, the thought of Jimin in a tuxedo didn’t seem so bad.

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” Eunji claps her hands excitedly. “It’ll be a great chance for you to make some friends, Y/N!”

“Oh yeah, definitely!” Jimin blurts out. “The rest of the guys are just dying to meet a witch. They’re really curious to learn more about how your broom works!”

Just like that, the mood dies. As a matter of fact, it doesn’t just die. It comes barreling towards the earth in a frenzy of fire and heat, striking the ground with tremendous force and destroying everything in its path.

He didn’t want you to go with him – he just wants to show you off like some circus act to his friends.

In that moment, you’re reminded of why you didn’t trust him. He might have Eunji and everyone else fooled, but you know better. Park Jimin’s just like everyone else, and you curse yourself for nearly falling into his trap.

Eunji watches inquisitively as you make your way towards the boy holding the invitation in both hands. There’s a tight grin that stretches across your face in a Cheshire Cat-like manner. The sight is quite unsettling to Eunji, but Jimin still beams at you as if he’s found the answers to his prayers.

“An invitation just for me?” You grab the invitation, ignoring the pleasant sensation of his soft skin brushing against yours.

“Yup! I saved one just for you.” Jimin nods excitedly.

“Oh really?”

“Yes! We’re really interested in learn—”

Rrrrip.

Jimin’s smile breaks as you tear the card in half. You barely hear Eunji gasping in the background as you shred the invitation into several jagged pieces. With a snap of your fingers, the slivers of paper burst into flames and float pathetically to the linoleum floor in a burnt crisp.

In an instant, your crazed smile transforms into a disgusted scowl. “Thanks for the invite, but I’d prefer company with people who don’t use me as their personal flying monkey.”

“Y/N!” Eunji hisses sharply.

You ignore her. “I know you think that you’re being cute and funny, but honestly, you’re just annoying and pathetic.”

Jimin stands frozen in the middle of the bakery, his bleary eyes fixated on the burnt strips scattered across the floor. Eunji rushes over from the kitchen to collect the mess with a broom and dustpan, glancing up when she notices your figure escape through the backdoor towards your living quarters.

“Jimin, I am so sorry about her.” Eunji sighs in exasperation. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her.”

Jimin nods stiffly. “It’s n-no problem. I understand…”

Eunji opens her mouth at another attempt of a worthless apology, but Jimin’s already turning on his heel and heading out of the door, the tiniest sniffle betraying his quiet composure. Eunji watches in pity as Jimin disappears down the street with his shoulders slumped forward and his hands tucked into his front pockets once more.

He’s lucky that his route continues straight down the road. That way, Eunji doesn’t notice the tears dribbling down his cheeks reddened from embarrassment.  

Ever since you burned his invitation in his face, Eunji hasn’t spoken to you. After you escaped the bakery and hid in your room to watch tv with Mochi, she barged in with the pile of ashes in her hands. She promptly tosses the charred papers on top of your nightstand, turning on her heel with a repulsed sneer.  

“I’m disappointed in you. Honestly.”

Whether you like it or not, your chest twinges with guilt. Apart from being like a second mother to you, Eunji’s your best friend. When you faced the threat of living out on the streets with no food or money, she was the one who took you under her wing and offered you not only a job but a place to sleep and eat.  

Now, it’s as if the sight of you makes her sick to her stomach. This time, you couldn’t even blame Park Jimin for it.

“If he just left me alone like I told him millions of times before, we wouldn’t be having this issue.”

“That may be,” Mochi purrs. “But you did embarrass him by burning his invitation in his face. The very same invitation he had kept specifically for you and only you.”

“So?” You grumble. “He only invited me because he wanted me to entertain his dumb friends.”

The gentle evening breeze soars in through your open window, chilling you to the bone. You slightly curse at yourself for not dressing in warmer pajamas, but your earnings for the month wouldn’t give you much. You’d borrow from Eunji, but 1) most of her wardrobe right now are maternity clothes and 2) she currently refuses to speak with you.

You let out a long whine, sounding exactly like your five-year-old self who cried when a wave toppled her over during a family vacation to the beach. “Do I have to?”

Mochi stares at you without a word.  

“What if I fake my death?”

“Y/N…”

“Okay, fine…but if he doesn’t accept my apology, then can I fake my death?”

You feel silly.

Dressed in a white dress that molds tightly against your waist and puffs out at the skirt, you look and feel like a creampuff. After begging for her forgiveness for two hours straight, Eunji goes to work on preparing your party outfit. You pout about the centimeter-thick layer of foundation and powder, but Eunji shrugs off your complaints with an uncaring smirk. Perhaps it’s your punishment for not listening to her in the first place.

“It’s itchy.” You whine as the lace fabric continues to scratch against your skin.

Eunji holds in her laughter as you shift uncomfortably in your seat. “If only you focused on your special magic training and not on hurting the feelings of people who like you, you could have learned how to cast an anti-itching spell.”

“Spells are hard…” You pout. “And he doesn’t like me, he just wants to pretend to get to know me so that he can tell people that he knows a witch. It’s exploitation at its finest.”

Eunji shakes her head in disbelief. “I’d think you witches would have some type of clairvoyance about you, but you’re completely dense.”

“I’m not a psychic.” You roll your eyes. “I’m starting to think that no one in this town cares enough to educate themselves on witch culture.”

“Well, if you weren’t such a grumpy old troll, then maybe you could educate those people about witches.” Eunji pokes your nose with the end of a concealer brush as she finishes up the last touch-ups to your makeup.

“I shouldn’t have to.” You try to cross your arms, but you find it almost impossible considering how tight the chest of the dress was. “For once, I want someone to learn for themselves for once instead of using me for laughs and giggles.”

Eunji sighs in defeat. While the makeup and fancy dress did wonders to brighten your usual gloomy appearance, the frown marring your brow seems to remain there permanently.  

“Honey…” Eunji says quietly. “I might not be a witch, but I know a thing or two about love. That boy definitely likes you for you, not because he wants to cross ‘Meet a witch’ off his bucket list.”

You continue to fiddle with the lace of the skirt, nearly ripping out a stray thread before laying your palms flat in your lap.

“I’ve never seen a boy so adamant about visiting a girl everyday even if he can just get one sentence in.” Eunji laughs softly. “Reminds me of my husband when we were first dating. He wouldn’t let me go for one second.”

You try to laugh, but you end up looking like you swallowed something inedible.  

“I’m not saying that you need to date him or anything.” Eunji shakes her head. “I’m just saying that you should give Jimin a chance. You’d do good with some friends in this town, even if it’s just him.”

With that, Eunji holds out a clenched fist. You’re quick to grab whatever’s in her hands, but you instantly blanch when the substance fills your palms. While most of the invitation’s burnt to a crisp, one part of the paper remains semi-readable.

“Ms. Witch…”

A couple days ago, you’d be rolling your eyes and threatening to shove your broomstick where the sun won’t shine if Jimin had called you by that nickname. Now, all you could feel is a delightful warmth that spreads from your face down to your toes.  

You’re screwed. You’re definitely screwed.

“You might want to head off now!” Eunji yells. You lift your head in surprise when you notice that she’s already escaped into the kitchen. “It looks like it’s going to rain! Better not be late!”

Desperately shoving the remnants of the invitation into your bra, you barely spare a coherent farewell as you dash into the street and kicking off the ground with your broomstick between your legs. As you head southwest towards the party, you force several deep breaths as you settle the anxiety that plagues your veins and kickstarts your heart into overdrive.

“This better work.” You whisper to yourself, ignoring the tiny droplets of water that begin to fall from the cluster of clouds above.

Your jaw drops at the vast size of the house. Classical music plays on repeat as the guests mingle around the dining room that looks as though it could fit an entire country and a half inside. You observe from the outside, completely unbothered as the rain soaks through your clothes and streaks your makeup. While you take a moment to admire the decorations strung across the walls and on the ceiling, your eyes wander in search of one individual in particular.

“Excuse me.” Someone coughs.

Behind you, a boy watches you with a dirty look, almost as if he wishes to say, “You obviously look like you don’t belong here”. While he isn’t far from the truth, you couldn’t help but mirror his unimpressed glare.

“I’m sorry, but this party is reserved for members only.” He retorts snootily. “I’m afraid I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“Jokes on you, asshole, I have an invitation…” You answer quickly.

“Is that so?” He asks with a pretentious scoff. “Where is it?”

You choke on your words. You almost forgot that the evidence is literally shoved inside your cleavage. “U-Um…well the thing is…”

“Y/N?”

You, along with Mr. Stick-Stuck-High-Up-In-My-Ass, turn towards the new visitor. Your heart prickles with something foreign at the sight of Park Jimin in a suit and tie and a cute flower tucked inside his pocket.

“Hi…” You reply meekly, eyes fixated on the growing puddle on the edge of the sidewalk.

You completely miss the elated glint in Jimin’s eyes.

“She’s your guest, Park?” The boy asks warily, still viewing you as some kind of creature who escaped from the Black Lagoon.  

You’ll be sure to add a little something extra to his hors d’oeuvres when you get the chance.

“Yeah, she’s my plus-one.” Jimin answers confidently. “I didn’t get to give her the invitation, but her name’s on the list if you want to check.”

The boy watches Jimin carefully before rolling his eyes. “I’ll be sure to check the list. Be sure that next time, everyone has an invite before they just show up unannounced and unwanted.”

Oh, how you wish you could use your magic for bad just once. Sure, you might face lifelong consequences that could inevitably affect your future…but would one time really make a difference?

“Sorry about him.” Jimin scratches the back of his neck. “Jihyun can be pretty uptight sometimes…”

“I can handle uptight just fine.” You shrug awkwardly. “T-Thanks though.”

Jimin clears his throat. “Yeah, of course! Anytime…”

There’s a brief moment of silence that you wish you could break without looking like a complete fool. Thankfully, Jimin takes the initiative from you.  

“Y-You look really pretty.”

Thankfully, the foundation that Eunji caked onto your cheeks covers any sign of redness. Unfortunately, it did make you look like you took a dip into a giant frosting container.

“Thanks, you don’t look so bad yourself.” You force yourself to playfully nudge at his shoulder. “You clean up rather nicely.”

“T-Thanks, my mom picked it out.” Jimin immediately clamps his mouth shut. You smile at the obvious embarrassment that floods his features and purses his lips into a demure pout.

It’s cute. In fact, it’s the type of cute that makes you want to drop everything and bring him back home to introduce to your entire family.

If only Eunji were here, she’d be getting a kick out of your emotional turmoil.

“Uh, a-anyways,” Jimin stammers nervously. “Why did you come tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, making Jimin quickly backpedal on his words.

“N-Not that you’re not allowed to come! You’re totally allowed to come, it’s totally fine by me. I j-just thought you didn’t want to…you know, after you…burned the invitation to a crisp.”

“Oh yeah! That reminds me…”

Jimin pales as you dig inside to collect the blackened scraps, your tongue poking through the side of your mouth in concentration. He quickly diverts his attention towards the large oak tree hanging overhead, trying hard not to think about how your breasts are half a foot away from his face.

“There we are!”

Hesitantly craning his neck towards you once more, Jimin meets your upturned hands that cradle the destroyed scraps of the invitation. He cocks an eyebrow at this – what’s he supposed to do with that?

Jimin swallows his retort when suddenly, the papers swirl around almost like in a mini tornado, fusing back together. With a poof, the paper transforms from a charcoal black to its original eggshell white, complete with the original detailing and “Dear Ms. Witch…” at the very top of the card. As a special treat, you add an extra touch that Jimin can’t help but crack a smile at.

There’s a crude stick figure drawing of the two of you sitting side-by-side with a tiny pink heart floating above your heads. It may have been a trick of the light, but Jimin could swear that your little stick figure presses a kiss to stick figure Jimin’s cheek.

“Ta-da…” You smile shyly as you slip the paper into Jimin’s hand. “It’s corny, I know, but…”

“W-What changed your mind?” Jimin asks bashfully as he presses the card to his chest.

You shrug teasingly. “You’re not as bad as I thought you were. Also, it helps that you’re a little cute.”

“And the truth?”

“Eunji threatened to steal my broomstick and sell it in next week’s yard sale if I didn’t show up.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

[godsofmonster]

Florida Kilos ≽ Finale

Reader x Bangtan- Drug Cartel

Word Count- 7.7k

Warnings- drugs, guns, blood, prostitution, violence, abuse, sexual content, betrayal, character deaths, ect.

≽ Links to previous chapters can be found on my masterlist in my bio because Tumblr sucks now! You can also click on the ‘Florida Kilos’ tag!

That is where this story ends...

Yoongi’s hands were locked on my waist, his fingerprints marking my body, all his strength focused on keeping me as close to him as humanly possible. His lips trailed a sloppy line down my jaw, breath heavy on my skin, my eyes could only shut savoring the feeling- a feeling I would forever dream of. There was no pair of lips that I could kiss without tasting him. There couldn't be a day that passed by me without thinking of him. After everything, he still managed to remain deep in my veins, keeping the absolute authority over my better judgment. He could be on the other side of the world and still be in control of me, simply because I loved him.

 I tilted my head to the side and allowed him to lose himself in the storm of passion. My eyes fluttering open and slowly located my handbag on the nightstand.

I was visibly melting at his touch and so much strength within me was required to dominate my feelings and desires. Shivers formed on my skin as his tongue ran over the tender areas of my neck and shoulder. I reached down to caress his head of hair as my right hand carefully reached in search within the bag.

Yoongi had his raspy voice praise and mutter sweet nothings against my heating skin. His hands were reaching to undress me as I managed to grab a hold of the revolver from the side of my purse. 

I glanced down at him, to find that his eyes were not visible to me as I brought the gun down the edge of the bed. I took in a breath, one step at a time, I said to myself. The metal was cold against my blood-rushing body, my palms growing damp, as I went to cock the hammer.

My skin froze as the click disturbed the silence in the room.

Yoongi suddenly grabbed both of my arms and forced me off the bed. My back hit the floor instantly, falling with Yoongi directly on top of me, with his large hands pinning me down. I screamed as his hand pressed down on my still healing bullet wound under the bandages.

“What the hell- do you think you’re doing (Y/n)?!”

He shouted down at me with his eyes black and hollow as they stared at me with rage. All lust had left his body, a mood change supported by the grams of cocaine that replenished him. My arms fought against his restraints, the cocked gun being held tightly, but he had the upper hand.

“You think you can fucking kill me?!”

I thought fast, bringing my legs up and locking them over his shoulders in order to push him off. He fell back and landed with a grunt, his legs were still entwined with mine as I sat up. I brought my hand over to my wrist, trying to get an aim on his leg before he recovered. He was fast, though. He ducked and lunged forward grabbing onto my wrist again and steering my aim away from his body.

His single hand was strong enough to grip my entire hands, he used his other one to hold the gun from its barrel. We began to stand to our feet, fighting for the gun, my heart racing as it was slipping through my fingers.

Yoongi managed to tear it from my palms with a loud grunt before stepping back breathing heavily. He tossed the gun behind him, I flinched as I thought it would surely go off. When it didn't I quickly stepped back, Yoongi's body tensed with anger, his chest rising and falling, in the image of an angry bull. He followed my step and in the same breath, he raised his hand and struck me down.

I almost fell over from the impact. My face flushed and burning in my hand. My head dropped as I tasted blood, the ache spreading over my skin and inside my head. My vision failed me for seconds, within them, Yoongi stepped toward me once again. His hands wrapping around my neck, my feet stumbling, while he forced me against the glass door beside us.

“You fucking bitch. You’ve finally lost your goddamn mind!” He growled through clenched teeth.

My mouth hung open as he cut off the circulation of oxygen from my body. I desperately attempted to take air in but to no avail. His hands were clutching harder with each passing second, the drugs fueling his anger, as my only reaction was to fight harder as my voice strained. I couldn't even properly gasp while my body entered a state of complete panic, in which I could not think nor react. 

Yoongi’s arms tensed with such strength, I couldn’t break his hold, he was much stronger than I was. His eyes were vicious and burning holes over my face, where his gaze reside practically condemning me to hell. That portrait brought pure terror to my consciousness. 

My body began to fall weak against my own will. I was dangerously lightheaded and black spots dotted my hazy vision. I made useless attempts against him, claw at his skin with my fingernails. I left, long, deep scratches along his cheek and neck. They were deep enough to draw light drops of blood but they still fell in vain.

My body grew severely numb and my head built with pressure. Yoongi showed no intentions of loosening his grip and I was sure that he would not.

This would have been my final moments, the final image before my eyes shifted into a never-ending blackness. I always imagined death would be like being lost in the night. Yoongi had always been my darkness and my light and perhaps this was the way I was meant to remember him- with his hands wrapped around my neck so tight with nothing but love.

Maybe it was strange- but I thought that dying by the hands of someone you loved- wasn’t such a bad way to go.

A gunshot went off. Yoongi’s face of rage was broken by a pain that caused his hands to release my throat. I gasped for air as he gasped in a scream, his body falling against the edge of the bed. I practically coughed my lungs until they worked again. Though my vision was blurred, my eyes darting over by the door just barely making out a slim figure- a body that could only belong to Park Jimin.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Yoongi screamed.

I continued coughing, my eyes scanning over the bullet wound that had punctured through Yoongi’s kneecap. Jimin lowered his gun, picking up my own weapon off the floor before walking over in my direction. His lips moved but his voice was taking a second to become clear in my ears. I shook my head lightly, only then was I able to make them out, his voice was saying,

“Are you okay?”

Yoongi was cursing at us in the background but I was still trying to understand Jimin's unexpected appearance. It could have easily seemed like a blessing but I knew better than to trust in someone other than myself. Jimin took a second and was distracted by Yoongi’s aggressive barking, at that moment I reach for my gun and pried it out of his hand. Even with the strength slowly coming back to me, I didn't hesitate to point it at him.

“Calm down, (Y/n)-”

“What are you doing here?” I asked with a raspy voice.

“I could ask you the same thing- this wasn’t what Taehyung and you agreed on.” He said showing me his hands, trying to avoid giving me a reason to shoot him. I felt like a dog that was cornered. My heart was still pounding against my chest, death was leaving my body. After a thousand times I've tempted death, a thousand times I've managed to escape, I was still terrified. “Then again… I didn’t think it was like you to agree so easily.”

“What the hell is he talking about, (Y/n)?!” Yoongi shouted, his teeth ground against each other as spit formed in the corners of his mouth.

“Just shut up!” I yelled louder than him. I didn’t take my eyes away from Jimin. He wasn’t threatening but I still felt threatened. I was in this alone and I couldn’t trust anyone anymore. “You made a mistake coming here Jimin. I’ll give you a chance to leave alive but you have to go- now.”

“What are you planning on doing?” He asked and I pulled the trigger, purposely shooting just beside his head. The bullet blowing a hole through the bedroom door.

“I said now! If you want to leave with your head attached.” I didn’t want to hurt him. There would be enough bloodshed before the end of the night. Jimin, however, remained unfazed by my threat.

“You can’t run away from Taehyung,” Jimin could read me like a fucking book. Only now I realized how much that angered me. He knew that there was no way I would ever surrender my life to a man I did not love. I would never trade the love of my life- for a man who only lusted over my life. “Not alone at least.”

His words caught me by surprise but even so, could I believe in him? In my mind, Jimin would always be loyal to Taehyung. There was nothing that could make me believe otherwise.

“You wouldn’t help me,” I said keeping my aim still.

“Give me the chance to prove it to you.” Then, without meaning too, I thought back to the night before, as he was undressing me, what Jimin had said,

“There has always been something about you that’s made me question my loyalty. I... don't trust myself around you.”

Maybe it was foolish of me. Maybe I was so desperate and gave up my logic for wishful thinking.  His sand-colored hair was pushed backward and he licked his full lips as he did when he was anxious. And when I looked into his eyes, I could find nothing in them, that made me question him- for now at least.

“You want to help?” He slowly nodded his head, doing the same, while bringing his hands down to his side. I figured he could at least help me buy some time, “Get Hoseok- tell him to get everything out of the safe and wait for me outside.”

“What should I tell him?” He asked as I lowered my aim.

I sighed, my eyes glancing at Yoongi whose blood was leaking all over the side of the bed. His chest was rising and falling as he held his limp leg. It was a remaining image of the torture between him and I.

“Tell him…that I will do everything in my power to keep him safe.”

Jimin nodded his head, following my gaze and looking over to Yoongi. I imagined that in his own head he said his good riddance to Yoongi. Giving his condolence to the dead man sitting before him.

“You don’t have to do this.” He reminded me, but he didn't know that I did have to.

“I’m the only one who has this right,” I said as Yoongi’s hate-filled eyes locked on me. I looked back to Jimin, indicating it was time for him to leave, I wanted to be alone. “Go.”

I watched Jimin leave the room and just as he went through the set of double doors- he turned to give me one last glance. I could only describe it, as the type of look a friend gives to you before you make a great mistake.

I understood his look- his worry- this wasn’t a choice you could take back, try again, or ever forget. Maybe I didn’t truly understand the consequences but I would soon be faced with them. I was always the one who surrendered to his love, the one who suffered without a reason, and the one who managed to preach without any blessings. Yet here he was, with his life in my hands, and only I could decide his fate. I would never be the same and I was okay with that- because this was the life that we had chosen, therefore this is how we would have to die.

And so, Jimin shut the doors behind him, leaving us to have our final conversation.

“So, it seems that you’ve made your arrangements,” Yoongi scoffed, his hands still resting on his disjointed kneecap. He knew me better than anyone, and so, he knew that once my mind was set- there was nothing in the world that could change it.

I sighed quietly, resting myself against the glass door he had me pin against earlier, my eyes not looking away from him for a single moment. I studied his form- his skin, his breathing. Every cut, every scar, that made him who he was. His cold black eyes that once warmed me like the very sun itself. “Am I going to die not knowing why?”

I used to think of Yoongi as my own intimate sun. He was my source of light and warmth, he kept me alive. You see, I had always been like the moon. I was cold and dull, and without him, I surely would die. But somewhere along our way, the roles switched, Yoongi was now cold and bitter- while I grew and outshined him completely. Our love had turned into one that could cut deeper than a blade. Still, I remained with my head in the clouds, up in the sky, chasing after a dream that seemed so real.

“Knowing isn’t going to make things any easier, maybe, it’s best if you don’t know,” I advised him. Sometimes being clueless was the best option, it saved you from driving yourself mad with questions of how it could have been different- even when it couldn’t have.

“I’m sure you’ve justified yourself with some heroic reason,” He mocked, hissing and shutting his eyes as he shifted upward on the bed. “Am I the bad guy, (Y/n)? Is that what you are telling yourself?”

I smirked to myself softly, it was a smirk that held a lot of painful memories. There were parts of Yoongi that have never changed. I shook my head softly in his direction.

“This isn’t a movie, Yoongi. This is real life and we are all the bad guys here.” He let out a laugh that held anger. I watched the skin of his cheeks ball against his eyes, making them appear smaller, as the taunting sound left his mouth.  

“You won’t make it without me, baby.” He shook his head, using his bloodstained hands to push away the strands of his hair. The cranberry substance painted the yellow hair on his head with abstract versions of his fingerprints. “Whether you want to accept it or not, we're connected- forever.”

“Of course," I smiled. His eyes flashed a shine of light that came from the amusement of my words. "That’s why only death could keep us apart.”

If there was one thing Yoongi and I could agree on- it was those very words. I knew that, even after everything that happened, Yoongi wouldn’t leave me- just like how I wouldn’t leave him. 

That may have been the true reason behind my decision because I didn't want to have to choose between him or me, after all, we were supposed to be one. But our love was caught between a crossfire and I needed to get away from him.

Except, I knew couldn’t live my life knowing he was out there somewhere- without me. Maybe it was wrong, obsessive, or even sick of me, to think that way but I knew the feeling was mutual.  

“So is this how you are choosing to leave things between us? No questions? No middle ground? Not even a final kiss?” He asked surprised, even though all of those things were going through my mind, I don’t know if I dared.

“What do we have to gain from speaking the words of your betrayal into this moment of peace?” Perhaps it was my own way of dealing with things. After all of the laws we've broken, the lives that were sacrificed, I just wished to have a little bit of control over this moment. I wanted the perfect moment.

“I’m bleeding out, (Y/n). I could feel the lack of blood ice over my body- there is nothing peaceful about this moment.” He insisted on getting everything out of me.

We could only exchange glances as I thought to myself. I was never known for holding my tongue, there was no real reason to start now. Yoongi knew who I was, knew what I was capable of, hurting his feelings shouldn't be on my list of things to worry about. With his deep stare, his naked chest, there was no other way out.

“I thought that you were a fool, Min Yoongi,” I began, standing apart from leaning against the door, as my emotions took control of my better judgment. “I pitied you more than anything; every time you drowned yourself in a kilo of cocaine, every time you lashed out in jealousy and rage, every single time you bonded with Taehyung- not knowing that he prayed for your downfall more than anything in this world.”

Yoongi frowned, not savoring the aggression in which I spoke them, and not understanding what I meant with my last set of words.

“That’s right.” I nodded my head at him, taking a step closer in his direction. “Taehyung has always wanted me but you were always in his way. After you disobeyed my orders in New York, getting Jungkook killed and letting the DEA get a track of his records, they linked our organization back to Florida. You bet your sorry ass- that was plenty of reason for the Kim Brothers to want you dead. Do you know what was the only thing that could have kept you alive? Me!”

I spat my words closely at him, his face contouring in a deep anger and disbelief, “But you had already sold me out to the Kim Brothers, the second you got home, which left me helpless in Taehyung’s hands. He asked me to marry him, in exchange for Hoseok's life and mine but- he was an idiot to actually think I would agree to such an offer.”

That look in Yoongi’s eyes was exactly what I was trying to keep him from. The anger, the humiliation, of the events that took place around us. The worst part of it all, those feelings would only morph into regret, in vain of not being able to change what has already happened. The exact feelings that I had been hauling around all alone.

“But the real shame, the real fool in all of this, is me...” I felt tears brim the corners of my eyes as I grew overwhelmed and my voice cracked, “Because I would have forgiven you for everything Yoongi- everything! For talking down to me- for laying your hands on me- for fucking that whore and any others- even for getting Jungkook killed!!”

I was practically yanking my own hair as I ran my hands through them. The fact the very words left my mouth was enough to disgust me. To think that I loved him so unconditionally, that I was going against my very morals and logic, boiled a self-loathing heat inside of me. This is why I had to draw the line, even knowing, that it would be drawn in his blood. “But you betrayed me, Yoongi! You were reckless with our lives! You didn’t care if I or Hoseok got killed! And If I couldn’t leave you for my own sake then- I have to do it for him! I couldn’t live with myself if Hoseok died, just like Jungkook, all because I was so weak...for you.”

Yoongi’s faced had softened while I released my demons and shame. It wasn’t because his emotions had simmered down- it was because he was dying from blood loss.

My eyes stared angrily at him, tears making a mess of my sight, as I was heartbroken to see him in such a state.

I turned to the nightstand where my bag remained. I set the gun beside it as my hands rummaged through the junk, getting a hold of my carton of cigarettes and my lighter. I sniffled, tossing the box back into the bag after getting a hold of a single one. I walked back in his direction, holding the cigarette close to his mouth for him to take, and he did slowly. I snapped the cheap lighter with my thumb a few times, also bringing the flame to the sticks end, allowing him to absorb it in his cheeks and breathe in the nicotine.

I stepped back against the glass. My head fell back against the frame as I tried to clean away the stains my tears left. Yoongi was holding out each drag he took, deeply relishing, what was his last cigarette. I continued to watch him, admiring the structure of his face, even if it was all dead and sunken in- he was still gorgeous.

He finally took the cigarette out of his mouth, holding it between his index and middle finger, that were drenched in his blood, as he licked his lips to utter a few words.

“I think the real shame is... that you’ve forgotten how much I love you.” I felt a shiver run down my spine. He blinked at me and wore no particular emotion on his face while letting the smoke come out through his mouth as he continued to speak. “It is true- that at some point, I began to resent you but that never changed the fact that I was crazy about you. Even through all of the addiction, rage, jealousy, and mistakes- I’ve never stopped loving you.”

“You can’t be surprised about how I feel- if all you’ve done is be ungrateful to my poor heart,” I said as his words brought more tears from my eyes. Why did it have to be now when he started to act like his old self. Why was death the only time that his pretty black eyes shined a path to warm my heart?

“Maybe I am the bad guy then but I know that I was not the cause of our downfall,” Yoongi said with ease, taking in another hit, as I turned my head at him. “You know where the true mistake remains- the real reason that everything went to shit.”

Goosebumps erupted across every inch of my skin as soon as I realized what he spoke of. I bit down on my lip, nodding my head indicating that I agreed with him.

“We should have just died that night.”

But we didn’t. We cheated death and thought ourselves lucky. When in reality, we just doomed ourselves to suffer double for what we had done. Death treats all alike, whether rich or poor, in love or alone, she- was just.

“You’re right.” I stepped back toward the nightstand, reaching for the gun that had remained loaded, I looked back to Yoongi who was just finishing up his cigarette.

We could have died together- happy and in love- with not a single regret to weep over. It would have been a tragic story between two lovers who fought together, until the very end. 

However, it ended up like this, a tale of a toxic relationship, that only ate off each other's souls, and turned them both into people they despised. 

If I knew, that day, what tomorrow would bring- I would have never spoken out in the first place.

But it was too late for that- Yoongi would die here, alone and in vain, by the hands of who loved him the most. While I, would have to spend the rest of my life carrying the weight and absence of him everywhere I went.

“Now this is the price we have to pay.”

I said and kept the gun at my leg as I walked up to him, he sucked the last bit of tobacco that the cigarette bud had to offer, as I leaned over him. He only kept himself up on the single arm he rested on, he tossed the bud somewhere across the room, before he met me halfway and captured my lips.

It was our final kiss, and with it, we settled any sins.

Once we broke apart, partly breathless and speechless, I looked into his eyes once again. There was a fire burning in them. Looking at him now, resembled the feeling I had, the first time I ever laid eyes on Min Yoongi. We both just knew.   

I stepped back away from him. Once again, I cocked the hammer of the gun by pulling it down with my thumb, the same click sound almost echoed in the silence of the room. Yoongi smirked at me.

“Remember your stance, doll.” He said with a slight chuckle as I readjusted the position of my legs and firmly gripped over my hand. I allowed myself a deep breath as I took aim, Yoongi’s head lining up with the barrel of my revolver.

“You see that Hobi? (Y/n) is better than you already.” I glanced behind me to Hoseok who was sitting on a nearby log. He wore a presently surprised look, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. I snickered and stepped back to point the gun at Yoongi. He raised his hands up and smiled, a sight that I didn’t see very often, “That’s my girl.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

And then, I pulled the trigger,

Bang!

I gasped. The gun fell from my hands just moments after. My eyes watched as if in slow motion, Yoongi dropped back against the bed sheets. The adrenaline sent shocks throughout my body- cries formed from my lips in the rhythm of waves. It was as if I lost all sense of breathing, the wind knocked out of me, and I blinked tears out of my watering eyes as I stood there frozen. A murderous voice shrieked at me, in my head, proclaiming that I was now nothing but a black widow.

As I automatically stepped toward the bed, catching the slightest glimpse of Yoongi, his eyes were like a sunset in its final moments. As his soul left his body with the final breath that split his lips, I felt my world break in half. Blood poured out of his third eye, the warm liquid pooling rivers in the sockets of his eyes. It resembled him crying red tears and those tears became rivers. The world seemed so different when he wasn't by my side, now he was beyond my reach.

The scene looked like something I would have only seen in my worst of nightmares. His blood seeped into the sheets of our bed, where he had made love to me countless of times.

I could have laid there beside his body, screamed, and damned God for always allowing me to end up this way. My lost faith left me with a wound, even after I put my all, it still was not enough and nothing would comfort me without him.

The thing about taking someone's life is that it did something to your soul, it fed it the most rotten of fruits that tainted any good that was held within. Though, killing the love of your life- that was the lack of your very soul.

He was the man of my dreams, who kept me living in a fantasy, believing that all we needed was love to be perfect. I foolishly tried to plant a flower that would never bloom, in a dream that could never come true. He had become a part of my essence, to the moon and back, is where he would stay. Just as I imagined- his departure left me feeling so empty and cold inside, that I almost felt nothing at all. With his spirit leaving his body- finally opening my eyes- waking up from a lucid dream.

And even after everything Yoongi had taught me over the years, the one thing he never showed me, was how to live my life without him.

-

I stepped through the front door of what was once my home. And inside of it, remained the memories of those who no longer suffered the curse that Death had marked me with. Once closing the door behind me it was never for me to open again.

I spotted Hoseok and Jimin standing over his car, exchanging words of aggression to each other before they noticed me. Hoseok pushed Jimin’s hand off his shoulder as he had been trying to keep him from coming inside. Hoseok met me at the bottom of the shallow stairs, where I could see the worry and fear shaking his body in complete anxiety.

“Are you okay, (Y/n)? What happened?” I stared at him blankly. The more Hoseok rambled the more he answered his own questions. “I heard gunshots- where’s Yoongi?”  

Maybe he saw it in my eyes, the little life that reflected in color of my vision, but I think he felt it in the pit of his being. I wasn’t the only one Yoongi had left an impact on. Hoseok and Yoongi were like brothers, the only family he had ever needed- Hoseok knew very well. It showed the moment his eyes shifted from my eyes to the upstairs window of the third floor.

“No…” He shook his head, wanting to convince himself otherwise. He ran his hands through his hair while his eyes glossed in pain, “(Y/n)- what did you do?!”

I watched how his breathing fell into a deep, inhuman, kind of rhythm. He broke down into a sob that brought him down to hug his knees. The details of his hurt were concealed by the blackness of the night. His raven hair and the tears that streamed down from his face where the only things that reflected the light from the moon above us.

Jimin approached us as if he wished to lend a consoling hand, except I stopped him with a gesture. He halted in his tracks and kept his distance from us. I stepped down to meet Hobi’s level on the ground. I squatted beside him, my hands reaching to up to his slim face, that tainted with tears.

“If we don’t leave now- we’re going to be killed- do you understand what I’m saying to you, Hoseok?” I used the back of my fingers to clean up the tears from his mug. He hesitated, studying my face, seeking to understand why- what had let me to such actions. Even though the answer was complex out of his judgment, there was still a part of him that knew I hadn’t let him down yet and so, he still had faith in me.

He nodded his head, as I kept my hands on him while we rose back to our feet. Unexpectedly, I pulled him into my arms, resting his head on my shoulder. Without being able to utter the words to him, I apologized, over and over again in silence. Before pulling away and smiling up at him, 

“I can’t lose you too.”

“Where will we go?” He asked me as I took him by the hand, leading him to his own car that was parked behind us.

“We have to leave the country- it’s the only way to remain out of the Kim Brothers reach-” We stopped in our tracks when we were faced with Jimin once again. “We’ll take your boat to Havana.”

I said leaving Hoseok standing behind me, walking toward the car, where the duffle bag sat beside the back wheel. I placed the bag on top of the trunk, zipping it open to reveal what was packed away. I pulled out our passports, flipping open each one and setting aside Yoongi’s and Jungkook’s, in search for just ours. Hoseok quietly walked over to me, his eyes locking with Jimin, as an obvious pout rested on his lips.  

“What about him?” He whispered quietly to me, even though, I was sure Jimin could hear him. “Do you trust him?”

I pulled out one of the two caliber 45s, checking the full ammunition, and handing it to Hoseok along with his passport. I looked up at Jimin who was watching us from a scanty distance.

“I don’t know yet,” I answered honestly, not bothering to keep it a secret, as I tucked away the second 45 in the belt of my jumpsuit.

“Do you really think that 80 miles is enough distance between Taehyung and you?” Jimin asked approaching us. I knew that Jimin was making a valid point, 80 miles was not enough, but it was the only shot we had. We couldn’t leave the state from the borders, the Kim Brothers had connections that would stop us from getting anywhere near state lines. Staying in their territory wasn’t a smart move over all and crossing enemy lines into the Mexican cartel territory also wasn’t ideal. I continued to look in the bag, pushing aside and inspecting, a single ounce of pure cocaine and $50,000 in cash. “I can get us a plane ready while we make it to the runway.”

“We?” I asked, stopping my movements and looking at him from head to toe. I then heard Hoseok cock his gun beside me. He took a clear aim on Jimin, stepping around me and closer to him.

“That sounds like a plan too well thought out.” He said and I had to agree. Jimin rose his hands up defensively.

“My uncle is Taehyung's pilot,” He explained as I quickly shut everything back into the bag and swung it over my shoulder. “I honestly believed something like this might happen-”

“Get down on your knees!” Hoseok demanded and Jimin followed his orders. I could see Hobi’s hands shaking to keep steady. He was afraid and lacked the capability to trust anyone due to the situation at hand.

Still, I had to make a choice, our lives were on the line and we didn’t have much time. This wasn’t about good or bad luck- we couldn’t afford to take those chances. “What are your orders, (Y/n)?” 

Hoseok asked as he exchanged glances with Jimin and I. The choice was like having salt in one hand and sugar in the other; there was nothing within me that gave me a reason to doubt him nor believe him. 

“(Y/n)...I made the same promise to Jungkook, just like Hoseok.” My eyes locked with Jimin, even in the dark and with a gun pointed at him, he still managed to wear a poker face. “He asked us to take care of you- and I have no intention of breaking that promise.”

I glanced at Hoseok, who had seemed to believe in his words, his arms weren’t as tensed as he continued looking my way. Jungkook and Jimin held a true friendship in their short time together. Jungkook had trained under him for months- he wanted nothing more than to be stronger- always. The thing about strength is that it wasn’t proven by how high one could fly, it was about learning to take the fall and still being able to get back up. 

“We’ll see.” 

I said before tossing the duffle bag in the back seat of Hoseok’s Tesla. Hoseok lowering his gun and taking it upon himself to confiscate Jimin’s cell phone. I took the keys from Hobi’s offering hand and hopped into the driver’s seat. They went into the back seat, keeping an eye on each other, still not enough trust between them. Pulling the car into reverse, with a single U-turn, we heading down the long brick driveway.

“Be careful Jimin,” Hoseok warned softly, avoiding the words to fall to my ears, “(Y/n) can endure a lot of things, mistakes, and humiliations, but betraying her- she was capable of killing the love of her life.” 

Even though I hadn’t explained to Hoseok, what exactly had happened, he knew me better than I gave him credit for. I’ve always tried to make the right decision and did so with minimal regrets. I’ve taken risks and I’ve taken losses but that’s how it had to be- for us- who were good negotiators.

-

The rubber of the tires burned against the pavement as I made a harsh stop. We pulled up to the same private jet Jimin and I had landed from hours ago. I kept an eye on our surroundings, looking in the rearview mirrors, as Hoseok and Jimin got out of the car.

“Anyone of these employees here can contact Taehyung about an unauthorized takeoff.”

Jimin said grabbing a hold of the duffle bag. Hoseok helped me out of the car, as the doors to the jet opened up and revealed the stairs for us. I followed behind Jimin as Hoseok followed behind me.

“We have to hurry.”

The engine was roaring and the bright lights of the runway were our only hope. Just as Jimin made up the stairs to meet with his uncle, there was a loud bang aimed towards us. Hoseok and I dodged instantly, looking over my shoulder to see three black Hummers pulling up behind us. They had shot at our car, making its alarm go off, as I grabbed a hold of Hosoeks arm. I pushed him in front of me to get him in the protection of the bulletproof jet.

I drew the caliber from my waist, aiming to shoot that the wheels of the car as they were still in motion coming toward the plane. Jimin was doing the same, together, we managed to blow the two front tires of the closest vehicle. It halted harshly as the two behind it had to move around.

“Come on!” Jimin grabbed my arms, pulling me up the stairs, as I continued to shoot.

I almost slipped on my heels as I made it to the top, reloading my gun, as a yell came from outside.

“Jimin!” We both looked back to see Taehyung stepping out of one of the black Hummers. Taehyung was right, I was always two steps ahead of him.

His eyes were wide, as he looked up at us from a distance. He licked his lips and the breeze blew his yellow hair back. Men then poured out of the other cars, all of them hold AK 47s, lined up behind Taehyung. I cocked my own gun and had a clean shot on Taehyung's head as he held a stare with Jimin.

Without leaving his eyes, Jimin’s hand grabbed a hold of my wrist, pressuring me to put the gun down. I looked up at him confused but he still only looked at Taehyung,

“Get in your seat.”

He instructed me quietly. I was about to protest when Hoseok came up to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me away from the exposure of the open door. We both watched as a Jimin just stood there, there was no words between them, just the sound of the jet engine and wind. Then Jimin shook his head,

“I warned you- didn’t I, Taehyung?”

Jimin’s voice wasn’t cocky, nor was it upset, he was just bedding a farewell to a lifelong friend. Only then, did Jimin jump away from the door, hundreds of gunshots ricocheting off the metal and glass. He pressed the automatic button to close the door, yelling at into the cockpit to start taking off. We all got in our seats as the jet wasted no time in moving.

I sat by the window, getting a last glimpse of Taehyung and his men, he just stood there watching as the jet made its way down the runway. He could have stopped us but he didn’t.

-

Once we were in the air, no one had said anything since we took off. We were all emotionally and physically drained. There were big changes coming our way and we could only reflect on what had led us to this place.

Hoseok was sitting beside me, his head leaning against my shoulder, as he remained with his eyes shut. Our relationship had always been one of siblings, I saw in him, everything that I lost in Jungkook and Yoongi. Hoseok was the only family I had left.

I watched Jimin walked passed us, into the back of the jet where he pulled something from the bagging area. Hoseok raised his head at the loud thump of Jimin plopping a duffle bag in front of us.

“What’s this?” I asked and he said nothing, only gestured me to open it, and so I did.

I unzipped the bag, Hoseok peeking over my shoulder, as it announced to hold nothing but money. I immediately recognized it as being the second bag that Jimin had packed from New York. Hoseok’s mouth dropped and he sat up as well to get a better look.

“How much is in here?” He asked Jimin.

“Just about 5.3 million dollars.” He said with ease. Any doubt that I might have had about Jimin was completely out of my mind. He really did expect something like this to happen, so much so, he stored this money for us on the jet. He was a smart man, who seemed to only want the simple things in life. I don't know what his story was with Taehyung, what had pushed him to betray his best friend in that way. It was clear to me that the only reason we made it out alive was that Taehyung didn't want to have to kill Jimin. I thought back to those last words he had said to him, that held so much weight to them.

“What did you mean- when you told Taehyung, ‘I warned you’?” I said leaving the stack of hundreds back in the bag.

The question seemed to make him uncomfortable. He avoided eye contact with me as he took a seat behind him. The tension grew between us as I waited to hear an explanation. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh as he found the words he needed to speak,

“Do you remember, that day, Taehyung was in between choices,” Jimin spoke of the day that we were suppose to die, in Taehyung’s office, all by a mistake of Jungkook’s. The fact he brought the day up sent shivers down my spine. Jimin was about to make a confession that changed the way I saw things, “At that moment, I whispered something in Taehyung's ear. I told him- that you would betray him...”

And yet, Taehyung didn’t listen- now he would probably regret it for the rest of his life. It was only upon hearing that confession that I knew, truly, how smart Jimin was. He knew before even I knew myself. He knew before I became who I was in that moment. His word was now the value of gold to me.

Maybe things were meant to turn out this way? Maybe there were more things out there for the three of us? Or maybe, just maybe, we were a couple of people that continued to cheat death...

I stared off into the sky, that little by little, was becoming gray. The gray hour was always the time of day I imagined myself dying, it brought me back to the faintest memories of my childhood.

From the time that I was a little girl, I was raised in poverty and the cold streets. I was always the girl, who was humiliated and yet had to beg for forgiveness. My past was unjustified and my sentence seemed to be terminal. Until one day, after hearing the news that my only brother was gun down, I decided that my adulthood would be different.

As a result, I made my way down to Florida, where the environment was inviting and the money was tempting. Miami was a city built on cocaine money and so, I began to both make and deal cocaine, along the side of my first love, who was the man of my dreams. I was honest, happy, and tried my best to be good. I only put my life in the hands of those closest to me. We shared our dreams, our bodies, our business. I was in a drug cartel with responsibilities and a lot of talent. I took the advice I wanted to take and found myself making dangerous partnerships, million dollar deals, and a lot of money.

It was a matter of circumstance but at the end of it all, this is the life we had chosen and therefore, this is how we would die. The world we were born into was cruel and it cost us greatly to merely breathe its very air. I foolishly tried to plant a flower that would never bloom, in a dream that could never come true. And though I would never forget the hardships and poverty I left back up North. Nor could there ever be a beautiful melody that wouldn't resemble Min Yoongi to me. I finally understood the importance of pain. In life, there had to be struggles and hardships to overcome, and not many do, but those that could, were the leaders of their own destiny.

“(Y/n),”

Hoseok stirred at my side, I looked down to him, as Jimin also brought his attention to the sleepy male beside me.

“Where are we going?”

I found myself surprised by not knowing the answer. I was so caught up in my thoughts and past events, that I hadn’t even stopped to bother. I looked up, my eyes shifting to Jimin, who was already awaiting my gaze with an answer.

“I already picked our destination...I have contacts, people that can help, and Taehyung won’t dare to step foot there.” He explained, shifting in his seat and running his hands through his long dirty blond hair.

“And where is 'there'?” I asked, pulling the blanket down to my waist, sitting up, my interest peeked by our destination.

“Busan- my hometown.”

That is where this story ends and where a new one begins.

≽ Masterlist in bio for your convenience!

[mf-despair-queen]

Never Let It Get Personal - Mitch Rapp

Author: @mf-despair-queen​

Characters: Mitch Rapp/Reader

Word Count: 16,419

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Multiple Orgasms, Fingering, Bondage, Oral (both receiving in the form of a 69), Sweet Sex because I’m a sucker for their romance???, Sassy reader, violence and blood because they are assassins.

Notes: Why do I do this to myself? 16.4k later and it’s done. But I really liked this idea. It’s a lot of plot with a smidge of sexy smut because I love Mitch Rapp. But he’s also hella loving. And angry. And I owe @minhosmeanhoe a lot for talking through this idea with me. She is a saint and my Rapp twin. I love her. I hope you guys love this and think it’s worth it.

Heartbreak | Noun | heart·break: crushing grief, anguish, or distress.

Mitch sighed to himself, running a hand through his unruly hair. Hadn’t he been through enough torment in his short lifetime? Only twenty-two years old, and he already lost everyone he was ever close to. It was rare for him to reminisce about those he had lost, but sometimes, late at night, the thoughts creep in to torment his already damaged mental state.

He laid on his cot in the Barn, his eyes drifting to the time in the upper corner of his phone, reading the white numbers. 1:34 AM. Mitch groaned quietly, shuffling under the blankets, peeking around to make sure no one else was awake. The others slept soundly, getting as much sleep as they could for their early, four AM wake-up call.

Mitch rolled over on the cot, resuming what he had been doing for the last hour. Going through old pictures on his phone, watching videos at a low volume of things that used to make him happy. He sighed to himself, closing his whiskey orbs, letting the memories pass over the backs of his eyelids.

He thought back to happier times, remembering the fun times he had as a child with his parents. Birthdays with them, vacations with them, just general good times. Until he got the call into the office one day at school, the principal having a sullen look on his face when he told the news to the young boy. He was only fourteen when he lost his parents.

His life should have fallen apart from that moment, instantly shipped between different boarding schools because of his “increased behavioral issues.” The only thing that made anything bearable in his shithole of a life was one person. His best friend, the girl who never left his side, no matter how shitty things were or how much of an asshole he became.

You were always by his side.

He knew you, literally, since birth. Everyone used to joke that you were inseparable, even in the womb. You went through thick and thin together. He could easily say you were the one to singlehandedly hold his heart together after the accident, encouraging him through everything, pushing him to stay strong. You were the only reason he took his full-ride scholarship to Syracuse for lacrosse, and it was only because you were going for a track scholarship and agreed to room with him. He knew he could count on you.

He knew you were different, and you held a special place in his heart. You were his best friend. Hell, he wouldn’t argue that you were his first love. You were his first… everything. First friend, first kiss, first roommate out of high school, and even his first of many times. He was afraid to go further with you, but even more afraid of losing you when he started seeing Katrina.

Katrina never was quite the same. As amazing as she was, she wasn’t exactly… well, you. He loved Katrina will all his heart, but he loved you more. However, he was resigned that he had no future romantically with you, afraid of the rejection you would bestow on him. So, he put everything into his relationship with Katrina. Even then, you were there for him, his heart aching, yearning for you to stop him.

He asked you for your blessing the day he was set to leave for Spain, holding his mother’s ring up in front of you, the silver glinting in the sunlight streaming through the blinds. He prayed that you would tell him no, to tell him that you wanted to be with him. But you just smiled, kissing his cheek, giving him a thumbs up before shooing him out the door so he wouldn’t miss his flight. He sighed to himself, wanting to clear his mind of the thoughts of you and thinking of his future he was bound to have with Katrina.

You were by the side the entire time he was in the hospital when he returned, Katrina-less. He was heartbroken from his loss, but you still held his heart together, keeping him strong as he recovered. He kept you out of the loop as he began to plot his revenge, wanting to avenge the hundreds of people, including his fiancé of twenty minutes, that were gunned down mercilessly. He saw the way you looked at him in worry, but he always assured you that he was alright.

He had one regret in his life, and that was the argument he had right before you left on an overseas school trip to Rome roughly six months after he lost Katrina. It was a silly argument because he had gotten drunk one night after returning from his usual gym and gun range runs. You didn’t like seeing that side of him, but he yelled at you, claiming that you didn’t know what he was feeling. He knew he was in the wrong when he awoke the next day, but he never got to apologize.

The tour you were on just outside the city was attacked by some terrorists, killing everyone on the bus. It was reported that no one survived. With that news, his heart completely shattered into a million pieces. He had lost his fiancé. He had lost the girl he loved more than anything without telling her his true feelings or apologizing. He had nothing left to hold him together. His heart hardened into cold stone, his sole focus on eliminating all threats from the world.

Mitch blinked back a few tears, surprising himself that he was even tearful right now. He hadn’t cried in over a year, not since he found out that you were gone. He scrolled through various pictures on his phone in the midst of the darkness of the Barn, bypassing ones of him and Katrina to find your smiling face. He finally clicked on a short video, making sure the volume was low enough that he could still hear it without waking anyone.

You were holding his phone, walking through your tiny apartment, playing with your hair. “Mitch left his phone in the bedroom,” you whispered, probably not wanting to draw his attention. He could see himself in the background on the couch, reading through a book, attempting to learn Arabic. “He’s been so busy with this Arabic class I guess, but he needs a little distraction.”

The video jostled in your hand as you shuffled over to him, yanking the book out of his hand and dropping onto his lap, his face coming into view next to yours. He rolled his eyes, letting out a small groan. “What are you doing, Y/N?”

You smiled into the camera, leaning against him. “You’ve been really distracted as of late, so I figured I would get one small laugh out of you. Plus, you can never have enough memories of us together, Mitchy. That way, when you are a big businessman, you remember your best friend for life.” Mitch cracked a small smile, shaking his head. “There’s a smile. That’s all I needed.”

“You’re a dork, babe,” he said.

“I know, but you love me,” you replied. Your hand reached up to play with the scruffy beard he was developing, glancing away from the camera at him. “You also need to shave. You’re more handsome with a trimmed beard. Just a bit of scruff to leave beard burn on a girl’s thighs, but not too long to look like Santa.”

“Duly noted,” Mitch joked, looking away when you placed a kiss to his cheek.

That’s where the video ended. He looked longingly at the image of your lips on his cheek, his heart jumping inside him. If only things were different.

“Mitch, shut off your phone and get to sleep. We have to be up and running in two hours,” someone called out from across the room. Mitch sighed, closing his photo gallery. His stared at his wallpaper, a picture of you both at the beach a year before he met Katrina. Hs arms were around your bare waist, placing a kiss to your cheek, your eyes closed and hands holding his. It was the night he took your virginity, and you took his. It held a special place in his heart.

He finally locked his phone, setting it aside and closing his eyes, attempting to get some sleep. Though sleep never came. Mitch was forced out of bed at his normal time, running around Hurley’s property with the others, doing his daily routines of strenuous exercise, gun practice and fight practice.

His day was thrown for a loop when he was told to visit Hurley. He was relieved of his duties, heading back to the barn to change into a fresh pair of jeans and tight black shirt, keeping his beat up black shoes paired with his new clothes. He jogged from the Barn, around to the steps to Hurley’s large forest home, bounding up the stairs two at a time. He rushed through the halls into Hurley’s office, knocking on the door.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Mitch asked, Stan turning to face him. The older man motioned for Mitch to sit, Mitch stiffly sitting in the chair across the table from him. A laptop was open on the table, Stan typing a few things on the keyboard. “You’re not showing me more videos of Katrina, are you? I’m not in the mood for that shit again.”

“I’m not,” Stan’s gruff voice came. He sat in a chair, staring with a stern look at the chocolate-haired male across from him. Stan rubbed his face in annoyance, groaning softly. “You know, a lot of the guys have brought up that you’ve been up at night a lot lately. They see you on your phone at odd hours. Reminiscing of the past, Rapp?”

Mitch swallowed dryly, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down as he did. “No, sir,” Mitch replied quietly. “I just can’t sleep, so I’ve been on my phone till I can relax. Nothing about the past involved.”

Stan chuckled, obviously not convinced. “Right. Then, what about the pictures?”

“Pictures, sir?”

“Of Katrina. Pretty girl you had, Mitch. But you already knew that. That’s why you proposed.” Stan paused, sizing up Mitch’s reaction. “Or, what about Y/N? The best friend you grew up with?”

The computer was spun around, a video from Mitch’s phone playing. You were clad in just one of his button up shirts and some underwear, standing over the stove as you made breakfast. You didn’t know he was recording as he sat at the table, chuckling to himself. After a minute, you turned to him, blushing at the sight of the phone he was holding.

“Mitch, are you recording me?” Your perky voice came, Mitch fully laughing from behind it.

“But of course. You just look so cute when you are making breakfast like this. Do I want to know why you are wearing my shirt though?”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the stove. “All of my clothes are in the washer and I spilled beer on my clothes last night. This was the first shirt I could grab from your room.”

“Well, you should wear my stuff more often,” he joked. “You look amazing in them.”

You laughed, tossing a blueberry his way. He remembers catching it in his mouth, a smile breaking out on your face. “Stop being a cheeseball and set the table.”

Mitch growled as the video ended, jumping up in his seat. “This isn’t fucking funny anymore! Why do you keep rubbing these things in my face?”

Stan glared at the man, shutting the laptop. “Because you need to get over it, Rapp. You’re still weak. You want to become one of us? Grow the fuck up,” he grumbled deeply.

Mitch jumped onto the table, throwing a wild punch at Hurley who stepped back, grabbing the computer wire and wrapping it around his neck. Mitch was pulled from the table onto the floor, Stan holding the wire tightly around his neck. Mitch attempted to lessen the weight on his neck, gasping for air.

“I told you to never let it get personal. And what are you doing? Letting it get personal!” He screamed, finally letting Mitch go. The trainee rolled onto his side, coughing and heaving for precious oxygen. Stan knelt down, facing him with a hard stare. “You will get yourself killed if you let your personal feelings get in the way of a mission. Do I make myself clear?”

Mitch stayed silent for a second before finally looking up at him, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, now get packed. We are scheduled for the next flight to Istanbul. There is supposed to be an arms dealing involving a trigger for a nuclear bomb someone is building. We are to intercept the deal to prevent the production o this bomb. You are coming to cover my ass,” Stan muttered, Mitch vacating the room without as much as a rebuttal to his boss.

Betrayal | noun | be·tray·al: the action of betraying one’s country, a group, or a person; treachery.

The short, brown-haired man waltzed into the dark room, tugging the beanie atop his head off and scratching at the beard he had trimmed that morning. He watched the body in the room squirm under the blankets, groaning to himself. With a quick yank of the curtains, sunlight streamed through the windows. The bright light filled the large room, the man’s green eyes landing on the mound of blankets on the bed.

“Get the fuck up, Y/N. I didn’t bring you here to let you sleep the day away,” he said bitterly, tugging the blankets down with one hand. Your head poked from the confines of the soft fabric, glaring at him.

“You brought me here because you’re a douchebag and can’t let a girl get her beauty rest. Just because you saved me in Rome and trained me to protect myself doesn’t mean I need to wake up at odd hours to help you with your stupid antique trading,” you retorted, pushing the blankets off regardless.

“I should have let you die with the others then,” he mumbled, sitting in a plush chair in the corner of the hotel.

“You wouldn’t do that, though. I’m too important because I’m fucking amazing at my job, Ghost,” You told him, glancing at him through the mirror. Ghost rolled his eyes, slouching in the chair. “I thought you’d see it my way. You need me to finish this bomb.”

You walked into the bathroom before Ghost could reply, stripping off your clothes and sitting on the edge of the bathtub. You thought back to that day, remembering the gun held to your forehead, shallow cuts from different knives lining every part of your skin. You were the last one alive of everyone on the school tour because the terrorists that attacked the bus got a different response from you. You were resilient, whereas everyone else jumped to try and save themselves, ending in a quick demise.

The man holding the gun to your head spoke quietly to the others, your ears unable to discern what language he was muttering in. His finger itched on the trigger, your eyes closing with resolve that you would no longer see the light of this world. You would never finish school, have a family or kids, or even tell Mitch you were sorry for everything.

When the shot rang out, you felt no pain. Your eyes cracked open slowly to see the men around you glancing around frantically, one by one dropping dead with bullet holes in their foreheads every time another shot went off. By the time the last one fell, you attempted to clamber to your feet, your hands tied behind your back. A man emerged from the dark underbrush, a rifle strapped to his back and a mysterious glint in his eyes.

“I saw the way you fought back,” he had told you as he untied your hands. “You know, the American Embassy was notified of the attack and they did nothing. They left you to die. How does that make you feel?”

“Angry,” you remember came your short reply.  Ghost had smirked at you, his hand on your cheek.

“Good. Let’s channel that anger so you can show them that you aren’t to be forgotten. Do you want to be strong, girly?”

You didn’t deny him. You were mad that your home did nothing to stop these people from killing harmless civilians. You weren’t going to let that go. They were going to let your life go like it didn’t matter. So, if this man in front of you could teach you the ways to sow them it wasn’t something to fuck with, you would give him your everything.

“Hurry up! We are meeting Sharif soon for the trigger. You can pretty yourself up later,” Ghost said through the door, his fist heavily pounding on the polished wood. You sighed, gathering fresh clothes from the cabinet in the bathroom, primping yourself to look somewhat decent.

You were rushed from the hotel, Ghost close on your tail. He told you the plan on the car ride over to the restaurant. You were going to help keep an eye out while Ghost got the trigger from Sharif. He handed you a pair of knives, saying that guns would be too obvious. As soon as you had arrived, you hid your knives in the back pockets of your jeans, perching at a table near the edge of the restaurant.

It was quiet, Ghost approaching Sharif at the bar. You scanned the crowd of people, spotting a large, burly man shuffling towards the bar. “Man approaching, six o’clock. Most likely armed. He has a hand under the back of his jacket. Tap the bar if you got that,” you mumbled into the radio attached to the collar of your jacket.

Ghost tapped his fingers once, pocketing the device and turning on his heel, keeping his head down. He was walking directly by the burly man, unsheathing a knife from the apron he was wearing as a disguise. One slip of the knife into the gut of the man, and he was brought down, Ghost pilfering the Beretta from the man’s waistband. Removing the silencer, Ghost glanced around, looking for a sign of back up for the dead man.

“Something’s wrong,” you heard someone mumble not far from where you were sitting. Ghost must have heard it too, his gaze shifting in your direction. You glanced around, spotting a body standing from their chair a few tables away. Your eyes narrowed at the dark-haired man, breath hitching slightly in your throat.

“Mitch?” You said louder than you meant. His eyes shot to you, the whiskey colored orbs widening when they locked with yours. “No way…”

“Y/N? He questioned quietly, taking a few small steps in your general direction.  

Ghost must have noticed what was happening, shooting off the gun that he acquired from the dead man behind him. A few quick pops of the Beretta and the crowd was sent into a frenzy. You remained frozen in your spot, Mitch dropping to the ground as Ghost fired a few rounds at him. You saw the gun in Mitch’s hand, his eyes trying to make sense of the fleeing people.

Ghost’s hand wrapped around your wrist, tugging you from the restaurant and down an alley out of sight. Your back was slammed into the wall, Ghost’s furious look evident in front of you. “What the fuck was that?” he sneered, his eyes flaring in his rage.

“I-I don’t know what happened. I thought… I thought I knew him. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,” you mumbled. You were still rattled, and fearing Ghost would realize that you had lied to him. You didn’t think you knew him.

That was Mitch fucking Rapp in that restaurant. Holding a fucking gun, targeting your boss.

What the hell did you miss?

Ghost pushed himself away from you, huffing. “You better not let it happen again, or I will kill you. Sneak back to the hotel and pack up. We are headed back to Rome to get our scientist to finish the bomb. And keep your eyes peeled. The CIA is running around. Because that man you say you thought you knew is Stan Hurley’s pupil. The new me.”

Ghost walked away quickly, leaving you alone in the abandoned alleyway. You slunk to the ground, running your hand through your hair. “Fuck. Why is Mitch here?”

Hostage | noun | hos·tage: a person seized or held as security for the fulfillment of a condition.

It felt good to be back in Rome. The sun was setting over the beautiful city, lights flickering on as you made your way through the winding roads. You were meeting up with Ghost at the designated hotel the nuclear physicist he hired was staying at. You were warned to be apprehensive, Ghost more than sure that Stan Hurley, his former teacher, would be around.

And that just meant Mitch was not far behind.

Sighing, you bounded into the hotel, tugging you jacket closer to your body, trying not to arouse suspicion to yourself. You slipped through a small gap in the closing elevator, repeatedly tapping the floor you needed. You wanted in an out of this hotel before Mitch showed up because you weren’t sure how you would handle seeing his face for the second time.

The door was ajar when you arrived, closing it quietly behind you upon entering. Your slid the leather jacket off your shoulders, hanging it on the rack by the door, letting your feet carry you further inside. Ghost stood against the wall, eyeing you as your fully entered the room.

“We have a little pest in the room next door,” he mumbled, nodding towards the wall. Your eyebrow rose, not knowing what he meant. He shifted towards the wall he pointed out, crouching down to take a closer look. It was hard to see, but Ghost had trained you well to spot subtle things like this.

A small camera had been fed through the air conditioning unit on the wall, just enough that whoever was on the other side could get a perfect picture inside the room.

“Hurley?” You asked after turning back to Ghost, seeing him shake his head.

“His pupil. Some punk named Mitch Rapp?” He said calmly, picking up a file from the bed. “He has someone with him, but I think it’s someone they assigned to work with them when they showed up in Istanbul.”

“Is that so?” You asked his quietly, stepping back from the camera in the wall.

“Yup,” he said, emphasizing the p. His eyes roamed the open file, an evil smile on his face. “Did you know he went to Syracuse the same time you did? Parents were killed when he was in his early teens. Fiancé was killed in Spain a year and a half ago. Poor kid.”

Your eyes hardened, trying to keep your heartbeat steady. One wrong move and Ghost would figure everything out. “He went to Syracuse? What a coincidence. Must be a lucky school to have bred two cold blooded killers.”

Ghost stood from the bed, walking over to you. “Just a coincidence? Then explain the pictures of you two together,” he bluntly said, holding up a picture of you on his back after one of his Lacrosse games. Your throat instantly went dry, staring up at the brunette.

“I-I can explain, Ghost,” you started trying to say, Ghost shoving you roughly into the wall, his hand on your throat. Your nails clawed at his tight grip, but to no avail. It only seemed to get tighter, cutting off your flow of oxygen.

“You lied to me back in Istanbul. You won’t be lying to me again. Are you with me or against me, Y/N? Because if you are against me and want to crawl back to that pathetic creature in the other room, I will gladly kill you both with my bare hands,” he snapped, his glare harsh.

“I’m… with you,” you managed to straggle out, gasping for air. Ghost nodded once, releasing his hold on you. Your ass hit the ground hard, your hand flying up to your neck as your coughed, wheezing slightly.

“Good. My men are already apprehending him and his little partner next door. I am going to ask your friend rather politely to tell me where Stan is. As soon as I find that out you will kill him.”

Your eyes widened, looking up at the man who saved your life in the past. You stumbled to your feet, leaning against the wall for support. “What? I can’t kill, Mitch! He’s my… I mean he was my…”

Ghost’s hand appeared aside your head, fiercely looking down at you. “Do you have a problem with killing him? He left you for dead, Y/N. He never came looking for you. He’s just like everyone else. They use you until you are no longer useful then dump you like last week’s leftovers.”

Your gaze hardened, shuffling slightly as you spoke up. “Ghost, I have killed fifty-three men for you covertly since you started training me.” You pulled your un from your waistband, glancing at the man looking haphazardly out the window holding a rifle. Aiming without a second glance, one quiet pop later, a bullet was embedded into the man’s skull, smoke seeping from the silencer attached to the barrel of the gun. “Actually, make that fifty-four. I’ve eliminated threats and men that have come so close to exposing you. Would me killing Mitch Rapp make big difference?”

“Yes,” he spoke quietly, stepping away from your body. “Because killing Mitch fucking Rapp will show your complete allegiance. And show that you are 100% over him. That you are no longer in love with him and won’t let him tie you down.”

Ghost walked away, leaving you alone. In love with Mitch Rapp. Did you still love him? Of course you did. Did you want to return home with him? Of course you did. Did you ever act on these feelings? Of course you didn’t. You were too afraid then, and you were too afraid now. Especially now. Things would never be the same.

You shook your head, your body trembling with fear. There was no possibly way that you could bring yourself to shoot Mitch. He was, and always will be, your best friend, even after everything that had happened. But you couldn’t let that show now.

The door swung open, multiple footsteps sounding in the living room area of the suite behind you. Two thumps were heard, Ghost’s other disciples yelling for Mitch and whoever he was working with to put their hands behind their heads. You placed your gun back in your waistband, slowly heading for the doorway.

You leaned on the frame, taking in his looks now that you had a better chance to look. His shirt rode up slightly from his position on the floor, his familiar happy trail peeking out of the black fabric. Veins protruded from his arms more than you remembered, but hell, you weren’t arguing. It was one of his best features. Your eyes locked on his dark, whiskey brown orbs, looking away when you realized you had been staring and catching his gaze. His look had been hard, but something sparkled behind it. He was trying to keep from acting rashly. Stan had warned him multiple times on the way to Rome not to let his emotions get out of hand.

“You’re sure it was her,” he had asked Mitch multiple times. “Then, you remember what I told you about not letting it get personal? Now this is the time to remember that. You let it get personal, you let your emotions out, you let your endless love for this girl get the best of you and you will find yourself in a casket buried 5 feet under. Because I will not bail you out.”

Ghost walked in front of the two for a second, leaning down to look at Mitch. “Tell me, Rapp. Where is dear old Stan Hurley? He’s got to be near. He wouldn’t let his pup out of his sight.” He stared into Mitch’s dark eyes, speaking calmly once more. “Hurley, Rapp. Where is he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking-“ Mitch started, getting cut off by a slap in the face. His head turned to the side, letting out an almost inaudible grunt from the impact. Your eyes clenched shut unconsciously, taking a deep breathe to keep from saying anything out of line.

He turned the Mitch’s companion, a young girl with fair skin and dark hair. “How about you, sweetheart. Where is he?” When neither answered, Ghost began to get furious, yelling loudly, “Tell me where Stan Hurley is!”

“Ghost, calm down. Yelling won’t make them talk,” you told him, finally looking up. Mitch’s eyes shot to you, fighting to keep a frown from appearing on his lips.

“Well do you have any better ideas?” Ghost sneered. Your shrugged, walking closer to the group.

You stood in front of the two hostages, eyeing the girl carefully. “I don’t think she will help. She doesn’t care about Stan. She has her own agenda.” You got close to her face, smirking at her. “What’s you deal, princess? What’s in it for you to help stop us?”

“Y/N,” Mitch mumbled, catching your attention.

“What, Mitch? Why are you even here? You didn’t care back then. Why care now?” You snapped, moving to face him.

“I’ve always cared,” he mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your eyes locked, your false confidence dropping slightly. “Just tell him what he wants to know. Please. I can’t protect you if you don’t tell him. Where is Stan, Mitch?”

Mitch kept his mouth shut, hearing you sigh in response. You backed away, sitting on the couch, sighing. Ghost groaned nearing the two again, stopping short when the door was kicked in. The older man waltzed inside, gun in hand, shooting a few of the men you worked with, their bodies falling limp on the tiled floor.

Your mouth fell open, watching Mitch and the girl beginning to attack the people behind them, fighting off the men in the room. You glanced at Ghost, nodding him towards the window. “Go!” you yelled at him, pulling out your gun. “I will be right behind you.”

Ghost nodded, locking eyes with whom you presumed to be Stan Hurley before jumping out the window, using the flag on the pole outside to slide down to safety. You turned back to the scene in the room, coming face to face with the girl Mitch was with.

Your eyes widened, raising the gun to shoot at her, her hand shooting up to knock it away on instinct. The gun flew from your hand onto the floor, the girl yelling at Mitch. “Rapp! Gun!” She turned back to you, holding your wrist tightly. “Aw, not so tough now, are you, girly? All talk I guess. You know, I never got why Mitch talked so highly of you. He told me a lot about you and him while we were alone in that hotel room together. Something you won’t ever get with him I guess. He probably doesn’t love you that much anymore since you are so easily replaceable,” she said lowly, a smirk present on her face.

You growled at her. “What the hell do you know? There’s no way he would go for you anyway.”

“How would you even know that?” She glared at you.

“Oh, you’ll see, sweetheart,” you whispered, twisting your arm to break free of her grasp. Her eyes widened, your arms wrapping around her waist to tackle her to the ground. You wrestled with the girl on the ground, blood seeping into your clothes and skin from the dead bodies around you. You were too focused on clawing at the unknown girl, not hearing the gunshots from Mitch shooting the last few men or his footsteps as him and Stan rushed over, pulling you both apart.

You were only seeing red until his voice cleared the air. “Y/N! Stop! Calm down!” Your body relaxed in his arms, listening to him whisper things in your ear to calm you. “That’s right. Relax.” You went limp in his arms, allowing him to tie your hands behind your back and place you on the couch. His hand was on your cheek, wiping some of the blood away from your skin, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips.

Stan cleared his throat, motioning for Mitch. The man in front of you sighed, glancing at you quickly before moving away. The girl stopped him, her hand on his muscular bicep, rubbing it softly. “Are you alright, Mitch? Anything I can do to help?” She said, obviously trying to rile you up with her bad flirting. Mitch didn’t take it though, shrugging off her hand. His gaze turned back to you, his eyes showing emotions he didn’t have when he was looking at her.

“Just go pack everything up from our room, Annika. We will be moving out here soon and can’t waste any more time. We’ve wasted enough time because you decided to cat fight with my girl… with Y/N,” he stated bluntly, disappearing out the door with Stan. Annika’s face fell, watching after him.

You let out a small laugh, her eyes focusing on you. “This is what I meant, bitch,” you mumbled. “Even after all this time, he still cares about me. You are just temporary. You don’t know him the way you think you do.”

“Oh, and you still know him after being gone so long?” She snapped, crossing her arms.

“I’ve known the man the entire life, lady. Assassin for the CIA or not, he’s still the same Mitch I know and love,” you told her calmly. “Besides, he’s been deeper inside me than he ever will be with you. You know why? Because you’re just a shallow bitch that doesn’t understand what is really going on. You don’t care to know Mitch. You might act like you know him or care about him, wanting to be with him, but you don’t. You have your own agenda.” You paused, looking over at her. “You know, if you’re this shallow, I’m sure you pussy is too. It’s no place for a cock like his, not like he will ever fuck you like he has me,” you sassed at her, her mouth falling open at the constant wave of insults.

She glared, taking a few steps towards you. “You little bitch,” she started, getting cut off when Stan and Mitch walked back in. The room fell silent, Stan roughly dragging you outside. You were thrown into the back of a black car, unable to see where you were being taken. Your mind reeled, trying to figure out what was going to happen. Were they going to interrogate you? Were they going to kill you? Were you going to go home with Mitch?

Would you be able to apologize to him before anything happened?

The car came to a halt, Mitch and Stan shuffling from the vehicle. You heard their muffled talking, carefully using your foot to crack the car door to hear them clearly.

“They’ve outsmarted us twice now, sir. Who is he? Why’s this guy after you? Something personal, sir?” You hear Mitch sneering at Stan.

“What about you, Rapp? Your little girlfriend in the back seat. I told you not to let it get personal, yet you’re up close and personal with her in the hotel after tying her up? I should kill her right now.”

Your heart stopped, fearing the worst. You were going to die here. You weren’t going to get to talk to Mitch again. You weren’t going to see the morning light through your window again. You weren’t going to have a family one day. Your life was over.

“No,” Mitch said quickly.

“No?”

“We shouldn’t kill her.” Your face flushed, body warming at his words. He was sticking up for you? “If she’s this guy’s right hand woman, she should know what he’s planning and where he’s building the bomb, right? We can get information out of her.”

That rat was trying to sell you out, wanting to interrogate you? Your heart cracked, unable to believe what you were hearing.

“We don’t have time for that. We have Ghost’s physicist in the trunk that I have to question too. Annika already left to inform Irene of our location and what has been happening. The CIA should be here tomorrow where your little girly will be escorted back to the States to be tried for treason,” Stan replied.

“Let me question her then.” It got silent, and you assumed, Stan was giving Mitch a harsh, stern look. “I can do it, sir! We need to stop Ghost before something happens! Trust me.”

“Fine. You have till the morning. Whatever you find out, report immediately. Get her inside,” Stan murmured.

“Of course, sir,” came Mitch’s short reply before the door was tugged open. You glanced up, seeing Mitch looking down at you with a hard look. He tugged you out by the ankles, throwing your limp body over his shoulder.

“Woah,” you squealed, Mitch grabbing his bag from the floor and heading inside the hotel you had apparently arrived at. “You know, Mitchy. As much as I love this reunion, I didn’t picture it being me staring at your ass. Though your ass looks great in these jeans,” you told him cheekily. You got no response, your slight smile falling. “Take a joke, Rapp. Why so serious?”

No response again. Mitch just kicked open a hotel room door, the door swinging shut behind you. You were thrown onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the springy mattress. You rolled over, struggling to sit up, watching Mitch tug the torn black shirt over his head, wincing slightly. He had a few cuts on his chest and ribs, a particularly deep one on his side. You spied the scar above his right pec from Spain, memorizing the hardened muscles he developed over the past year.

“You’re hurt,” you stated blatantly.

“No shit, Sherlock,” he snapped, grabbing a first aid kit from his bag. He fumbled with a gauze and medical tap, cleaning the major wound he had with an alcohol swab.

“Well, untie me and I can help dress it,” you told him.

“Hell no. I don’t trust you,” he mumbled. Your insides stung, feeling your heart drop into the acid of your stomach.

“Why are you being such a dick, Mitch? I thought you were my best friend!” You yelled at him, scooting to the edge of the bed so you could get up. Walking over to him, you stared up at him, his eyes refusing to meet yours. “What happened to the sweet you before we left the other hotel? What happened to the man I’ve known forever? Why did he suddenly become a cunt?”

He slammed the medical supplies down, turning to face you with a hard look. “What happened to the girl I know? She turned into a cold-blooded killer! She became a wanted criminal! She became a jealous bitch that apparently has to taunt others with the fact that we’ve slept together.”

Your face fell, looking down at the ground. “You heard that…”

“Yeah, I heard that. Didn’t know I was a piece of meat for you,” he snapped, stepping closer to you. Each step he took, you took a step back, your back finally colliding with a wall. “Here’s the deal. I will untie you long enough for you to help patch up this wound. Then, you tell me everything you know about Ghost’s plans and where he is hiding. If you cooperate, they will hopefully lessen your sentence.”

You didn’t reply, nodding once, Mitch reaching around to untie you. You grabbed the gauze from the table, motioning him to sit down. It didn’t take long to patch up the wound, Mitch relishing in the feeling of your soft fingers on his stomach. He knew he had to stay strong, not letting his feelings for you affect getting you to talk.

You sat back on the bed, facing Mitch, your eyes locking together briefly. “Alright. Spill everything you know. What is Ghost planning. Where is he building this bomb?”

You glanced down, mumbling lowly after a few moments, “I won’t tell you.”

“What?” Mitch said, standing up. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“It won’t change anything, no matter what you think. I’ve killed people, Mitch. I’m not the same person you knew. Nothing will change what happened and how I feel,” you told him. He stared at you, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well, explain this then. Why did you start working with him?” Mitch asked.

“Why did you started training profusely after Katrina died? Why did you join the CIA?” You snapped, not meaning to sound as harsh as you did. “When bad things happen and only you can change things, you find whatever means possible to achieve them. You want revenge? You work to get it. And that’s what we both wanted. I was left for dead, Mitch. No one came for me. Not even you.”

“Y/N,” he started, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t know. I was told you were gone. Just… you need to tell me everything you know. I know you’ve been hurt, but it doesn’t need to be like this. If you say nothing, you are going to die.”

“There is no changing anything, Mitch!” You finally snapped. You got off the bed, approaching him. “You don’t get it. I’m as good as dead no matter what! I go home, I die! I go back to Ghost, I die! So, fuck you, Mitch. You didn’t bother to come for me when I needed you most, so I’m not going to bother to help you when you need it most.”

Mitch was obviously growing frustrated, grabbing you by the arms and slamming you into the closest wall. “Just fucking tell me, Y/N! I’m trying to save your life, so stop being a stupid ass bitch and tell me something useful!”

“I’m not telling you a god damn thing,” you scoffed at him. “You say you’re trying to save me, but you’re doing this for yourself. You’ve only ever cared about yourself! So, fuck off. I’m not telling you a single fucking thing.”

“Fuck! Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” He asked to no one in particular. “You’re going to fucking tell me, Y/N, whether you like it or not. Where is Ghost?” His hand landed on the wall beside your head, his eyes hardening, narrowing at yours. When you gave no reply, he slammed the wall roughly, creaming loudly. “Tell me!”

“No,” you said shortly.

Mitch growled deeply, your body twinging with arousal at the noise. It was a noise you had never heard from the handsome man, but it was perfect in your ears. You glanced at the arm beside your head, staring at his tense biceps, veins producing down his forearms to his hands. His pecs flexed as the growl escaped his throat, your body unwillingly growing warm.

This was not the time to be turned on.

Mitch grabbed the front of the tight blue shirt stained with blood you were wearing, lifting you off your feet. “Hey!” you screamed at him, feet flailing around for some form of footing. You silently cursed being shorter than him in this time. “Let me down, Mitch! What are you doing?”

“Just tell me where he is, Y/N!” He yelled back.

“No!” You yelped, finally landing a kick on his shin. He inadvertently dropped you, your body scrambling on the floor for the door. Mitch groaned in pain, ignoring it to tackle you, your bodies wrestling on the floor for dominance. Every chance you got, you made a move for the door, Mitch able to stop you before you got too far.

He grabbed your ankle, causing you to fall forward, Mitch dragging you into the bathroom to keep you trapped. You kicked around in his hands, trying to free yourself, failing miserably at his strength. You were lifted from the floor and shoved into a wall, your eyes wandering to anything but his. The bathtub was filled with water, probably prepped by the hotel staff before your arrival.

“Tell me,” Mitch said, voice husky from the constant frustration and fighting. “This is your last chance.”

“And I said no. I said fuck off, Mitch,” you told him sternly.

Your eyes met his, his whiskey eyes darkened by pure, unadulterated anger. He growled like before, pulling you back to slam you against the wall before turning on his heel, dunking you under the water.

Your eyes burned from the water around you, making out his blurry figure above you, holding you under the water. Your lungs burned, craving air already. Your body struggled against his hold, nails attempting to claw at his arms, legs kicking aimlessly in an attempt to loosen his grasp on you. Nothing seemed to work, however.

You were pulled from the water, gasping for air, barely able to focus on your surroundings when his voice piped up. “Tell me what you know, Y/N!”

You gasped slightly, shaking water from your face and water. “Fuck off, Mitch.”

Wrong answer, you guessed. Without another word, you were shoved back under the water, your body aching more and more the longer you were pushed under the water. The process repeated two more times, Mitch’s anger fueling his actions. His mind was blank, only focused on the need to get information, not the potential consequences it was going to have.

You were pulled from the water again, coughing on the water you had swallowed, tears ready to leak from your eyes. Your body was giving up on your, and you weren’t sure how long you would last. “Alright! Alright…” your barely got out of your mouth, panting for air. “I will tell you whatever you want. Please, Mitch. I’m sorry.”

Mitch heard your apology, his hands starting to shake in his hold on your shirt. He stared down at you, your battered and broken body. The battered and broken body of the girl he loved. He had done that to you. He was finally able to process what happened, and he hated himself for it.

His hands slowly released your shirt, letting you sink into a sitting position in the tub. He fell back, looking down at himself. The floor and his jeans were coated with water from your constant splashing and his forcefulness shoving you under the water. He was completely disgusted with what had happened.

He carefully glanced up at you, your head turning to meet his once you had caught most of your breath. “Y/N, I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to…” he rambled, trying to keep some composure. The look on your face broke his heart. “I just… I don’t know what came over me. I’m the worst friend.”

“I didn’t know we were still friends,” you murmured, cracking a small smile at him. “I mean, we are trying to kill each other.”

Mitch chuckled, shaking his head. “Fuck, I missed your dry sense of humor.” He leaned forward, taking your hand in his, squeezing it lightly. “I really am sorry. For everything. I didn’t know you were alive. If I had known, I would have… done something. Instead I trained because I wanted to take down whoever killed you. I missed you so much.”

“I missed you too, Mitch,” you whispered. “What a fucked up way to live. Best friends for life, right?”

“There’s that humor again,” he chuckled, standing up. “Just um… you may want to get yourself cleaned up. You’re a mess now.” He made his way to the door, gripping the handle tightly.

“Your fault, Rapp,” you called, standing up slowly, the water dripping from your limbs, clothes stuck to your body. He turned to look at you, his breath caught in his throat at the sight. It was wrong to be attracted to you in the heat of everything. “And you know Mitch, you looked rather sexy being in control like that. I’m sure any girl would drop their panties in a heartbeat if you want to tie them up in bed and take control like you did with me.”

Mitch felt his pants tighten, hustling out of the room without another word. The door shut behind him, Mitch collapsing on the floor against the wall opposite the bathroom. He ran a hand through his hair, sighing loudly. “God damn. Stop being amazing.”

He silently sat engrossed in his thoughts, listening to the shower run inside the bathroom as best he could. Which wasn’t very great apparently, seeing as he didn’t hear the water shut off, or the door opening up in front of him. He only processed what was happening when he looked up at you, water dripping from your hair, clad in just a green thong and partially see-through green lace bra. Mitch’s dry mouth fell open, gaping at the sight.

“W-what… where are your clothes?”

You shrugged at him, walking into the bedroom, Mitch staring at your ass as your walked, admiring your firm, round cheeks jostled slightly with each step. “My clothes were a little wet thanks to someone and their need to get information. Plus, they were covered in blood, Mitch. And I kind of don’t have spares.”

Mitch got up from the floor, rounding the corner to see you hunched over the bed, rifling through his bag for clothes. Your ass stuck out, Mitch’s fingers itching to caress the bare skin. It had been so long, he just wanted to hold you close.

Though his hardened cock was telling him he wanted to hold you in different ways.

You left his arms wrap around your waist suddenly, his body acting on his own, tugging your body back against his bare chest. You looked up at him, noticing the dark glint in his eyes. “Mitch? Are you alright?”

“Do you have any idea what you are doing to me right now?” came his deep, husky reply. His face burying in your neck. Soft kisses were placed on your skin, Mitch tightening his hold on you. “You can’t just walk around in nothing but your lingerie especially when your bra is see through. I can see your tits perfectly.”

His hand slid under the lacy bra, clamping around your breast tightly. A low moan slipped off your tongue, knees going weak against him. “Says the man who is walking around here shirtless. You’re not exactly the ugliest person in the world, Mitch,” you managed to get out. Your inability to focus was rising, Mitch’s strong hand kneading your breast consistently, his face buried into your neck and sucking on the sensitive skin. His teeth san into your neck, biting at it, hearing you squeal and curse. “Fuck, Mitch.”

“God, I’ve missed feeling you,” he mumbled, spinning you to face him completely. His hands cupped your cheeks, his thumbs over your reddened cheeks. “Fuck, I’ve missed you.”

You bit at your lip, noticing his eyes glancing between your eyes and your lips. “I’ve missed you too, Mitchy. You have no idea how much I thought about you this past year.” You paused, staring up at him, watching his tongue pass over his lips, wetting them. “Shit, this is so wrong. We’re enemies, Mitch, yet all I want to do is kiss you.”

Mitch chuckled deeply, shaking his head. “Is that all you want to do?”

Shuffling your feet, only one word left your mouth. “No.”

“Is it wrong that I want it too?”

A longer pause. “No.”

Mitch’s hands released your cheeks, resting at your sides instead. “Is it wrong if we actually do it? It wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your mind contemplated the statement for a second, finally giving in without a second thought. “Fuck no. This is too right.”

As if they were magnets, Mitch’s lips were on yours, his hands under your thighs as you jumped on him, legs winding around his waist. Your arms messily looped around his neck, almost accidently punching him in the face in the process. He didn’t seem to care, or notice even. He was too focused on kissing you, moving his lips against yours, leading you into the sexiest kiss you ever shared. A spark ran through your body, your entire body tingling from his kiss. You were officially on cloud nine.

Mitch pushed his bag to the floor, not caring if his contents spilled out. You were dropped onto the bed in a heartbeat, your lips only disconnecting for a single second before Mitch was on top of you, your lips moving rhythmically against each other, parted enough that your tongues could battle for dominance inside your mouth. His hands roamed your body, removing your bra from your frame without you noticing.

Mitch fumbled with his belt, never taking a moment to break the kiss your shared. The sounds of your lips smacking against each other filled the room, covering the sounds of his belt buckle coming undone, the leather pulled from the loops. One large, veiny hand moved both of your arms above your head, the other securing the belt around them quickly.

You pulled away from him, feeling the leather tighten around your wrists. “Mitch. What the fuck is this?”

“You wanted me to take control like before, didn’t you, Y/N? So, be a good girl and keep your hands right there,” he said, his tone low and deep. Your body squirmed under him, arousal pooling between your legs from his words.

“Yes, sir,” you mumbled, back arching off the bed as he kissed down your neck to your chest. Your body squirmed from his light touches, jolts of electricity running down your spine when he finally attached to your sensitive nipple. “Shit, Mitch.”

He kissed at the hardened peak, his fingers tugging at the other bud aimlessly. His lips tugged at it, his tongue skillfully lapping at the bud. Your mewls reached his ears, a grin of satisfaction befalling his lips against your skin. Your hips bucked into him, bound hands reaching down to entangle in his silky locks.

Mitch pulled away abruptly, pushing your arms back above your head. “What did I say, baby?” He mumbled, dark eyes locking with yours. “Hands. Stay. Don’t. Move. If it happens again, I might need to punish you.”

“Like you could,” your taunted, legs clenching. “The big, bad CIA assassin. You were barely able to keep me down before. If we were in an actual fight, you’d be downed in a second.”

“Is that what you think?” He sneered, ripping the side of your panties, and tossing the fabric clear across the room. “You want to bring that up? Did it ever occur to you that I didn’t want to kill you?”

“But when you see red, Mitchy. You could have drowned me. But you didn’t. You know why?” You asked. “You’re a pussy.”

“Oh, baby,” he smirked. “You really need to be quiet. Use your mouth for something better. Like screaming my name like every time I’ve fucked you.”

“Oh Mitchy. I can do more with my mouth than that,” you joked, wrapping your legs around him and using all of your weight to flip him. Straddling his waist, body bare for his view, you looked down at him, smirking at his wide eyes.

“Oh, that was hot.”

You grinned, shuffling down his body, situating yourself at his groin. Your bound hands struggled to unbutton his dark jeans, the zipper getting caught whenever you attempted to tug it down. “Dammit. Come off,” you mumbled to yourself, Mitch laughing at your frustration. You cast him a glare, huffing slightly. “Shut up, pussy.”

Mitch shook his head, pushing his jeans and boxers off for you, kicking the material off the end of the bed. You grinned, running your fingers along the length of his stiff cock, watching it twitch under your feather-like touch. You admired his length and girth, licking your lips at the sight of his precum oozing from the tip. You had every intention to hold it, stroke it, suck the daylights out of it. Everything you wished to do to him on a normal basis before Katrina came into the picture.

Mitch had a different plan. He leaned forward, his hands gripping your waist and spinning you around to straddle him. His hands slunk down to your hips, tugging you back until your dripping pussy was in front of his mouth, his lips attaching to your swollen clit instantly. You moaned loudly, falling forward against him, cheek nuzzling against his shaft. The man that was an inch from killing you less than an hour ago shoved his scruffy face in your cunt, kitten licking your folds, shoving his tongue deep inside your pussy to taste your juices.

You moaned, throat vibrating against him, Mitch moaning against you. Your hands gripped at his length, shakily wrapping your lips around the head of his cock, lapping at the sensitive underside. Your head bobbed at the same rhythm as his licks, his fingers replacing his mouth so he could focus on sucking your clit. The faster your bobbed, the faster he pumped, fingers curling into your sweet spot as your traced the throbbing, protruding vein on his length. Your nose would bury in the dark hairs at the base of his cock, letting the tip tap at the back of your throat. His scruff scraped at your folds and thighs, a delicious burn you didn’t regret forming.

Mitch pulled away, wiping his chin clean of your juices, having to force you off his cock and back onto the bed. You were pushed onto your stomach, Mitch positioning himself behind you and tugging your ass up against his pelvis. His hand rubbed at your ass cheek, placing a loud smack to the skin. When you let out a throaty moan, Mitch grinned.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough with you?” He said, his gruff voice covering the groans he wanted to release at your whines and whimpers. His hand whipped across your ass again, a small scream breaking the silence in the room.

“Fuck, Mitch. Just fuck me already,” you whimpered, fingers twisting into the sheets under you.

“You want my cock inside you, baby?” He asked, his tip rubbing against your soaked core. “You want it hard? So hard, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow? You want it deep? So deep, you are seeing stars? You want to cum? Cum so strongly that your body withers and writhes under me, coating my cock like you used to? Is that what you want, baby?”

“Yes, sir,” you mewled, pushing your ass back against him. “Fuck me like you did before you dated Katrina. Make me scream for you like you used to.” Mitch’s heart wrenched at the mention of his deceased fiancé while simultaneously swelling that you wanted him so bad, to go back to the simple time when it was just you guys experimenting with your likes, spending hours at night with his cock inside you, screaming and cumming for each other.

Mitch’s fingers dug into your ass cheeks, his hips bucking forward until his cock was hilt deep inside you, your walls clenching around him at the sudden intrusion. Your face buried into the bed, tears prickling the corners of your eyes, attempting to adjust to his large size. He had grown since the last time you slept together, though it probably didn’t help that your only occupant since that time was your trusty vibrator. The least you could say was that you had missed this feeling, and you loved that he was back inside you.

Mitch didn’t waste time, his hips pulling back slowly and snapping back into you with great force. His thrusts were quick, pounding his cock into your pussy at godlike speeds. The sound of sweaty, slapping skin filled the air, your moans and screams getting lost in the bed. The occasional sound of Mitch smacking your ass as he thrust joined the sex-filled room, Mitch groaning and grunting.

“Fuck, babe. You’re so tight,” he whispered, eyes closing to relish in the feeling around him. “You feel so much better than Katrina ever did.” The words weren’t meant to come out, but it made your heart jump all the same. You knew he didn’t mean to say that aloud, but you loved that was how he felt. You hoped it was more than just the sex, but the sparks between you guys gave you hope that he felt something more than the friendship that was everlasting between you.

His hand darting forward, twisting into to your hair, yanking back forcefully. Your moan filled the room, your body shaking violently. You weren’t used to sex with Mitch being this rough, but you loved it. His cock pounding into your battered cunt, hitting your cervix and g-spot every time he burrowed back inside you. His constant slaps to your ass, causing your core to tighten and leak mounds of fluids onto his shaft. His hand yanking at your hair so he could hear your loud moans and screams of his name. His consistent groans and grunts of satisfaction whenever his cock twitched inside you, telling you he was close to his end. His hands held you tightly, leaning forward to suck dark marks to your neck and back.

You were bound to have countless bruises tomorrow.

His thrusts grew sloppy, his shaky hand reaching around to rub your clit. “Come on, baby. Cum for me. I need to feel you cum for me.”

“Y-yes, sir,” your straggled voice came, huffing loudly. A few rough snaps of his hips against you, the pads of his fingers rubbing circles to your clit, and your limbs gave out. Mitch had to hold your hips in place as your collapsed onto the bed, your body wracked with violent spasms. Your back arched, toes curling into the sheets, loud screams of his name bouncing off the walls. Your pussy hugged his cock, your vision going black with your orgasm, fluids splattering your walls around him, moistening his length.

Mitch groaned at the feeling around him, tugging himself free from your tight cunt. His fist wrapped around his erect shaft, rapidly jerking himself until streams of hot cum spewed from the tip, painting a mosaic of his juices on your sweaty back. He moaned, your name befalling his lips in a low voice, the last bits of his cum landing on your ass. He panted heavily, scratching at his scruffy chin, listening to your rapid breathing.

“That was amazing,” you mumbled, Mitch barely hearing you. He chuckled, nodding in agreement, not sure if you saw or now. He grabbed some tissues from the table by the bed, cleaning you and him of the white globs of sperm. He collapsed next to you on the bed, removing the belt from your hands and moving you to lay on his chest. You sighed happily, snuggling into him, inhaling his scent.

“You still owe me information you know,” he mentioned, chuckling quietly.

“Oh. Right. Well, I guess discussing the plans of a killer is good pillow talk, huh?” you joked, beginning to spill everything you knew about Ghost’s plans. Which, surprising, wasn’t as much as Mitch figured. There were bits of information that surprised him, but you kept one thing quiet from him: where Ghost was building it. Mitch figured you were withholding the information, but chose not to question.

Yet.

He shuffled off the bed, ignoring the sad look on your face. He grabbed his boxers from the floor, sliding them on quickly before grabbing his phone from his jeans. “I need to tell Stan what you’ve told me,” he whispered, looking over to see you sit up in the bed, wincing and holding the sheet to your chest. He shuffled over, kissing you quickly on the lips. “I’m sorry, baby.”

He disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone while he talked to Stan. You heard bits of the conversation, wondering what was going on. He told Stan the important bits you told him, Mitch groaning after Stan told him something you presumed.

“Irene will be here in the morning, Stan. What am I supposed to tell her when you aren’t back?” There was a pause, Mitch walking out of the bathroom slowly, rubbing his face. “Cover for you? Right. Whatever you say, sir.”

He hung up, sitting on the edge of the bed. You grabbed his hand, rubbing the top with your thumb. “Irene Kennedy will be here tomorrow. CIA Director, right?” Mitch nodded, not looking at you. “You can’t stop them from taking me away, Mitch. I’ve done bad things. It’s only right that they take me away and we will just have to see how the trial goes.”

Mitch sighed, finally looking at you. “If you had to choose between your anger towards the US government for leaving you for dead and helping stop Ghost so you can come back home with me, what would you choose?” He asked quietly. Your lips remained shut, knowing exactly what your answer would be. You wanted nothing more than to be with Mitch and if it meant returning to the home of your betrayers, you would. But you couldn’t easily say that aloud to the operative next to you. You needed to do whatever you could to protect him. “You’re my best friend. You know that, right? I’m not ready to lose you.”

“You won’t, Mitch. I’m not leaving you again.”

Sometimes, you wished you could believe that.

Pain | noun | \ˈpān\: usually localized physical suffered associated with bodily disorder (such as a disease or an injury); Acute mental or emotional distress or suffering.

You sat in a chair, hands cuffed in front of you, watching various people from the CIA shuffling around, trying to gather information to determine where Ghost was. Your eyes shifted to Mitch, talking with Irene Kennedy in a corner. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it clearly wasn’t good based on the scowl written on Mitch’s features. He would run a hand through his hair, grumbling before talking back to her.

Your eyes were brought back to a man, whom you heard someone call by the name of Edward, walking over to you, his hand roughly pulling you up by the arm. You stumbled in his grasp, your already sore body from the prior night screaming at you. “Let’s go, sweet cheeks. You have a one-way ticket back home, straight to maximum security prison. Hope you like your life sentence,” Edward sneered, tugging you in the direction of the door.

“With all due respect, sir,” you said, tripping you’re your feet in his haste, “you are hurting me.”

“Who gives a fuck?” He snapped, his hand wrapping tighter around your arm. You visibly winced, his hand squeezing a dark bruise you had gotten from Mitch last night. Mitch must have seen what was going on, breaking away from Irene to rush over.

“Hey, man. Lay off her!” Mitch yelled, shoving Edward off you. His outburst must have gathered the attention of everyone in the room, their heads turning and their actions halting. Edward glared up at Mitch, Mitch ignoring the look as he turned to you. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Mitch. I swear, I’m fine,” you mumbled, gripping his shirt with your hands. “But you can’t be doing this. We’re enemies, remember?”

“Fuck that, Y/N. You’re my best friend first,” he whispered.

“And I will always be your friend, Mitchy. But, we knew this was going to happen. We can’t let our personal feelings for each cloud our judgment.”

Mitch sighed, looking down. Stan’s words echoed in his mind, growing louder with each passing second. Never let it get personal. He knew Stan had been right then, and he knew you were right now. But could anyone blame him for watching the love of his life being unfairly harassed? He just wanted you safe. He finally had you back in his arms just for you to be ripped from them again? He wasn’t ready to say goodbye.

He needed you, just as you needed him. He wanted you, just as you wanted him. He wanted to go home with you, the way it always was, but he would make things right. He would find his mother’s ring, the ring Katrina wore when she was shot down, and give it to the rightful owner – you.

Edward ripped you from Mitch’s grasp, ragging you out of the room quickly. Mitch took a single step forward, ready to stop him again, when Irene cut him off. “Rapp! Enough of this. We have bigger issues right now, such as locating this bomb and securing it before Ghost can use it. He could kill thousands if we aren’t careful. First, we need to reconnect with Hurley.”

Mitch leaned on a counter, processing everything that he knew. He knew you had kept the location of the bomb hidden, and he knew who Stan had snuck off to see the night prior, telling Mitch to keep it secret from Irene. Though, the dark-haired man couldn’t keep the information to himself and had been the first thing he told Irene when she came out of talking to you herself.

Stan hadn’t been heard from since Mitch’s phone call. His gut told him that his asshole of an instructor had been captured. Ghost had a personal vendetta against the older man, and from what you had told him, Ghost would do anything to get back at him for whatever he did in the past. If Stan was captured by Ghost, that means he would find Ghost, Hurley and the bomb in the same location.

The location only you knew.

Mitch turned to look at Irene briefly, her back turned to him, running over some data with another operative. Mitch made his decision right there. He grabbed his leather jacket from the chair nearby, the one you had been sitting in, and a pair of car keys from the stand near the door, slipping out unnoticed.

He didn’t regret how recklessly he drove, hot on the trail of the car you were thrown into the back of. He sped through the streets of Rome, whiskey eyes narrowing on the black car he knew you were in. He didn’t think twice before he crashed straight into it, noses of the cars crunching together upon impact. He rolled from the car, yanking open the driver side door and dragging Edward out, punching him across the face a few times until he was out cold. He turned back to the car, your cuffed wrists secured around the second man, Damian’s, throat, the man’s face red as he went unconscious.

“Mitch?” You asked, finally moving off the man. Mitch nodded silently, grabbing the keys off Edward’s belt, yanking the back door open to slide in with you. His fingers fumbled with the key, twisting it in the small lock until it clicked, the metal clattering to the floor of the car. “What are you doing? Why are you here? And why are you freeing me?

He held your wrists, fingers rubbing over the red marks from here the cuffs rubbed. “You know where the bomb is. You know where Ghost is.” Your face paled, frowning at him. “You’re taking me there.”

“It’s not safe,” you muttered, keeping from looking at him.

“I know it’s not. But he’s building a bomb that could kill thousands of people. And I’m pretty sure he has my boss. I need to find him and stop him, Y/N. And I want your help,” he told you, using one hand to gently tilt your chin up to look at him.

“Does Irene know about this?” You asked lowly.

“Hell no.”

“Good. Time to go against the law some more, I guess,” you joked, straddling his lap as you got out of the car. Mitch groaned, feeling you press against him, mentally telling himself to keep his dick in his pants. “You coming, Mitchy?”

Mitch sighed, sliding from the car, grabbing your tiny hand in his large, veiny one, proceeding to drag you down an alley, out of the public eye. “As soon as we stop Ghost, and you get off for helping us stop him, you are fucking grounded. You are not leaving our room ever again.”

“Excuse me? Our room?” you asked, smile on your face and an eyebrow risen.

“Yup,” he said shortly, stopping to trap you against a wall. His lips skimmed yours, your breath hitching slightly. “Because I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

He kissed you softly, pulling away before you had a chance to respond. Your mind was fuzzy, confusion spiking inside you. His actions made no sense, though your heart leaped happily at the small gesture. Your fingers entwined as you slipped through the alleys, stealing a car on a road a few blocks away.

You directed him to the underground sewers Ghost chose to hide out in, parking the car a slight distance from the entrance. You saw a few men about, leaving in a car not long after you arrived. You gestured to the entrance, glancing at Mitch. “That’s it, right there. If Stan and Ghost are anywhere, it’s in there.”

“Good,” Mitch mumbled, pulling his gun from the back of his pants. “Let’s go.”

You shook your head vigorously, Mitch cocking an eyebrow. “I can’t. If Ghost sees me, he will surely kill me for ratting him out.”

“Don’t worry,” he started, voice soft. His arm wrapped around your waist, kissing your temple. “I will protect you.”

You smiled slightly, nodding slowly. Mitch grinned into your hair, taking your hand in his free one and leading you into the sewers. It was dark, barely lit, your steps faintly echoing down the long tunnels. You treaded carefully, keeping an eye out for anyone. Your hand clenched in his, afraid for his life and your own.

A giant metal gate stood in your path, a glistening silver lock and chain barring it closed. Your hand released his, tugging at the lock. “What the fuck? This has never been locked before. What do we do now?”

Mitch looked up at the gate, moving forward slightly. His muscular arms flexed as he pushed the gates apart, creating a small gap for you to slip through. Your small frame slid through easily. Mitch, however, couldn’t fit. His bulked-up frame was too large to squeeze through the opening, no matter how hard he tried. He frowned, looking at you.

“Just stay right there. We will figure something else out,” he whispered.

His heart broke slightly when you shook your head, taking a few steps backwards. “I’m sorry, Mitch. It’s for your own good. I’m so sorry.” Without another word, your turned on your heel, taking off down the dark corridor, ignoring Mitch’s calls.

You fought back tears, rounding the last corner to the main hideout. Ghost heard your rapid footsteps, looking over at you. Stan Hurley was hung by the arm with a chain, his other arm clasp by a device on the table. Hurley looked battered and beaten, blood dripping from multiple gashes along his body. Ghost’s ear was bleeding and you could only assume they had some kind of tousle while Ghost was ranting at his former mentor.

“Y/N? Why the fuck are you here?” Ghost sneered, grabbing his gun off the table. “You little traitorous wench. I should kill you right now.”

“I never told them the location of the bomb, Ghost. I got you Hurley though, didn’t I? The bits I did tell Rapp got you the man you wanted. So, what you should be saying is thank you,” you told him, sarcasm dripping off your tongue like venom.

Ghost shook his head, placing the gun back down. “So, I’m supposed to just accept you back with open arms? Is that what you expect?”

“No,” you mumbled under your breath, though Ghost’s trained ears caught the short message. “They’re going to be coming soon though. You need to get out of here. Now.”

Ghost chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “It’s a good thing the bomb is done then, huh?”

It was only when he said that did you notice the dead bodies of the men that worked on the bomb along with the dead body of the person that originally hired you to build it. Ghost had always had another agenda. He accepted the task of building this bomb for some man that disliked the nuclear treaty between Turkey and America, but Ghost always knew he would use the bomb for his own purposes. What those were, you really didn’t know. You had resigned yourself to never questioning the man.

The faint sound of an explosion sounded, smoke beginning to fill the small area you were in. Ghost’s eyes narrowed on you, his fingers wrapping around your forearm and dragging you away, the bag with the bomb strapped over his shoulder. You heard the faint grunts of Stan, struggling to free himself, and Mitch’s voice as he rounded the corner, semi-automatic he must have pilfered from one of the men returning to the compound in hand. He was shouting for you, your heart wrenching at the sound of his distress.

Ghost shoved your forward when you were nearing the exit, forcing you to walk in front of him. “You’re a dirty little liar, Y/N. You tipped off Rapp.”

“I’m sorry. He would have killed me, Ghost,” you tried to reason, feeling the barrel of his gun press to the back of your head.

“That’s a load of horse shit. You still love him, and you will never stop. What actually happened last night when you were captured? You caused the marks on your neck?” You silently cursed the various marks that lined your body from your reckless activities, knowing you had been caught red handed.

“So what if I love Mitch? Not like he will ever return the feeling. I’m just a good lay for him I guess.”

“Is that what you think?” you heard his deep voice break the darkness, taking slow steps towards you and the former CIA operative. “That I wouldn’t love you? That I just wanted to fuck you? God, you’ve always been oblivious.”

You were forced around, looking at Mitch as you stood next to Ghost. “Rapp. I wish I could say it is a pleasure to meet you, but it’s not. Especially now that you are going to die.” The gun rose, steady while he aimed. “Do you have any last words?”

“You’re not going to get away with this,” Mitch said flatly, his voice showing no signs of faulting. “I will stop you. And I will kill you.”

“Wrong answer, Rapp.”

Your eyes widened, Ghost’s finger closing in on the trigger. “Ghost, no!” You screamed, grabbing at the gun, attempting to wrestle it from his grasp. You knew you couldn’t overpower him, seeing as he had trained with the CIA in the past. But you had to do something. Your fingers wrapped around the barrel of the gun, deflecting the barrel downwards, away from Mitch’s body. Ghost glared, your bodies battling for control of the gun, your bodies struggling to overpower the other.

Mitch watched you attempt to fight off the experienced killer, unsure what was happening. When a song rang through the sewer opening, his eyes widened. His ears were ringing loudly from the shot, his blood pumping faster.  Your body separated from Ghost, Ghost turning and bolting quickly, your hand moving to your stomach slowly. When the shaky limb was pulled away, Mitch stopped breathing.

Blood.

He rushed forward, catching your body before it fell, blood seeping from the hole in your abdomen. Your hand pressed to the wound, attempting to put pressure on it, wincing from the pain that was consuming your body. “Fuck, Y/N. Y-you’re going to be ok,” Mitch mumbled, moving some hair from your face and applying more pressure to your wound. You groaned, a few tears leaking from eyes.

“I’ll be ok, Mitch,” you gasped out, Mitch not believing a word you uttered. He could see the pain on your face, fear flooding his core. “Please, Mitch. Go stop him. He’s going to kill people. That should take you to the docks. He’s going to blow it at sea because it’s already armed. Stop it and fast.” Your bloody hand reached up, running along his cheek. “Please. I believe in you, Mitch. I love you.”

A single tear slid down his cheek, sliding onto your hand in the process. “I know. I love you too. Don’t you dare die on me, alright? I will be back soon.”

You reluctantly nodded, Mitch laying your body carefully against the wall. He disappeared, sparing one final glance at you. The second he was gone, you groaned loudly, shifting painfully against the wall. You let out a breath, wincing. “I don’t know how much I can promise this one, Mitch. I shouldn’t lie about promises I can’t keep.”

Your eyes were drifting closed, thinking about all the times you shared with Mitch. You didn’t register when someone dropped down beside you, or your limp body being lifted from the ground. Your mind went dark, the last thing that ran through your mind being Mitch as your hand went limp beside your bloody body.

Mitch, leaving you behind, was determined to fulfil your request, telling himself that he would return to you. You would be able to return home together, be able to be together finally. You were the only thing on his mind when he jumped onto the speedboat with Ghost. You were the only thing on his mind when he successfully killed the man who injured the love of his life. You were the only thing on his mind when he watched the bomb detonate in the water from the helicopter, clinging to the handrail.

When the explosion subsided, and no injuries were reported, Mitch finally relaxed, sinking into his seat. Stan looked over at him, a proud feeling swelling inside of him at the sight of the recruit he didn’t want to begin with.

Mitch took a moment to process what happened, jumping up in his seat. “Oh my God. Y/N. I-I need to go back for her.” Stan almost had to tackle with recruit before he could jump from the helicopter recklessly, which was hard considering the amount of injuries the older CIA man had incurred.

“Rapp, calm down,” he said, seeing Mitch on the verge of a panic attack. “She’s safe.”

“No, no. She was in those tunnels. She was shot and bleeding. I need to go help her,” he whispered, breathing picking up at the thought of losing his best friend.

“Rapp! She’s safe!” He said, gripping Mitch’s scruff chin to make him look into the man’s eyes. “I found her after you left. She was rushed to the hospital. She’s safe and will be ok. You can relax.”

Mitch shook slightly, slowly beginning to relax in his mentor’s arms. A wave of exhaustion rolled over his body, thought it was more like a tsunami in his mind. He was covered in cuts and bruises, blood dripping down his face and chest, his muscles aching from his fight with Ghost. But he was relieved, a sigh escaping his lips. He slunk back into his seat, his eyes drooping as he drifted off, awaiting the time he would see you again.

Love | noun | \ˈləv\: an intense feeling of deep affection.

Mitch sighed to himself, sitting on the chair on the beach, running a towel over his hair. He looked at the picture of him and Katrina in Spain he kept in his wallet. He sighed to himself, dropping the picture into his bag, zipping it closed. He slid his black shirt over his head, grabbing his bag and heading into the Italian hotel he was staying at since the incident.

The door clicked as it unlocked, Mitch dropping the bag on the table once he entered. He rounded the corner, smiling slightly at the sight of your sleeping body on the bed. Sure, you had been unconscious since you were admitted to the hospital, but he was glad you were ok. You had been dismissed a few days ago, Mitch begging Irene to allow you to stay in his hotel room. It took a lot of convincing, but the charges were dropped, considering you had taken a bullet for Mitch and helped stop the death of thousands of people.

Mitch sat on the edge of the bed, holding your hand in his and lifting your baggy shirt slightly to check your dressings. The doctors had said you were lucky, the bullet missing every organ miraculously. You were already beginning to heal nicely. You just had to be careful not to overexert yourself when you finally wake up.

You stirred slightly, eyes cracking open to stare up at the handsome man. He smiled largely, shifting closer to you. “Good morning, sleepyhead. Nice of you to return to the land of the living.”

You stuck your tongue out at him, slowly attempting to sit up. Your limbs were stiff and kind of sore, but you didn’t feel nearly as much pain as you figured you would. “Fuck, what did I miss?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Another world war, we discovered aliens, Pluto became a planet again, Ghost died and the bomb killed no one, you were acquitted, I love you-“

“Woah. Slow your roll, cowboy. I know you are spewing shit, but Ghost is dead? The bomb didn’t kill anyone?” You asked, mouth falling open. Mitch frowned, laying down on the bed next to you.

“That’s all you got from that?”

“I heard you say you love me. And I love you too,” you told him, absently running your fingers through his hair without realizing you were doing so. “But I was acquitted?”

“Oh my God. You’re a loser,” he mumbled, curling into your side like a child.

“Says the grown man curling up on the injured person.”

“Shut up. You’re healing fine. I’ve been taking great take of you. Don’t be ungrateful.” He sat up, kissing your cheek. “You just have to be careful until your last few stitches come out. But you should be ok in my opinion.”

You smiled at him, twisting around to straddle his waist. You leaned forward, taking a deep breath at a small surge of pain in your system, knowing this moment was worth it. “Well, how can I ever say thank you for taking care of me?” you muttered, putting on the sexiest voice you could. You felt Mitch squirm under you, a small tent forming in his swim trunks.

“Well, you can agree to marry me first,” he stated bluntly. Your eyes widened, leaning back on top of him.

“W-what?”

“Look, I know I’m skipping some steps.” He paused, blinking once. “Alright, maybe a lot of steps, if not all of them. But I need you. I’ve loved you since we were in middle school. You’re my best friend and I was afraid to ruin what I had with you. But I can’t live without you anymore. I’m fixing what I should have fixed years ago. The second we get home, I’m digging out my mother’s ring and putting it in its rightful place.” He picked up your hand, kissing the spot the ring should go. “On your finger.”

A few stray tears slip down your cheeks, Mitch sitting up with you still on his lap. He held your cheeks, wiping the tears away, smiling at you. You just nodded at him, unable to form the words you wanted. You finally managed a straggled “yes,” Mitch flashing his pearly whites at you.

“You have no idea how happy you make me. I love you so much.”

“I love you more,” you got out, leaning forward to kiss him. Your eyes slid closed, not even caring when his lips quickly enveloped yours, taking control of the kiss in an instant. Your arms wound around his neck, threading through his hair. His hands held your waist, careful of the bandages. You both felt the spark in the kiss, your bodies heating up from your interaction.

The kiss was speeding up, lips smacking against each other, bodies pressing against each other. Your tongues swirled together between your lips, only separating for taking a small breath of air. Mitch was tugging at the baggy shirt you were clad in, ripping it over your head when you pulled away for another breath. Your breasts fell free, Mitch’s hand making contact with the plump mound the first chance he could.

He carefully rolled you over, your back pressing against the bed, his mouth never leaving yours. His hand kneaded your breast, massaging the tender mounds, his fingers brushing the sensitive peaks. Your moans were drowned out by your kisses, your bodies rolling against each other more and more.

Your hands slowly trailed down his body, tugging at the bottom of his shirt, slipping your fingers under the hem to delicately trace his abs. Mitch’s deep groan was lost in your throat, his lips pulling away abruptly from yours. He leaned back, pulling the tight, black cotton material over his head. Your fingers reached over, playing with the hairs of his happy trail, playing with the string on his swim trunks.

“You went to the beach without me?” You paused, pulling the string undone while you thought. “Wait, beach? Where are we exactly?”

Mitch chuckled, drawing circles on your thighs, grinning when he felt the goosebumps form. “Still in Italy. Right off the coast. They didn’t want to move you or Stan will you were a bit more healed. Plus, there was a bit more work to be done while you recover.” He leaned forward, pecking your lips. Plus, we all need a little vacation.”

“At least this time your proposal at the beach didn’t lead to terrorists attacking and killing your fiancé,” you jabbed. Mitch faked a frown, his heart to his chest.

“That’s low, baby. So very low.”

“Hey, you can at least joke about it a bit more now compared to before. A year ago, you would have had a breakdown at a mere mention of what happened.”

“Well,” he said, tugging the panties you were wearing under the baggy shirt down, his fingers brushing your dripping wet core. “I realized how much I love you. And how much I have moved on from Katrina. Because I’ve always had a girl by my side I want to be with.” Two of his fingers slid inside your pussy, listening to your sharp inhale of air. “And I’m much stronger, mentally and physically, than when I was in Spain. I won’t let anything happen to her. I will always be by her side to love her and cherish her and make her scream my name when I make love to her.”

“Well,” you started, your words cut short as Mitch’s long, slender digits slid inside you quickly, thrusting vigorously and curling the ends to rub your g-spot. “How about we start that now?”

Mitch grunted at your words, his thumb pressing to your clit as he thrust. Your body was already shaking at his minor movements, knowing you were sensitive from your lack of release from being unconscious. “I think we can manage that,” he murmured, his voice husky with arousal.

Your body quaked, walls tightening around his fingers, juices flowing freely around them. Your stomach tightened, a twinge of pain coming from your wound, though it was overshadowed by the overwhelming pleasure you felt from your orgasm. Your back arched off the bed, legs bending in every which way, the waves from your orgasm rolling through every pore in your body.

Mitch carefully pulled his fingers from your core, licking them clean of your juices. “So sweet,” he told himself, a blush forming on your cheeks.

“Shut up, Mitch. Stop trying to be cute.”

“Not trying, babe. Just stating the truth,” he said, rolling off the bed to undress. You heard the Velcro on his trunks come apart, the dampened material sliding down his legs quickly. Your shifted slightly to stare at his round ass, licking your lips.

“Did you know you have a nice ass?” You asked, Mitch looking at you over his shoulder. “I mean, you’re gorgeous in all ways, Mitch. Sexy face, wonderful muscles, the most delicious happy trail, perfectly round ass. Don’t get me started on your scruffy beard. Never shave it. I gladly accept beard burn whenever you decide to eat me out. And let’s not forget the giant fucking cock I love so much.”

“Is that so?” He joked, turning to face you. Your eyes visibly widened, locking on his fully erect cock standing prominently in the sunlight the leaked through the closed curtains. His hand wrapped around the shaft, stroking it slowly. The red tip glistened with his precum, your mouth beginning to water at the sight. “You mean this?”

You reached out your hands, giving him a “grabby hands” motion. “Yes. That. I want that inside me. Let me connect on the deepest level with it.” You saw his face, giggling at his deadpanned expression. “I meant you. Let me connect with you.”

“That’s what I thought,” he said, pushing you back on the bed and settling himself between your legs. The head of his cock rubbed through your folds, probing at your entrance occasionally. His hips shifted forward once, his entire length sliding in an inch at a time until he was completely sheathed inside you. Your simultaneous moans filled the room, your arms locking around his neck in a heartbeat.

You felt no need to share words. Just pure loving emotion was felt. The dark-haired assassin leaned forward, his body shifting into a comfortable position to thrust inside you. Your felt ever pulse and throb of his cock inside you, your walls hugging him every time he expanded them. His tip easily tapped your cervix and sweet spot, his girth making sure he filled you to the brim with himself. Your nails raked down his back, leaving long red scratches in their wake. Mitch’s fingers curled into the sheets, messily kissing your lips occasionally as he pounded you firmly, yet gently, into the hotel bed.

You were together on cloud nine, and you had no intention of leaving that anytime soon.

You tugged Mitch further against your body, the assassin careful not to apply pressure to your wound. Your hands fell from his back, tugging at Mitch’s hand. He buried his head in his neck, allowing your fingers to interlock with his in a passionate embrace. He grinned against the skin of your neck, kissing at nipping it, leaving a fresh bruise atop the ones that were almost healed. His hips gyrated against yours, your moan directed straight into his ear.

“Fuck,” Mitch moaned, his head pulling from your neck. His lips locked with yours, his thrusts continuing in a sloppy manner. His lips pulled away, brushing against yours as he spoke. “I love you so much, Y/N Rapp.”

You mewled at the combination of his words and the feelings he gave you, your gut swelling with happiness as you neared your second orgasm. The coil inside you was loosening quickly, and Mitch knew it. He felt it too.

You tried to get words out, but all you could muster was moans of his name, small screams erupting occasionally. Mitch felt proud that you were enjoying it, feeling a million times more connect than he ever felt with you. If this was how he was going to spend the rest of his life, he did not regret the choices he made.

His cock sputtered inside you, Mitch’s actions slowly to a steady push, his entire load spilling inside you in streams of white cum. The feeling of his hot seed warmed your insides set you over the hurdle to your own release, a long moan bouncing off the walls as your fluids coated his cock. Mitch slowly thrust into you, riding out your highs.

The thing that solidified your everlasting bond was your connected hands tightening around each other, never once letting go since they became connected.

Your pants came out unevenly, though somehow matched perfectly with Mitch’s. He pulled out of you, collapsing on the bed next to you. His arm wound around you, his hand clutching your breast tightly in his grip. You chuckled at his motion, feeling his head nuzzle into your neck. Kissing his forehead, your smiled to yourself.

“I love you too, Mitch Rapp. You’re my best friend and my lover. I wouldn’t wish for anything different.”

Mitch nodded softly kissing your bare shoulder. “You know, it’s funny. When I left on this mission, Stan told me not to let my personal feelings affect my actions. But I think my personal feelings saved you. If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t have tried so hard to save you.”

“You might have actually drowned me in Rome,” you joked, feeling Mitch frown.

“Can’t we let that go?”

“Nope. Holding it against you forever.”

“Bitch,” he mumbled, causing you to laugh. “What I was trying to get across was that I’m glad I let this one get personal.” He paused, leaning on his arm to look at you better. “Also, never watch home movies with Stan. It leads to him strangling you with computer wires.”

“Duly noted, babe,” you told him, curling into his chest. “He was right to say not to let it get personal. It almost got you killed. But I’m glad you don’t listen to orders that well. You saved me.”

“No, you saved me,” Mitch said, letting you both drift off into a well-deserved rest.

[multi-reader-writer]

Some... Complications

Merman AU Merman!McCree x Reader

Whiteness.

Your vision was shrouded in sheer white, which made you rather anxious in terms of, if whether you really messed up somewhere along the lines. Maybe with the fact you were out by the shore, in the late afternoon, sitting on one of larger salt watered rocks, for whatever ungodly reason you could use as an excuse. But you did have a reason, rather secretive mind anyone else prying on. You were meant to rendezvous with your beloved here, which you’ve done countless times over the course of months now to nearly two years. A streak you’re willing to keep up for as long as you could hope. It was in the middle of June so the temperatures were rising but the shoreline still had that winter chill to it, and with the sun setting it felt like fall had made an early return already.

Eyes watched the ocean sea foam roll in clashing against the solid surface of the stones arranged before it. You were unfazed by the sprinkles of cool water that sprayed at your face, as you felt it more than enough times over the course of the years. It wasn’t long before you were starting to grow worried, your beloved would usually be here already, drawing you in with that sultry southern acce- ahem. But much to your disappointment he hadn’t appeared. Was he late? Did he forget? Your thoughts veered off to a different topic to overshadow the negativity your mind was piling upon you.

Instantly your mind wandered to curious little specks in the deep recesses of your thinking. There were many questions you had still about your beloved, how’d he came to be for one. How in the world did he swim with a mechanical arm?! Literally that piece of metal had yet to rust but it’s always shining in the sunsets every time you two would meet. Which was frequent enough to say the least, well, frequent enough with the whole ‘he’s a merman’ details.

Chuckling at the thought, you suddenly wondered, what was it like being a merperson in general? As you kept wondering about this, your eyelids felt, oddly heavy, were you really this tuckered out? Surely a bit, but did the fatigue really start to overwhelm you or was it the soft crash of waves and scent of salt water? Either way, your vision started to blur, and before you knew it, you were back to now.

In white light.

But the blinding color didn’t last for much longer as your vision was returning to the mixed coloration of the sunset. Seeming to wave and distort a bit here and there. Hold up that isn’t right. Rather when did you get under the sunset?! And… bubbles? Gasping out of fear and rushing anxieties, you covered your mouth once again from water pouring into your mouth. Did you fall asleep on the rocks? You were tired obviously from your earlier notion but were you actually that tired? Hell you don’t even remember half of what happened to yourself sitting by the rocks.

Okay you.

Thoughts aside, panic induced swimming ago.

You started to push yourself to the surface of the water, but immediately halted altogether feeling something very off about your anatomy. For starters, why did your feet feel, nonexistent? There wasn’t any separate back and forth propelling or any sort of clashing rub of skin against skin, it felt as if you were your legs swam in unison. You even started to realize, your breathing hadn’t strained yet, like you were still on land. Building up whatever courage you had, you gazed down, finding the depths of the ocean crystal clear in your eyes, it was a vast depth of mystery and excitement for anyone that went scuba diving. But your focus wasn’t on the beauty of the underwater scape, the backgrounds were blurred shapes of green and blue splotches. It was the scaled tail and flipper that swayed in the still waters that grabbed your attention completely. It was a hue of your most adorn color, light in shade at the very end of the flipper and gradually grew darker till it reached your body-

Oh god you were naked.

Of everything that you were worried about now, it was where the hell any of your clothes went. Great priorities (y/n). Sure you were in the water, now apparently a merperson but you also felt somewhat bare and vulnerable to the elements. Taking a deep breath you checked your surroundings finally, seeming to be near the shallower depths of the waters, finally your gaze turned to the shining surface. It wouldn’t hurt to check right? Might as well get your bearings before anything else. Pushing yourself forward, your movements seemed so natural like you swam as a merperson your entire life, slowly you broke the surface of the salted waters gazing about only to find the rocks you sat upon within sight, the same shoreline you walked along each day to see your beloved merman.

And there was that familiar bundle of warm cocoa brown locks- oh wait. Oh shit.

This day was just surprising you in every way you never wanted. You could tell he was searching for you as he looked around, the distant sound of his voice proved it. Contemplating whatever choice you had, you weren’t sure of what to think, would he still know it was you? Would he be bored of you this way? He always said he was interested in your nature and knowledge of the land, would that appeal just… disperse?

The thoughts were growing heavy on you and just as you shook it off, you heard someone holler out, rather that sweet southern accent. “‘Ey! Who are ya!”

Seriously, this day was just doing you in.

Acting hastily, you dove back into the water all your woes just making you seem so evasive of him, you heard what could only be the rushing sound of strokes, taking one glance and you could see that familiar vibrant red of his tail from anywhere. A screech of bubbles left your lips and involuntarily you covered your mouth thinking yourself still human and just swam into another direction entirely. But even with your newly found tail, you weren’t properly accustomed to this change since he practically caught up with you. Your face collided into his chest making you groan and pull back on instinct, rubbing your nose and forehead from the sudden collision.

“Hey don’t scare me like that!” You retorted at him, but when you witnessed his expression, your voice was lost.

“Darlin’? Is that you?” His voice was filled with complete surprise, he thought you were just some passing merperson that followed him. At first he was skeptical seeing your favorite color as the tail and exact hair coloration that flowed and swayed within the water. But his first thought was right, here you were before him, somehow a merperson just like him. He reached out to you to embrace you only to halt his movements as you seemed fairly spooked.

“(y/n)… darlin’ you alright?” His voice was crystal clear to you in the watery depths, the hushed tone of his accent eased your internal anxieties slightly.

“I… don’t know. It feels weird… I-I was just on the rocks. Now I’m here. And swimming with a tail! I-”

“Sweetheart.”

Hands of warm flesh and cool metal clasped on either side of your shoulders to grab your attention. As you refocused on your beloved you could see the seriousness and concern mixed within his eyes. Once he had your undivided attention, Jesse pulled you towards him into a comforting embrace, the contrasting warmth of his skin to the cool water soothed you further. Your arms automatically wrapped around his torso as an exhale of bubbles escaped your lips. The two of you held still like so, floating in the silent waters hearing the occasional passing swish.

Jesse was always patient with you even in your human form he figured you needed to pace yourself when you first met him. Which was full of questions and a startled you. Though, pushing the past aside he was focused on the now, you were resting against his chest seeming to finally calm down from the earlier panic. A soft sigh released few bubbles from his lips, thinking over what he could ask or say to you but you seemed to be a step ahead of the charmer of a merman. Those (e/c) eyes that pulled him in like a siren’s song to a boatsman reflected in the shining sunset that penetrated the water giving your eyes a glow like effect. You looked at your beloved merman, a smile crept up your lips, grateful for his patience, but from his perspective he was just internally losing it. The shine of your eyes felt mysterious and your smile was indescribably too radiant for him to conjure words.

His non-metal arm reached up, calloused fingertips gently pressing against the smooth skin of your cheek before fully cupping the side of your face into his hand. You just looked at him, curious of his actions as he never stepped out of line. Well excluding the first attempts, resulting in you shoving a foot to his face. Which also backfired causing you to start kicking that day. But with time and some restrictions, you trusted the merman’s actions, most of the time that is.

“(y/n)…” The tone of his voice was gentle, calling out your name in his melting accent, he had you hooked. You hadn’t realized it just yet, but he was leaning in closer till his lips barely grazed against your own. Flowing with the mood, your eyelids slowly fluttered shut as you sealed the final step. Fingers slowly reaching up and entangling themselves in his cocoa colored locks, as his own rested on the back of your head and his other slowly gliding along your back, the rough callous touch of his fingers against your skin causing you to quiver at the sensation. It didn’t help with how enticed you were already by his overall touch, the press of his warm smooth lips molding with your own, and just as you parted, it felt something was missing already.

Your eyelids slowly reopening to that charming smile and warmth filled eyes that you couldn’t turn away from.

“Jesse…” But all that comfort seemed to flee as you remembered the situation you were in, your head lowered slightly from his gaze, leading back to square one. Jesse cupped your cheek again and lifted your gaze back up to meet his as he spoke.

“Now what’s gotten you so mopey darlin’? You seemed fine just moments ago.” Again his tone was gentle, nothing demanding as he was just worried about you.

Biting your bottom lip just barely enough to feel it, you released a silent sigh of tiny bubbles, either way you’d have to tell him.

“I… what do you… think of me like this?”

“Like what pumpkin?” He tilted his head just slightly to the side out of confusion of the subject of your question making you huff slightly and gesture to the obvious tail you had.

“Looking like a merperson! Everything about it! I just… I’m just worried you’ll get bored really, cause I’m not human anymore.” Your expression was slowly downcasting to the same moping mood you had moments ago, only to be interrupted as both of his hands clasped at your arms grabbing your attention once more. “Now hold up. Who said that mattered to me?” His voice was no longer gentle rather stern and serious which was rare to hear.

“I just thought… since you were so interesting in human life I-” “I’m not all that interested in human life darlin’.” “O…oh.” “I’m mostly interested in you.”

You stood or rather floated still, your expression was void of emotions at his few words, a warmth resting within your heart spread through your body sending little shivers down your spine

“Me?” “Yes darlin’, you. After meeting ya I thought I was just curious, but I realized it was you that made everything all the more interesting. And don’t you dare think yourself as strange cause I think you’re the prettiest treasure of the sea.”

Slowly a smile crept on your lips, growing wider by the second until it was full blown smile, you pushed forward towards Jesse, surprising him slightly by your force, but made him chuckle slightly at how cute you were so hyped and happy.

So much relief coursed through your body, all those thoughts were hardly anything to you now. All that mattered to you now was being with your beloved merman, who held you with care, seeing you no different, but now closer than ever to him.

Maybe the sea life wouldn’t be too bad.